CROWN Affair

by Van © 2003
Chapter 9
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Safely locked in a windowless guest room with her prisoner, Andrea used a small set of shears to remove all of Sally's bonds.  The nude, petite blonde stood before her former captive, current captor, and lover, first rubbing her wrists, then examining the pink indentation encircling her waist left by the padded cable tie that had first been tightened around her waist... nine days ago?

"That will fade," Andrea said, pulled Sally into a tight embrace, and gave her a quick kiss.  "I wish we had time to celebrate your parole, but we barely have time for you to shower."

Sally returned the kiss, then sighed, thinking of her partner, several floors below and encased in a humanoid metal statue.  "She's really gonna be okay?  She's really asleep... and okay?"

Andrea smiled, grabbed the clear rubber ball-gag dangling around Sally's neck, pulled it over the worried little blonde's head, and tossed it next to her sheared bonds.  "Your Katherine is fine... crated, sealed, and about to be loaded for her ride to the airport, if Helena's on schedule."  She turned Sally towards the suite's bathroom and gave her a gentle shove, followed by a smack on her naked behind.  "Shoo!"

"Ow!" the blonde pixie complained, rubbing her butt, but headed for the bathroom, as ordered.  She used the commode, then luxuriated under the hot shower for as long as she dared, making full use of the guest suite's "complimentary" soap and shampoo.  Finally, she emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, teeth brushed, body clean, and hair dry (mostly).  "Okay, squeaky clean," she announced.

"It's about time!" Andrea groused, a smile belying her complaint.  "Get over here."  Andrea was sitting at a small table, just finishing a bowl of müselix, milk, and fruit.  She gestured towards the table's second chair and poured milk over a second bowl. "You eat while I get dressed."

Sally sat and began eating her breakfast, watching with politely leering interest as Andrea unbuttoned and removed her sleeveless cotton blouse, then unzipped and peeled off her toreador pants.  Underneath, the pale, freckled redhead was wearing a lacy demi-bra and matching bikini panties.  She sat on the guest room bed and pulled on a pair of sheer white pantyhose, stepped into a pair of black pumps with medium heels, then stood and shrugged into a short white slip.  

Sally finished the last of her müselix and wiped her lips and chin with a linen napkin, then watched Andrea walk to the far wall and thumb a small switch.  A motor whined and a curved metal bar lowered from the ceiling, suspended on a steel cable by its center.  It had a padded hand grip and a leather strap dangling at each end.  "'Old Man Lacing Bar'?" Sally muttered.  "I thought I had a parole?"

"Oh, you do," Andrea purred, "but that's no reason we can't do things with style."

Sally stood, stepped to the center of the room, and placed her hands on her hips.  "Ya know, Red... I think I can take you.  I did it before."

"You surprised me before," Andrea noted.  "I've been trained by Kimber.  Besides... we're locked in and only I know the password, and if you cause any trouble... Helena will take it out on Katherine."

Sally glared at the gloating redhead for several seconds, then stepped forward and raised her arms so her wrists could be secured.  "I still think I can take you," the pouting blonde muttered.

Andrea buckled a strap around Sally's left wrist... then around her right.  "When we get to Theraxos... I'll give you a chance to find out."  She then opened a drawer, produced a pair of sheer white stockings, and knelt at Sally's feet.  She tapped Sally's right ankle and the still pouting blonde lifted her foot and pointed her toes.  Andrea slid the stocking over Sally's foot, up her leg to her upper thighs, and smoothed it with her hands.  Sally planted her right foot and lifted her left without prompting.  Andrea fitted the left stocking, then stood and walked back to the wall switch.  She turned back and smiled, and thumbed the switch.

The winch turned and Sally was pulled up into full stretch.  "Hey!" she complained, dancing on her nylon-clad toes.  "Do ya have to be so... Helena?"

Andrea laughed, stepped forward, knelt, and buckled a thin leather strap around Sally's ankles.  She then stood, straightened her slip, and pulled the blond captive into a tight embrace.  Her pale hands wandered over Sally's buttocks and back, breasts and tummy, then slid between her thighs and brushed against her sex.  Sally shivered in her bonds and bit her lower lip.  "Yes... it really is a pity we're in something of a hurry," Andrea whispered, nibbling on Sally's right ear.  

Sally shuddered, then sighed when Andrea returned to the chest of drawers, opened another drawer, and pulled out what was unmistakably a corset.  It was made from a satiny white fabric, and had stays, white laces, and dangling garter straps.  "If you're in such a damn hurry," Sally complained, "why don't we forget the corset?  Wha'cha say?"

Andrea smiled and began fitting the corset around Sally's waist.  "Oh... we aren't in that big a hurry.  Thomasina insists that her guests, employees, and slaves always dress properly."

"Smile when you say 'slave'," Sally mumbled, as Andrea closed the corset and gave it a twisting shake to settle the smooth fabric against Sally's skin.

"I am smiling," Andrea purred, stepped behind her prisoner, and began the lengthy, tedious process of tightening the corset's laces.

Sally squirmed and pulled on her wrist bonds.  The corset had a shelf which cupped and thrust her breasts upwards (exaggerating her normally modest cleavage).  Its bottom rode her hips.  As the laces were tugged tighter and tighter, her waist became smaller, and smaller.  "Hey... that's enough, ain't it?" she complained.

"It's only just beginning to meet," Andrea explained, and continued tugging on the white cords.

"Yer killin' me!" Sally panted.

"Big baby," Andrea chuckled.  "I'm finished."  She tied a double square knot and snipped off the laces' long, dangling free ends.  "You're lucky I'm not Helena.  She'd start with the laces this tight, then get her corset hooks and take you in another inch."

"Yer jokin'!" Sally gasped.  "That would kill me."

"No, it only makes you wish you were dead," Andrea said.  She snapped the corset's elastic garter straps to the tops of Sally's stockings, then opened the closet door and pulled a white blouse off a hanger.  She donned the blouse (a silk/cotton blend) and buttoned it closed, including the top button, then added a short, simple, narrow, black silk tie that was secured at the front with a small gold pin in the shape of a crown.  Next, she stepped into a powder blue mini-skirt and zipped its side closure.  Finally, she donned a matching jacket, and it became clear the light blue garment was a uniform, a flight attendant's uniform.  A gold name tag above her right breast read "ANDREA," and on her left breast was a pair of gold wings, in the form of an angel holding a crown, or perhaps a winged Greek goddess.  Each cuff was encircled by a narrow gold stripe.  She pinned a matching blue pillbox hat atop her red hair, and tucked a pair of white gloves into her jacket pocket.

Sally watched Andrea dress, still dancing on her toes.  "Cute," she muttered.  "I take it you'll be serving drinks during the flight?  Can I pre-order a double gimlet?"

Andrea smiled and pulled a second powder blue suit from the closet, then a second white blouse.  The blouse draped over one arm, she lowered the lacing bar and unstrapped Sally's left wrist.  "Stand still, please," she purred.  "With your ankles strapped, if you fall you might wrench your shoulder."

"I'm touched by your concern," Sally muttered sarcastically.

The left sleeve of the blouse over Sally's arm, Andrea re-secured the little blonde's left wrist and released her right.  The right sleeve was pulled over her arm and the right wrist was re-secured as well.  The smiling redhead was nice enough not to re-tighten the cable, so Sally remained flat footed with her arms comfortably raised.  Andrea smiled at her prisoner as she settled the blouse over Sally's shoulders and torso and began buttoning the buttons.  The blouse was relatively sheer and about a half size too small.  Sally's corset supported breasts bulged against the top, and her nipples were clearly visible through the light fabric.

"I suppose a bra and panties would be too much to ask for?" Sally groused.

"No bra, no panties, and no slip," Andrea confirmed, then buttoned the blouse's top button.  Sally's tie was next, only her tie was a narrow, black leather collar with a dangling steel ring.  The collar was buckled under the collar of her blouse, secured with a tiny padlock, and turned until the buckle, lock, and ring were to the back.  This revealed a pretied and permanently affixed silk tie at the front, similar in appearance to Andrea's, only its crown-shaped pin was actually a stud piercing the collar and the silk folds.

Sally swallowed.  "It's too tight," she complained.

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" Andrea agreed, a coy smile on her angelic face.  She then unstrapped the captive's ankles, slipped the uniform skirt up her legs and zipped it closed.  A pair of black pumps were next, but their heels were taller than Andrea's, and they secured with narrow ankle straps that locked with tiny heart-shaped padlocks.

"I'm gonna break my neck trying to walk on these things," Sally complained.

"You'll get used to them," Andrea assured her, "probably somewhere around the mid-Atlantic."  She unstrapped Sally's wrists, thumbed the wall switch, and "Old Man Lacing Bar." rose out of sight.  Andrea picked up Sally's jacket and held it open.

Sally shrugged into the jacket, buttoned it closed, then turned to admire herself. in the guest room's full length mirror.  Her name tag read "SALLY (TRAINEE)," her wings were smaller, a cherub lugging an oversized crown, and there was no stripe on her sleeves.  "Well... ain't I a cutie," she muttered sarcastically.

Andrea pinned a hat atop Sally's head and embraced her from behind.  "Oh, you are, Blondie," the grinning redhead whispered, "cute as the proverbial button."  She tugged on one of Sally's jacket buttons for emphasis, then handed her a pair of white gloves.  "Put these on," she ordered.

Sally started to do so, and encountered difficulty.  "What's with these things?" she asked.  "No fingers and thumbs."

Andrea helped Sally don the gloves, then took her left hand.  "Hold still," she ordered and secured three snaps on the inside wrist.  She then secured the snaps on the right glove.  "There.  We're just about ready to leave."

Sally flexed her fingers in the gloves.  The seams of the fingers and thumbs were sealed together, making them more mittens or flippers than gloves.  Also, the material was exceedingly slippery.  Sally tried to unfasten the glove's wrist snaps... and failed miserably.

"Don't worry," Andrea purred, kissing Sally's lips, "once we're on the plane and it's time for you to start serving drinks, I'll take them off."

"Imagine the depth of my gratitude," Sally mumbled.

Just then the guest room door opened and Helena entered.  The black-haired, pale-skinned beauty was dressed in a charcoal jacket over a black turtleneck, black leather skirt, and black knee boots.  "Are you finally ready?" she demanded, directing her question to Andrea.

"Yes," Sally answered.  "Thank you for asking."

Helena's head swiveled and she locked eyes with the diminutive blonde.  "If I hear one more word from you before we're out of American airspace, I'm going to stuff your mouth with cotton wool and glue your lips together.  Is that clear?"

Sally swallowed and nodded gravely.

"This... 'parole' arrangement you have with Little Red is very much against my better judgment.  If I see so much as a hint of you trying to escape or signal someone... I'll redefine the term 'bondage', for you and Andrea.  Clear?"

Sally's eyes darted from Helena to 'Little Red'... then back to Helena, and she nodded.

Helena turned back to Andrea.  "Hold her!" Helena barked, and Andrea grabbed Sally's elbows.  Helena produced a pair of flexi-cuffs and tightened them around Sally's wrists, securing them together in front.  She then reached into her jacket pocket and produced an inhaler, the kind used by asthma suffers.  "Open," she ordered, and Sally did so.  Helena inserted the business end of the inhaler in Sally's mouth.  "This won't hurt a bit... unfortunately," Helena said, and sprayed a full charge from the inhaler down Sally's throat.

Sally gasped, then opened her mouth to complain... but only the sound of escaping air emerged.  Sally's eyes popped wide and she continued gasping.  Helena smiled, enjoying the captive's distress.

"Shh... calm down, Sweetie," Andrea cooed.  "It's just a drug that paralyzes your vocal cords.  It'll wear off in a couple of hours."  She returned to the closet and pulled two blue-gray raincoats from hangers.  She draped one through Sally's arms and over her hands (camouflaging her bonds), and draped the other over her own left arm.  "C'mon," she told Sally, taking the captive's left arm.  "Time to go to Greece.  Don't worry; you'll love it."

"I guarantee," Helena purred, taking Sally's right arm.  

Sandwiched between her captors (and not at all reassured by Helena's 'guarantee'), Sally was hustled out the door.
Chapter 9
Katherine opened her eyes... and focused on a stone wall.  She wasn't much of a geologist, but the rough blocks looked like marble, a dark variety with rust and pinkish white veins running throughout.  The blocks were big, maybe a half meter on each side, and their shapes were a mixture of square, rectangular, trapezoidal, and triangular; arranged in an irregular and complex pattern.  The seams between blocks were uniformly tight, with no evidence of mortar, and the staggered, careful placement seemed to lock everything together.  Stone... Katherine mused.  Marble...  She shook her head, and came fully awake.

She turned, to the accompaniment of much clinking and clattering, and discovered she was in chains.  She was also naked... still naked.  A collar was around her throat, a steel belt around her waist, and manacles and shackles on her wrists and ankles.  All of the tight, thick bands (collar included, she assumed) were smooth and gleaming; not chrome bright, but a dull stainless steel.  They were heavy (collar definitely included), and linked by heavy chain.  About two feet linked her manacles and passed through a ring in the front of the belt.  Two additional feet separated her shackles, and from a ring in that chain's center an additional length traveled up through the ring in her belt and on to her collar.  Finally, the collar was secured to another chain, and this one was long; several feet, in fact; and ended in a large steel ring embedded in the wall.

Katherine was lying on a thick pallet.  Its cover was a coarse but comfortable, smooth fabric, like bleached burlap, and was dyed a deep blood red.  There was also a pillow of similar color and fabric, and neatly folded at the pallet's foot, two blankets, one light and one heavy, both simple in material, unadorned, and the same dark red.  The pallet itself (and Katherine) was on a slightly raised shelf of stone blocks.   All the comforts of home, Katherine mused.

The room... make that 'dungeon cell', she decided... was big, more than a thousand square feet.  For two thirds of the chamber the ceiling was low, perhaps seven feet.  The remaining third tapered upwards to an angled shaft with a rectangular vertical opening high overhead.  Katherine couldn't see the opening from the pallet, but sunlight was streaming down, making a grid pattern on the stone floor.  She surmised the window was heavily barred.

A stream of water was falling through the sunbeam and splashing into a shallow depression in the dungeon floor.  A slot-like channel led from the depression to a soccer ball size hole in the floor, several feet away.  Water!  Katherine realized she was very thirsty.  She climbed off the pallet and its stone shelf, and dragged her chain towards the falling stream.  She stood under the water and drank.  The water was fresh and cool... and delicious.  She wet her face, then stepped back and looked up.

The opening was a barred window, as she'd surmised.  It was perhaps three feet square and was protected by bars as thick as her wrists; but the presence of bars was somewhat superfluous.  The angle of the shaft made climbing up to the window impossible, even if Katherine could somehow escape her chains.  Further, starting two thirds of the way up the shaft, curved iron spikes were set in the stone on all four sides.  They started out rather dull and short, little more than tapered iron pegs, but by the time one reached the window, they were a foot long, curved down the shaft (towards Katherine), and looked sharp as a griffin's claws.  "Impossible," sighed, and turned to examine the rest of her cell.

She realized the opening in the floor was a commode; a deep shaft leading down into Stygian darkness.  It was odorless, so either it hadn't been used in a very long time, or the flushing action of the constant water stream was quite efficient.  There was a low, raised ring of stones surrounding the pit, pierced only in one place to admit the water channel.  It was too low and rough to serve as a seat, and Katherine realized it was there to prevent her from blundering into the hole in the dark.  She stared down the hole and shuddered.   Waaay too narrow to serve as a means of escape, but I could easily break a leg in the thing.  She continued her visual exploration of the cell.

The far wall was a long curtain of vertical iron bars, as thick as the bars guarding the window and very closely spaced.  An iron gate was solidly hinged and bolted in the center of the curtain, between two double-thick bars.  Katherine assumed the gate was locked, but the point was moot.  Her chain allowed her a limited arc only a couple of feet past the waterfall and glory hole.  The gate was several yards beyond.

Whatever was behind the wall of bars was lost in darkness.  To her left, also beyond the reach of her chain, a vertical wooden post was set in the floor and ceiling.  It was round and smooth, a peeled log, finished with a varnish or wax that accentuated the grain.  Katherine surmised it was not a structural support, as several small but substantial rings were spiked into the log at the top and bottom.   It's something to be lashed against.  (Katherine had several steel stanchions in her New York loft she used for just that purpose... when "training" Sally.)  The opposite wall had four rings set into the stone, two near the ceiling and two near the floor, each pair about six feet apart.   Standing spread-eagle, Katherine mused, imagining  herself with her wrists and ankles tied or chained to the rings; either facing front with her buttocks, back, and shoulders against the cold stones; or facing the wall, with her breasts and stomach against the rough marble.

Katherine stared up the window shaft, then turned and stared into the darkness beyond the bars.  Okay... down to business.  She dragged her chains back to the pallet, sat down, and examined her manacles.   Three pounds each, she guessed.   Maybe a little less.  They were a perfect fit, smooth and (she was forced to admit) comfortable.  She could tell instantly she would never be able to wiggle out of the broad, thick cuffs, short of amputating her hands.  The staple-like half-ring on each cuff that attached to the connecting chain seemed permanent, but she looked closer and found hairline seams through the half-inch thick steel.  There were also pairs of seams on the cuffs themselves, one near each staple, and one opposite.  A small crown was engraved near each seam, and Katherine could see five tiny pin-holes, one at the point of each tine in the crown, and a hairline, transverse slot running through the crown's headband.

"Oh shit," Katherine muttered, finding similar seams and crowns on the sides of her shackles.  "Magnetic locks."  She realized the crowns were for aligning an electromechanical key which would guide tiny bearings or pins along channels inside the cuffs, locking and unlocking the complex mechanism that held the restraint closed.

"Very good, Ms. Banning!" a voice echoed through the cell.

Katherine started and raised her head to find Helena standing on the far side of the iron gate.  

"There will be no picking those locks, I assure you," Helena said.  The chained prisoner glared at the smug, dark-haired beauty as she unlocked and opened the gate, then walked into the cell.  On her feet were laced sandal-boots, similar to what a Roman legionnaire would have worn.  The rest of her costume was equally suggestive of Ancient Rome: a mini-skirt of thin, wide, bronze-studded, overlapping leather straps; a form-fitting, corset-like, strapless, leather bodice with half-moon bronze cups supporting her breasts; wide bracers on both wrists; and a ribbon-thin, leather headband.  A wide belt was around her waist, with a coiled whip and a small, purse-like pouch with a bronze clasp.  All of the leather was smooth, slightly pebbled, and gleaming black.

Katherine smiled.  "I bet you have every season of Xena on DVD," she purred.

"I see your journey hasn't dampened that delightful sense of humor," Helena responded.  "Did you have any pleasant, drug induced dreams? ...or should I say nightmares?"

Katherine stood and took several steps towards Helena, dragging her chain but uncowed.  "Someday I'm going to return the favor."

Helena laughed.  "Nowhere in my underworld will you find 'abandon all hope' engraved anywhere; but I wouldn't plan on extracting your revenge any time soon... if ever."  She unfolded a cloth she'd been carrying in her left hand.  It was long and narrow, like a neck scarf, but was several feet in length.  It was rough linen, of the same deep red shade as Katherine's bedding.  She tied an overhand knot in the middle of the cloth and stepped behind Katherine.  The knotted cloth passed over her head.  Katherine sighed... and opened her mouth.  "Such a sensible slave," Helena cooed, thrust the knot in Katherine's mouth, and tied the cloth at the nape of her neck in a tight cleave-gag.  She then pulled Katherine's elbows close, looped one free end of the cloth through, and cinched them together.  Head back, chin up, and manacled hands fluttering at her sides, Katherine forced several no doubt very rude complaining noises past her gag.  Helena tied the cloth off and took the other free end in her hand.  This was passed across Katherine's eyes and around her head twice, then knotted below, near the gag knot.

Katherine felt something metallic ping against the front of her collar, then slide into a socket and turn.  The chain linking her to the wall fell away.  Yep... magnetic lock.  Something new, possibly Helena's whip, was snapped to the collar staple, then jerked taut.

"Time to get reacquainted with your owner," Helena purred, and pulled on the leash.  Katherine, of course, had no choice but to follow her lead.
Chapter 9
Encumbered by her twenty five to thirty pounds of collar, manacles, belt, shackles and chain; gagged and blindfolded; Katherine stumbled down a narrow, echoing corridor.  Next, she climbed a narrow, circular set of stone steps; then was dragged down another corridor; climbed another set of steps... then another.  Finally,  a door opened, and Katherine realized she was outside.  She could smell saltwater and hear waves crashing against rocks.  She also heard seabirds calling and felt a damp wind gusting against her bare skin.

The leash snapped, and the journey continued.  The air was hot, but not unpleasant.  They climbed more stairs, and Katherine felt the sun on her skin.  The cloth over her eyes glowed redly.

They stopped and the leash at Katherine's collar was removed, then Helena tapped the back of her knees with one boot.  "Kneel, slave," she ordered, and (growling angrily through her gag) Katherine complied.  The cloth binding her elbows was untied, then the gag, and finally the blindfold.  The cloth was jerked free and Katherine blinked in the bright sunlight.

Katherine was on a balcony overlooking a magnificent seascape, and Helena was walking away towards a door carved into a cliffside, folding the red cloth as she went.  Katherine heard the wind ruffling cloth, turned to face the opposite direction... and gasped.  Thomasina Crown was reclined on a marble couch under a canopy of white linen.  She was dressed much as Katherine remembered her from the costume party back in New York, as a Roman Lady, in a gauze-thin chiton of buff linen.  A violet, ribbon-thin sash was tied harness-like around her body, accentuating her curves and pressing the chiton's sheer fabric against her skin.  Sandals were on her feet and her hair was piled atop her head and elaborately plaited, with the exception of a few thin curls which graced her brow and dangled elegantly to either side of her face.   She's beautiful, Katherine mused, trying not to stare at Thomasina's perfect breasts... swan-like neck... moist, full lips...  A frisson of pleasure coursed through Katherine's loins; then she clenched her fists.  I hate her!

"Welcome to Hellas," Thomasina purred.  "Welcome to Theraxos... my home."  She made a broad gesture.

Katherine stood and shuffled in a slow circle, taking in her surroundings.  She was perhaps fifty yards above the sea, and the balcony she shared with her "hostess" was one af many studding the rocky cliff.  The red tiled roofs and whitewashed walls of small buildings dotted the summit overhead.  She looked over the low wall of the balcony and saw a small group of buildings clustered around a sheltered beach.  Small boats bobbed in the water or were hauled up on the sand.  Off shore a rather impressive yacht rode at anchor, as did a smaller, but equally impressive motor cruiser.  There were other islands nearby, and Katherine realized she was on the largest of a small archipelago.  She turned back to face her captor.

Thomasina gestured towards a second marble couch (padded with thick cushions, of course), and a low table loaded with a veritable gourmet feast.

Katherine's stomach growled, and she realized she was very hungry.

"Won't you join me for lunch?" Thomasina suggested, a broad, sincere (if slightly coy) smile lighting her angelic features.

Katherine closed her fists until her knuckles were white.  She stood before her captor; tall, proud, and defiant in her chains.  "You can go to hell!" she muttered through clenched teeth.
Chapter 9

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