by Van ©2013
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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.
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.
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
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."
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.
"So is the champagne."
"Is that the youngest Middleton daughter?"
"I don't believe so, and it's very bad form of you to
"Hear, hear. Respect the anonymity of the mask, m'dear."
"Of course. Please forgive me. But are you quite
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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.
"Well?" Cressida said, finally. "How long?"
Corky's smile became irritatingly smug. "I know the exact
"Of my release?"
Corky nodded. "But that would be telling," she
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
"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
"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...
"How can you spread them if they're tied together?"
Corky's smile widened. "Good point... Mistress."
Cressida smiled back. "Thank you... Mistress."
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.
| Chapter 10