by Van ©2013
		Chapter 10

Four of Her Ladyship's maids came for Morena in mid afternoon and took her to the bath.

Two additional naked maids were waiting, and the four dressed maids watched as Morena was doused with water, soaped from head to toe, scrubbed clean, and toweled dry.  As usual, her attendants were gentle and thorough.  Morena's chastity-belt had been unlocked and removed beforehand, also as usual, and she was now totally nude.  Although her legs and the margins of her pubic region had been regularly shaved during her vacation/captivity, the main bush, itself, the area she normally kept neatly trimmed but did not remove, was being allowed to return.  In the "normal," day-to-day course of affairs it was mostly hidden under the crotch panel of her chastity-belt when the belt was in place, but the short, fine, dark hairs were there and were visible at the margins.  They could be gone again at Her Ladyship's whim, but for now, they were there.

Morena was led to a dressing alcove, seated before a mirror, and her hair blow-dried, brushed, and elaborately arranged in Victorian style.  The silky brown strands were gathered atop her head and pinned in place, but a single thin, wispy curl was allowed to hang free to the right side of her face.  From the neck up, Morena was a Gibson Girl reborn.  From the neck down, she was smooth, firm, feminine curves.  Granted, her face and body were somewhat tan, too tan for the Victorian ideal of aristocratic beauty, but not excessively so.  She received a manicure and pedicure, powder and makeup were tastefully applied, then the chastity-belt was locked back in place, resuming its guard duty of her pussy. 

Finally, with a maid holding either arm, Morena was led from the bath and through the castle to a small sitting room.  It was well-appointed with comfortable wing-chairs, side-tables, bookshelves, vases of flowers, and potted ferns on elegant stands—typical Victorian upper class luxury.  A bank of windows looked out over the moat and the driveway leading to the castle's ceremonial main entrance.  Morena was planted in one of the chairs and padded leather straps attached to the armrests were buckled around her wrists.  Similar straps secured her ankles to the front chair legs.  With that, the maids left.

Morena's viola, her favorite viola, was atop a small table and propped in a wooden stand, together with its bow.  She was ready for the concert... but it was still hours away.

Morena was always nervous before a performance.  She had never suffered from debilitating stage fright, but she was nervous.  Add to that she was about to perform before an unknown number of unknown guests in her current costume—or lack, thereof—and she was really nervous.  That said, she was professionally ready... and she trusted Lady Jane Tydwell.  She wouldn't have "allowed" herself to be captured and imprisoned if she didn't trust Lady Jane.  She also trusted that any of Her Ladyship's guests outside their shared circle of friends wouldn't present a problem.  Yes, Morena trusted Lady Jane.  Otherwise, she'd be vacationing in Spain or the Côte d'Azure or Venice, instead of "vacationing" at Castle Tydwell.  That said... she was nervous.

Time passed.

At one point a maid appeared with a light meal for the waiting performer.  No conversation was involved as the maid hand-fed Morena a delicious sandwich and held a glass of white wine to her lips.  That was just as well.  Morena wasn't in the mood for idle chit-chat.  She was getting her head into what she called "concert space."  She accepted sips of wine and bites of food, chewed, swallowed and stared into the distance.  Her mind was focused on the coming performance.

The meal was finished, the maid left, and the waiting continued.

As the sun began to set, luxury cars and limousines began to arrive at the castle, gliding down the gravel driveway.  Her Ladyship's guests, of course, Morena thought, my audience.  The wait continued... and the guests continued to arrive.

Finally, well after sunset and well after the last of the automobile lights had passed down the driveway, four maids entered Morena's well appointed prison.  She was released from her chair and helped to her feet.  Her wrists were tied behind her back with a red ribbon and a silver collar with an attached leash was snapped around her throat.  And then, a cape of silver-colored boiled silk lined with blood-red velvet was placed over her shoulders, clasped at her throat, and its deep hood raised over her head.

A maid lifted her viola and bow from the rack.  From the way she handled the instrument, Morena could tell she was a fellow musician.  A second maid took hold of Morena's leash and the parade began.

With the maid holding the viola in the lead, Morena's handler second, and Morena in the rear, they left the sitting room, walked down a long hallway, and entered a large, dark space—a ballroom.

At least a hundred guests were present, mostly female, but some male.  All were in Victorian evening wear; the women in full-length, sleeveless gowns with corsets, bustles, and opera gloves; the men in black tailed coats, winged collars, and white ties.  Both genders were masked; the men in white or black and rather plain masks; the women in more elaborate carnival masks with beads, sparkles, and feathers.  There were also a score of maids present, all in uniform, all unmasked, and carrying trays of champagne flutes and savory tidbits.  The only lights shining from the ballroom's high ceiling formed a narrow path leading to a raised platform in the very center.

The guests and maids were mostly in the dark.  Morena and her handlers were not.

There was applause and hushed murmurs of conversation as Morena was led to the stage.  There was a collective gasp and more applause as the cape and collar were removed and her wrists untied.

Lady Tydwell was waiting near the platform, breathtakingly beautiful in a strapless gown of shimmering pearl-white, white opera gloves, and a fortune in diamonds.  Unlike her guests, she wasn't wearing a mask.  Lady Jane favored Morena with a warm smile.  "Are you ready, my dear?"

Morena eyes sparkled and her cheeks dimpled as she smiled back.  "Yes, Lady Tydwell."

"Be magnificent, Morena."

 "Yes, Lady Tydwell."

The maid holding the viola and bow handed them over and Morena stepped onto the platform.  Now, only the lights directly over the platform were shining and the flat-screen monitor had begun to glow.  The image of "Sim-Siggy" in white tie and tails had appeared.  The avatar smiled and the single word "WARMUP" painted the screen where the sheet music would normally appear.

Morena began to play.  She was now fully in "concert space," aware of her surroundings, aware of her audience, and already performing.  A smile curled her lips and dimpled her cheeks as her music filled the air.  It was pure improvisation, of course, to limber her fingers and arms.  Finally, after only a minute...  She lowered her instrument and nodded to Siggy, the simulated conductor.

Lady Tydwell took her cue and turned to face her guests.  "Ladies and gentlemen," she announced, then made a graceful, sweeping gesture with her right arm.  "Miss Morena Velzen."

There was more applause as Her Ladyship stepped back into the crowd, leaving Morena in the spotlight.  Siggy the conductor smiled up from the monitor and tapped the simulated music stand with her simulated baton.  The sheet music began to scroll across the bottom of the screen and the opening bars of Khachaturian's violin concerto in D-minor filled the ballroom.

Securely hidden in her claustrophobic, secret dungeon—barely able to squirm in her tight, custom-fitted cage—Cressida stared through the one-way glass into the ballroom and watched the party preparations.  She also watched Dread Dominatrix Corky squirm in her reverse-prayer box-tie, center stage on the raised platform in the middle of the room.  Expertly bound from shoulders to knees, Corky shuffled and squirmed, seeking some degree of comfort from her flesh-dimpling bonds.  The ropes were arranged in doubled loops, but without the multiple passes at the main lashing points that would have more evenly distributed the pressure of the bondage.  And speaking of dimpled flesh... the peach-pink, freckled, ginger-haired, bound and cleave-gagged little maiden was adorable.

I'm stuck in a rut, Cressida mused, as well as mother's cage.  I keep thinking of her as 'adorable.'  She sighed through Corky's knickers, which at the moment were stuffed in her mouth and would stay that way, thanks to the curved steel plate that acted as the cage's gag-strap.  She suspected the plate was sculpted to follow the contours of her lips and closed mouth, but couldn't be absolutely sure.  She'd been too preoccupied by the process of her "voluntary encasement" in the cage to examine the thing in the detail it deserved—but a mouth panel mimicking the appearance of an Elastoplast tape-gag, at least in terms of covering and revealing the contours of her lips, was just the sort of detail she'd expect in a Maggie Kilborn "sculpture."

Anyway...  Corky O'Brien, adorable.  Cressida sighed, again.  I'm falling in love with the little scamp, she realized.  That can't possibly be part of mother's plan.  My decision to 'play' with Corky only happened on a whim.  I noticed that Edna had hired a short, red-haired American as soon as Corky joined the staff, but... I didn't even know her name when I caught her spying on Morena.  After hogtying her in my bedroom, I had to hunt down a senior maid and ask.  And making her my handmaiden... that was also a whim.  What can it mean?

Beyond the thick, multiple panes of the window, the party preparations continued.  Cressida had never concerned herself with the details of staging one of mother's events.  A date was set and Edna worked her magic.  Why should Cressida care?  The castle's loyal, well-paid, talented staff did their jobs.  She wasn't actually "concerned" now, but she was impressed.  The maids were working up a sweat... and so was Corky, standing under the spotlights bathing the platform and her bound, gagged, helpless body in bright light.  In addition, a ginger strand of hair was plastered to her cleave-gagged face, enhancing her entertainment value.  The little captive wasn't dripping with sweat, but she was glowing.

Adorable.

At some point in the afternoon Cressida dozed off.  ...  Then, she opened her eyes.

It was now late afternoon, nearly sunset.  Corky was gone and the spotlights over the now empty platform were turned off.  Where is she?  The tables were laden with food, the champagne fountains were flowing, the party guests had begun to arrive, and they were all in Victorian costume.  Oh, it's one of those parties.  Of course, the maids had been in period costume all day and Cressida realized that should have prepared her for the fancy-dress nature of the soirée.  Cressida willed herself to come fully awake, blinking her eyes and squirming inside her steel encasement.  Blinking and squirming was all she could do.

The elegantly gowned women and formally dressed men were all masked, but Cressida recognized most of them, those that wandered near her tiny prison, anyway.  The majority were from mother's circle of friends and celebrities who had visited the castle and/or had been guests in the dungeons.  She also recognized a few of her own friends, mostly from school.  I wonder what mother is telling them, Cressida wondered.  Is there a cover story for my absence?  Maids in Victorian uniform were circulating, carrying trays of refreshments to those guests not grazing the tables.

The sound system had remained on but the volume was low, carrying only fragmentary conversations to Cressida's ears.

"These little seafood things are delicious."

"So is the champagne."

"Is that the youngest Middleton daughter?"

"I don't believe so, and it's very bad form of you to ask."

"Hear, hear.  Respect the anonymity of the mask, m'dear."

"Of course.  Please forgive me.  But are you quite sure?"

The sun had set and more guests contnued to arrive until there were more than a hundred milling around the ballroom.  She didn't see mother.  Her Ladyship didn't stroll past her section of wall, that is.  She's probably still manning the arrival line, she decided.

And then, Corky reappeared!

The little redhead shuffled past Cressida's section of the mirrored wall.  She was wearing the same high-button boots; full-length, high-collared dress; white, lace-trimmed apron and cap as the other maids; but in addition, she was accessorized.  A corset-collar of black leather encased her neck and lower face, simultaneously preventing her from turning her head and enforcing strict silence.  In addition, a leather arm-binder encased her fingers, hands, and arms behind her back, and light shoulder straps supported a large horizontal tray buckled to her corseted waist.  The tray held a dozen bubbling flutes of champagne.  Cleverly engineered openings in the tray, something like cup-holders, reduced the danger of spillage.

Guests were lifting flutes from the tray as Corky shuffled from group to group.  Smiles had appeared on their masked faces as the helpless maid arrived, but her captivity (and hotness) went unremarked.  To Cressida, this was hardly surprising.  It would be bad form to "notice" a servant, unless the situation required one to politely acknowledge their service.  Even a bound and gagged servant delivering champagne was "invisible."  In addition, mother's guests were fully aware that this sort of thing went on at Castle Tydwell all the time.

Eventually, Corky's tray was emptied and she shuffled away.  Cressida suspected her knees may have been bound together under the skirt of her uniform dress.  And then she was gone, lost in the milling crowd as she headed for the kitchens.

Time passed.

Finally, the lights dimmed except for a row leading from a pair of closed doors to the center platform and the spotlights directly over the platform itself.  The doors opened and two maids and a cloaked and hooded figure appeared.  The lead maid was holding a viola and bow and the second maid was leading the mysterious figure on a leash.

Lady Tydwell, dressed in white and without a mask, appeared near the platform.  Finally.  Good to see you, mother.

The figure's cape was removed—and a collective gasp filled the ballroom.  The figure was Morena Velzen, of course.  Her brown tresses were up in an elaborate Victorian style and her smooth, lightly tanned, well-toned body was completely nude—but for the stainless-steel, vaguely Art Nouveau chastity-belt girding her loins.  Cressida knew the gasp was one of appreciation, not surprise.  Mother's guests were no more taken aback by Morena's "costume" than they'd been by Corky's bondage.  The second maid untied the red ribbon binding Morena's wrists behind her back, Her Ladyship exchanged a few words with her guest-of-honor, then the first maid handed her the viola and bow.  Both maids curtsied and melted into the crowd.

Morena began her warmup.  Cressida knew this final preparation usually happened backstage, right before the soloist joined the orchestra and was presented to the audience, but not this time.  She's magnificent, Cressida sighed.  Mother's regime of exercise and sunbathing had enhanced an already vivacious young woman, even though the Dutch beauty had been her guest for only a week.  Morena was a divine vision, a living embodiment of Euterpe, the muse of music.  The lighting and general setting were making their contributions, of course, but Morena was magnificent!

There was a pause, then mother faced the crowd.  "Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Morena Velzen."

There was more applause... and the concert began.  Khachaturian's violin concerto in D-minor.  The work was one of Cressida's favorites, and mother's as well.  And speaking of mother, Cressida couldn't find her in the crowd.

Morena's technique was flawless, and Cressida appreciated the way she engaged in what might be called a conversation with the unseen conductor and orchestra.  Morena's "fellow musicians" were computer generated, of course, but their accompaniment was in no way mechanical.  In addition—and it was no small detail—Morena was flirting with the audience.  Her dimpled smile and the way she bobbed her shoulders and twisted at the waist as she played...  Morena's stage presence was mesmerizing.

There was applause between the first two movements.  And then, with the closing bars of the stirring third movement, the ballroom erupted in cheers and applause.

Suddenly, the thick, wooden back of the wardroom behind her, the door sealing her tiny cell, swung open.  Simultaneously, the curtain slid closed across the window and the piped in sound from the party went silent.  Next, the side brackets clicked open, and Cressida, the cage, and its supporting frame were wheeled out of the alcove, through the closet, and into the hallway beyond.

The frame spun around and Cressida could see that she had two rescuers: Karen and Beth, a pair of senior maids.  Both were blond.  Karen was from Bristol and Beth from Plymouth, if she remembered correctly.  They had each been Cressida's "playmates" on previous occasions, but in reversed roles, of course.  With leering smiles (but without actual comment) they stepped behind the frame and Cressida was wheeled away.

Cressida was returned to her immurement cell and released from the cage—a rather involved process.  Corky's knickers were extracted from her mouth and the chain was reattached to her collar.  Then, she was helped to the bed.  A third maid, Lily, yet another blond, arrived with a tray.  The frame and cage were wheeled away, the gate and dungeon door closed, and Cressida was alone.  She was hungry and thirsty, but first things first.

She heaved her aching body from the bed and creaked her way to the loo alcove, dragging her collar chain with her right hand.  The door panel slid open, she sat on the commode and emptied her bladder, let the bidet function splash her crotch, then drank from the washbasin and splashed her face.  Then, it was back to the bed and the waiting tray.

She lifted the tray's cover-cloth/napkin and discovered her dinner (also her lunch) was a very generous selection of the same tidbits that had been served to mother's party guests, as well as an open bottle of champagne and an upturned flute in a bucket of ice.  Cressida filled the flute and drank.  "Ahhhhh!"  Then, she sampled the hors d'oeurves.

Suddenly, the door and gate opened, again, and Ulfa, the blond, six-foot-something, Icelandic maid, entered the cell.  In her arms was a roped bundle, which was gently deposited on the floor near the bed.  She then curtsied and made her exit, closing and locking the gate and door behind her.

Cressida sipped champagne and gazed down at the bundle.  The bundle in question blinked a pair of green eyes and gazed back.

It was Corky, of course, and she was naked, gagged with a breather-ball-gag—a two-inch, hollow sphere of black rubber pierced by a dozen small holes and secured with a black leather strap—and bound with conditioned jute rope from shoulders to feet.  It was another reverse-prayer box-tie, the same basic technique as her earlier bondage in the ballroom before the arrival of mother's guests, only this time the ropes were more elaborate and redundant, with multiple passes above and below her breasts, pinning her upper arms against her torso, cinching her waist, and binding her thighs, knees, lower legs, and ankles.  There was no crotch rope, but thin cord secured with small bows bound her big toes and thumbs.

The Little Yank rested her head on the stone floor and continued to gaze up at her Mistress—but Cressida did notice the ginger prisoner was dividing her attention between her Mistress' smiling face and the food continuing to find its way to said Mistress' mouth.

God help me, Cressida thought as she gazed into Corky's big green eyes.  She's adorable.

Cressida took another sip of champagne, then left the bed and knelt beside her fellow captive.  She parted Corky's hair, unbuckled her gag, re-secured the buckle on the first hole, then turned Corky's head and eased the ball from her mouth.  "Hungry?" she inquired.

"Uh huh," Corky answered.

Cressida stood, retrieved the tray from the bed, carefully set it on the floor, then settled into a semi-lotus and eased Corky's head and shoulders onto her naked lap.  "I wondered why there was so much food."  She popped a crab puff into Corky's mouth, then refilled the flute.

"Yum!" Corky said after chewing and swallowing.  "Uh... I order you to untie me!" she huffed, then accepted a sip of champagne... followed by bacon-wrapped shrimp.

Cressida smiled.  "Yes, Mistress.  First thing in the morning, Mistress."

Corky heaved a long suffering sigh, and the meal continued.

"Don't be like that, darling," Cressida chuckled between bites.  "You know this is what mother intends, for you to be my prisoner for the evening.  Why else would you be here like this?  Didn't she tell you?"

"No," Corky huffed.  "Nobody told me nothin' 'bout nothin'."

A delicate shudder shook Cressida's aristocratic form.  "Your grammar is distressingly American, Miss O'Brien."

Corky smiled.  "Thank you."  She accepted a meatball dripping with sauce and skewered on a decorative toothpick.  "You realize that nothing has really changed?  I'm still the handler.  Your handler, I mean."

"Of course," Cressida agreed.  "For how long?"

Corky frowned.  "Excuse me?"

"They must have told you that," Cressida continued.  "How long will you be my handler?  When will my immurement end?"

Corky's smile returned.  "Oh, yeah... that."  She accepted, chewed, and swallowed another crab puff.

Silence stretched.

"Well?" Cressida said, finally.  "How long?"

Corky's smile became irritatingly smug.  "I know the exact date."

"Of my release?"

Corky nodded.  "But that would be telling," she purred.  "Eeeek!"

Cressida was tickling Corky's ribs, and the giggling redhead was squirming and twisting in her tight bonds.

"I have ways of making you talk," Cressida chuckled, then stopped tickling her helpless Handmaiden/Handler.

Corky was panting and smiling up at her Mistress/Prisoner.  She pursed her lips and blew an errant, ginger curl from her face before speaking.  "And if Mistress does make me talk, Her Ladyship and the House Mistress will be very disappointed."

"And more than ready to initiate a Grand Tour of the lower levels," Cressida sighed, "day after day visiting each and every torture chamber and giving each and every torture engine a thorough workout."

"Drama queen much?" Corky giggled.

"Is that more American-speak?" Cressida inquired.

"I suppose," Corky conceded.

There was another pause... then Cressida leaned close, took Corky's head in her hands, and they kissed.  The kiss was long, deep, and wet, with tongue.

"Nrrrf!"  Corky had forced a moan through Cressida's mouth and their lips parted.  "Could we please finish eating and move this to the bed?  This floor is hard."

"As Mistress commands," Cressida smiled, and popped another bacon-wrapped shrimp into Corky's smiling mouth.

"I still think you should untie me," Corky complained.

Cressida cocked her head to the side.  "Hmmm...  I think you're at least half right.  I'll untie your legs... later."

"My legs?"

"How can you spread them if they're tied together?"

Corky's smile widened.  "Good point... Mistress."

Cressida smiled back.  "Thank you... Mistress."

Morena's vacation lasted two more weeks.  There was a farewell concert out in one of the gardens with only Her Ladyship and the staff in attendance.  It was an intimate, casual affair with no set program, and several of the maids and kitchen staff who played instruments took part.  Folk music, rock, and jazz favorites filled the night air.

Cressida and Corky didn't actually attend, but they enjoyed the music and watched from a tower window with Cressida naked and tied to a comfortable chair with Corky sitting on her lap.  Okay, they did enjoy the music, but mostly Corky played with Cressida's breasts and there was a great deal of mutual nuzzling and kissing.  In short, they snogged the night away.

Down in the garden, Morena's costume was unchanged from the concert in the ballroom—her chastity-belt—but the belt was removed when the music finally stopped so the staff could bid farewell to Morena in their favorite manner.  The orgy lasted until well after midnight.

The next day Morena's clothes and luggage were returned, the maids helped her dress (which she found felt very strange), she kissed Lady Jane goodbye, and a limousine drove her to Heathrow for her flight home.  Vacation over, Morena returned to her recording and concert commitments with many happy memories... and an unusual set of tan-lines.

Morena's departure marked the end of the intense opening phase of Cressida's immurement.  Daily bondage "ordeals" became every-other-day ordeals, then weekly ordeals.  A writing desk was added to the immurement cell furnishings, making it easier for Cressida to keep her immurement journal, as required by family tradition.  She was also allowed books, and was catching up on her reading.  While in the cell, Cressida's collar remained chained to the handling machine overhead; but when not in her cell—for trips to the bath, to the "Guest Gymnasium" (the one with the restraints on half the machines), or to the castle library for more books—Cressida was kept closely chained and on a leash, with Corky in firm (and adorable) control.

As for clothing, Corky wore her uniform and Cressida her chains.

The pair's excursions were the hit of the castle.  Without fail, large numbers of the junior and senior maids always just happened to be in the vicinity, busy about their assigned tasks when Corky trooped by with Cressida in tow.  Also, Corky's semi-regular debriefings in the maid's dormitory at night always had an attentive audience.

In any case, Cressida's immurement was far from over.  Weeks and months of Cruel Captivity loomed ahead.  A great deal of languishing might be involved, but Corky would do her very best to see that her Mistress was never bored.