the capture and release of the Corbyn Matriarch and Paige the
Cruel (her villainous red-haired minion) marked the end of the
Bondage Olympics for that summer.
Bernadette and Paige put their heads together and decided to be
big about the Great Youth Rebellion. That is, they decided
to immediately punish neither their rebellious daughters nor
their fully complicit friends with paracord, tape, stretch-wrap,
or spherical gobstoppers of medium-density foam applied as
hideously tight bondage and plea-stifling gags. (The fact
that they were outnumbered six to two might have had something
to do with their decision.)
That said, Bernadette's arrival, her hijacking of the vacation
agenda, and the nocturnal events that followed did not put
an end to the formalized shenanigans. Paige may have
scrapped her elaborately preplanned Olympic Events, but she came
up with a fun and ingenious substitute: Random Asymmetrical
Duels, or RADs. Here's how they worked:
Each morning after breakfast—unless Mrs. C had decreed they were
all going on a shopping trip into town (with lunch at her
favorite restaurant) or some other sort of super-fun field
trip—Teams Alice and Chelsea would assemble (resplendent in
their lavender-purple or jade-green bikinis), and Paige would
roll a pair of six-sided dice, one purple and the other
green—twice. The high number of the first roll determined
which team would provide the Binder and the low number the
Bindee. In the event of a tie, the die was rolled
again. In the event of a second tie, however,
both teams agreed to chase down, tie up, and tickle either Paige
or Bernadette, but only for one hour. Certainly no more
The second roll determined the specific identities of the Binder
and Bindee according to the following table:
There were several noteworthy RADs, memorable for the Binder,
the Bindee, and the spectators. For example...
| Chapter 10
SOPHIE MAKES THINGS CLEAR FOR BETTY
"You Dexterized her!"
"She did, indeed," Ripley agreed, smiling evilly.
"I think you may owe HBO royalties," Ivy added, then
frowned. "No, wait. Dexter
is still streaming somewhere, isn't it? Does anyone know
"Does it matter?" Chelsea purred gazing down at Betty, while
Betty gazed back. "No one will ever know what happened to
her, so no one will come asking for royalties."
All members of both teams (except for Betty) cackled like Dr.
Evil (even if they all were wearing bikinis and looked nothing
like Austin Power's nemesis).
Poor Betty was naked, lying flat on her back on a 1" x 12" x 8'
board of sanded pine, and multiple tautly stretched layers of
clear plastic stretch-wrap bound her in place! The only
things exposed to the hot summer air were her bare feet, crotch
and upper thighs, tummy, boobs, and her nose and big brown
eyes. Her long, straight, brown hair draped off the end of
the board and a band of wrap pinned her forehead in place,
reinforcing similar layers across her already tape-gagged
mouth. And oh-by-the-way, Sophie had flipperized Betty's
hands as the first step, and the flippers in question were to
her sides under multiple layers of clear plastic!! The
captive's fingers and hands were completely useless to her.
"Of course," Alice added, "it's not a true Dexter
because of the tape."
Sophie had reinforced (unnecessarily) Betty's stretch-wrap bonds
with multiple layers of clear T-REX tape, doubly binding Betty
to the board at her ankles, above and below her knees, her hips
and lower tummy, above and below her breasts, across her mouth,
and across her forehead.
Something like 30% of Betty's firm, fit body was exposed.
The rest was shrouded under tight, form-fitting layers of clear
plastic and tape.
"It's an enhanced Dexter," Chelsea suggested, and the
others nodded in agreement, even Alice (reluctantly), and except
for Betty (who was physically unable to nod).
Sophie blushed and gave a cute little curtsy. "Gee, thanks
guys," she giggled.
Betty's big brown eyes blinked and her gaze darted from face to
face as she silently begged for rescue/release. Sadly, her
eyes and toes were just about the only things she could move,
but she definitely didn't want to wiggle her
toes. They might draw unwanted attention! Feathers
might appear and tickling might occur!
"I like the way her skin shows through the plastic," Ripley
sighed. "It's nearly... translucent. Know what I
"Yes, we know what translucent means," Ivy chuckled. "We
"Swim?" Chelsea suggested, and the others nodded and padded
away, abandoning Poor Betty to her nearly-plastic-packaged
fate. There was no reason for prolonged gloating.
Betty would be there when they got back.
After the swim, they propped Betty and her board up so she could
watch them eat lunch, (which was delicious, by the way), then
returned her to the horizontal. She'd been under the
dappled shade of the pergola all morning and during
lunch, but Sophie produced a pump-bottle of Guava-Orange
Aromatherapy Body Lotion (from Bath & Body Works®) and
moisturized every exposed square inch of Betty's body (except
for her hair and eyes), anyway. At St. Ignatius Island,
Aftercare is mandatory.
| Chapter 10
ALICE LEAVES RIPLEY IN SUSPENSE (& SHE HAS TINY
Alice pointed out that
whereas the official Bondage Olympics were cancelled for the
year, there was no reason they should feel constrained by the
Head Umpire's arbitrary choice of materials. A solemn
bikini-clad conference was convened and all members of both
teams solemnly agreed. So, Alice padded into the
mansion... and eventually returned with a large duffel-bag
crammed full of neat coils of quarter-inch conditioned hemp
rope. (It was Alice's personal stash of authentic Japanese
And then, Alice ordered Ripley (her pouting brunette victim) to
remove her jade-green bikini. She did, and then...
"Alice went all Shibari on her ass!" as Chelsea would
later put it.
Ripley wound up in a horizontal hover a few inches below the
Mandevilla vines of the pergola. Her left leg was bent at
the knee and ladder-tied from thigh to ankle. Her right
leg was stretched to the side and lashed to the top of a
post. Her wrists, arms, and upper body were bound using
the "shotgun" technique. Her left arm was behind her back,
her right arm raised and folded back, and her wrists tied
together behind her back, and a torso harness was added to make
sure everything stayed exactly where Alice wanted it.
There was also a crotch harness to support Ripley's hips (and
A dozen or so vertical and diagonal ropes supported Ripley's
body, including one rope knotted in her coiled hair to support
her gagged head. Everyone present (including Ripley)
agreed that Alice had done a magnificent job. The
tension on the suspending ropes was uniform and evenly
distributed. Clearly, as a rigger, the oldest Corbyn
sister knew her stuff. Even Chelsea was smiling, proud of
her older sibling's engineering acumen and not ashamed to show
And Alice wasn't done! She produced a pair of clover-style
nipple clamps and put them to their intended use! She
opened a pair of spring-loaded steel jaws... and captured
Ripley's left nipple—"MRRRF!"—followed by her right
nipple—MRRRF!"—and without so much as a by your leave!
Oh the drama! Of the cruelty! Sophie was scandalized!
"Alice!" she whined, defending the honor (and nipples) of her
"Relax," Ivy purred, then planted a kiss on Sophie's
cheek. "Those things have pretty weak jaws and don't hurt
all that much. Believe me. I know."
Now that Sophie noticed, Ripley's distress did seem to be
rather... theatrical. "Oh." She gave one of her cute
little Sweet Sophie shrugs. "Never mind."
And then, Alice upped the ante (by a few ounces) by hanging a
weight from the light chain drooping between the two clamps!
The weight in question was a hummingbird feeder full of
artificial nectar (granulated white table sugar to water at a
ratio of 1:4). Granted, the feeder was the smallest in the
mansion's inventory, and they usually didn't bother putting it
out for the local hummers. It only held a few ounces, and
the local flying jewels sucked it dry in no time. The
pergola was always host to much larger feeders that were
replenished daily, as well as being cleaned regularly to prevent
the growth of mold (which can be fatal to
Anyway, the cute little saucer-style feeder in question now
dangled invitingly between Ripley's clamped nipples.
Ripley might have complained about the
nipple-clamp-and-nectar-feeder escalation of her suspended
sentence, but Alice had taken the precaution of gagging her in
the traditional Japanese manner using three long, six-inch wide
strips of white linen. The first strip was folded,
knotted, and deployed as a tight, mouth-filling
cleave-gag. The second strip was folded once and used as a
tight over-the-mouth gag. The third was left unfolded and
covered Ripley's lower face from nose to chin. Acting
together, the three strips made an effective gag. Ripley
could make very little noise. She could, however, stare a
steady stream of daggers at her smiling, bikini-clad Binder, and
Betty, Ivy, Sophie, and even Chelsea admired Alice's artistic
ingenuity, shaking her hand, kissing her cheeks, and patting her
on the back. They then collectively decided to go for a
nice refreshing swim. (Morning swims were very popular at
St. Ignatius Island.) Anyway, Alice suggested Ripley
should "hang out for a while," giving her admirers a good laugh,
then they all got wet, abandoning Poor Ripley in suspended
However, Ripley wasn't alone for long. It was only about
three minutes before the first Anna's
Hummingbird arrived. The tiny wonder was
mostly green, with a little white and gray, and was absolutely
adorable! Ripley was thrilled (as well as naked,
bound, gagged, and suspended). At first, the female hummer
seemed a little tentative. (Ripley looked up hummingbirds
in the mansion's library the first chance she got and confirmed
her first visitor was, indeed, a female) She hovered and
gave a nervous little tic-tic-tic call... but finally,
she sampled one of the blossom's three feeding ports, inserting
the tip of her bill and flicking her long tongue into the clear
nectar... sampled the nectar again... then landed on the
feeder's circular rail, gripping it with her tiny little feet,
folded her tiny wings, and settled in for a nice, long,
tongue-lapping drink. She was adorable!
Ripley had never seen anything so cute! She'd seen
hummingbirds before, of course, both this summer, during
previous visits to the Corbyn mansion, and at home, but never
And as far as Ripley's nipples could tell, Anna's hummingbirds
are weightless! Who knew?
The little green lady was the first of several hummingbird
visitors Ripley received during her term as Alice's
Bindee. That night at dinner, she told the others all
about her buzzing visitors with gushing, giggling, and not at
all Gothic enthusiasm. Her friends were impressed and
amused (especially Sophie).
Alice made a mental note to herself. After the current
vacation, after all their visitors had gone home (as well as
Mother), and when the hummingbirds' fall migration was at its
peak, she intended to bind her little sister to a pergola post
so tightly she couldn't wiggle, then surround her with
nectar-feeders. She was sure Paige wouldn't object, and
her kid sister would find the experience... educational.
| Chapter 10
IVY & CHELSEA IN THE STRETCH
Once Alice's Shibari rope
collection was out of the bag (so to speak) the brown coils were
used several times. On one memorable occasion, Ivy was the
Binder and Chelsea the Bindee. Being an honorable damsel,
Chelsea cooperated fully, allowing Ivy to make her artistic
vision real without interference. The end result:
Chelsea was completely naked, up on the toes of her right foot,
and with her left arm raised overhead. Her left leg and
right arm were folded and lashed to themselves,
ladder-tie-fashion, from ankle-to-knee and wrist-to-elbow,
respectively. Neither limb was tied to anything else, so
Chelsea was "free" to flap them like flippers. However,
she didn't, meaning she didn't flip, wave, or flutter her folded
extremities. There was no point.
An elaborate harness of horizontal and diagonal hemp strands
bound Chelsea's torso from shoulders to crotch, and vertical
ropes traveled up and down between steel ring dangling from the
pergola and her body. In short, Alice's little sister was
semi-suspended at her crotch, the torso-harness, her coiled and
bundled hair, and her left wrist. And the crotch-rope was
of the cleaving variety, in that it bisected Chelsea's
labia and butt-cheeks! The pressure was uniformly
distributed between the suspension-points and her right foot was
able to contribute to the support of her weight, which was
good. That said, she knew that eventually the foot in
question would get tired (and possibly cramp), and she'd find
herself riding the crotch-torso-harness, which was not
Being in excellent physical condition and with a low body-fat
index, Chelsea had always had remarkable muscle tone, but the
tiptoe supported stretch and arm reach were enhancing their
definition. Sophie remarked that in her current
predicament, Chealsea made for an excellent anatomical
training aid. Ripley suggested they find a suitable
reference work and hold an impromptu anatomy class. Alice
shook her head and apologized that the mansion's library didn't
include a copy of Gray's
Anatomy. Betty went in search of an iPad to
see if she could find a human anatomy reference online.
The discussion turned to whether they should use a permanent
Sharpie®, a ballpoint pen, or perhaps a feather to trace and
label each muscle once it was identified.
Chelsea had strong opinions on the matter, but they were
rendered inarticulate by the foam ball stuffed in her mouth and
the Microfoam tape covering her lower face from nose-to-chin and
At that point, Bernadette and Paige joined the group,
resplendent in white and black bikinis, respectively, and vetoed
marking up Bernadette's youngest daughter's tan skin,
permanently or otherwise. However, they did compliment
Ivy on a job well done, then ordered the youngsters not dangling
from the pergola to take a swim... and they reluctantly did
so. Their bikini-clad elders joined them.
Just then, Betty reappeared, waving an iPad and babbling
something about Wikipedia. She realized she'd wasted her
time, heaved a disappointed sigh, deposited the iPad on a
convenient side table, then padded after the others and jumped
into the pool.
All on her own and almost dangling from the pergola,
Chelsea watched the watery fun and glowered at her villainous
friends, evil mother, and the cruel redhead who ruled the
mansion. Objectively, she knew somebody had to be
the Designated Damsel Du Jour... but that didn't mean
she had to like it when it happened to be her.
| Chapter 10
to several more notable Officially Sanctioned Daytime RADs
(Random Asymmetrical Duels), there were additional, un-official,
nocturnal RADs, all of which took place after lights out
and in various bedrooms. Of course, they might actually
have been impromptu practice sessions for daylight
RADs-to-come... or they might have been romantic liaisons by
moonlight (with rope). Who knows? Anyway, most were
one-on-one, most were between teams (meaning Team Alice vs. Team
Chelsea), but a few were within teams.
(There were also elderly shenanigans involving Bernie
and Paige, of course.)
In any case, everyone agreed it would be very de classe
to expose (so to speak) transitory personal sleeping habits to
general ridicule and/or teasing. What happened in darkened
bedrooms stayed in darkened bedrooms, and was nobody's
business (as long as they kept the noise down and didn't disturb
the general domestic tranquility).
The exception that made the rule was, of course, Bernadette and
Paige. If either of them showed up at breakfast
visibly exhausted and/or with might have been ropemarks
on their wrists or other anatomy, the youngsters gossiped about
it mercilessly, but only behind the oldsters' backs.
(Also, while Alice and Chelsea tolerated the gossip-fests about
their mother and Paige, but didn't participate to any great
extent. (And to their credit, they managed not to get
visibly sick when the topic of Mother and Paige messing around
came up. Yuck!)
Anyway, the final day of the vacation finally arrived, there
were tearful farewells, Paige distributed souvenir coils of
white paracord to Betty, Ivy, Sophie, and Ripley, and the former
rommates departed in their rented SUV. Mother Corbyn
stayed an additional day, then drove away in her fancy
SUV. She'd already sent an e-mail to Lady Tydwell to get
the ball rolling for next summer's castle vacation.
Everyone agreed that this year's severely abbreviated and
compromised Bondage Olympics had been a complete and total
disaster, but were looking forward to next summer's excursion to
the Green and Pleasant Land (England).
|| Chapter 10
STARRING IN THE Epilogue...
Keenan Wynn as...
|Lady Jane Tydwell
☻ 5' 5" (1.65 m)
☻ Brown hair
☻ Left eye brown
right eye blue
☻ 5' 7" (1.70 m)
☻ Brown hair
☻ Brown eyes
☻ 5' 5" (1.65 m)
☻ Red hair
☻ Green eyes
Corky O'Brien found
herself in a bit of a pickle.
Somerset County, England
Down in the Dungeons
Firstly, she was naked. Secondly, she was straddling what
amounted to an elaborate Sybian with its vibrating phallus
lodged in her pussy! Thirdly, she was in what might be
called a flying vertical spread-eagle, with her wrists
and ankles locked in padded manacles and shackles and all
attached to taut chains!
Most Sybians are semicircular padded hassocks with a vertical
phallus and a horizontal latex strip studded with nubs or
ridges. The masturbatory stimulus (the point of the
exercise) is provided by an electro-mechanical vibrator
controlled by a rheostat. The user straddles the device
with the bar and phallus positioned where they'll do the most
good, then rides the vibrations to orgasm. This can happen
voluntarily, or (as was the case with poor, naked, helpless
Corky), the user can be bound in place, removing the element of
This particular Sybian was... unusual. Rather than being
hassock-shaped, it took the form of an English riding saddle,
and rather than resting on the floor, it was solidly mounted
atop a vertical timber post embedded in the stone floor.
There were no ornate carvings or turnings in the wood, nor was
there decorative tooling on the saddle; however, the wood was
darkly stained and the leather of the finest quality. Most
important of all with respect to aesthetics, the proportions of
the Sybian-saddle's elements were pleasing to the eye. It
was a work of art (as well as an instrument of erotic torture).
Riding any Sybian to orgasm can be a delight. But being
forced to continuously ride one, especially after
having already achieved orgasm and with the relevant body-parts
now at the height of sensitivity? That could be
torture... depending on who was at the controls.
And speaking of controls. The Sybian-Saddle was the very
height of Information Age modernism. There were no
unsightly dangling wires trailing to a control box or console
with levers, dials, or buttons. The insidious (but
artistic) device was controlled via WiFi. Any laptop or
tablet running the appropriate app could be used to vary the
timing and intensity of the stimulation, as well as control an
array of modulation/stimulation subprograms.
And speaking of Corky not being in control... As
previously mentioned, she was spreadeagled. Her legs were
stretched full-length to either side with her ankles in wide,
heavy, well-padded, and form-fitting shackles tautly chained to
iron rings set in the floor. Her wrists were locked in
similar padded manacles and her arms outstretched to the left
and right and chained to iron rings in the ceiling.
Kicking her pale, freckled legs was out of the question, and she
could barely tug on her wrist-chains. Corky's most
vigorous struggles were barely enough to make her breasts wobble
and shake, and lifting herself off the phallus, the ridge of
knobs, or the saddle itself was quite impossible.
Equally impossible was complaining about her situation.
Corky's head was caged in a harness of thin leather straps that
solidly lodged a large rubber ball in her gaping mouth.
She usually kept her ginger hair long and curly, but she'd
recently had it straightened, cut, and styled in a classic
pageboy. And whoever had rigged the harness-gag had been
careful to evenly distribute her now short, red locks among the
straps and leave her new coif intact (more-or-less).
The chamber in which Corky was incarcerated (and stimulated)
was, in proper English understatement, adequately heated.
Her peachy-pink and freckled skin was rather flushed, and it glowed
with a patina of unladylike sweat. In fact, beads of
sweat dripped down her body... including her thighs, flat tummy,
chest, and pert breasts. Her nipples were pointing, but
that probably wasn't due to the elevated air temperature.
Despite Corky's best efforts to pout, sulk, and induce crippling
guilt in her captor, she'd been stripped naked, chained in
place, gagged, the Sybian-Saddle programmed to give her a quick
but devastating orgasm, and then to continue buzzing
at an exceedingly low and decidedly irritating level from that
And who was the rigger/captor in question? Who had done
this unspeakably cruel thing to Poor Corky O'Brien? It was
the Honorable Cressida Tydwell, of course.
Cressida was the daughter (and only child) of Lady Jane Tydwell,
and Corky-the-cute-little-Yank had started her career with the
Tydwells as one of their small army of Junior Maids. She'd
caught Cressida's eye, Cressida caught all of Corky,
and the adorable ginger was promoted to Cressida's Personal
Chambermaid. And within a year, Corky was elevated further
to her current post as Cressida's Personal Assistant, Lady's
Companion, and Confidant. That meant when Corky
accompanied Cressida to London or on her other travels, she did
so wearing the latest fashionable/expensive designer
clothing. Cressida loved playing dress-up with
her "Corky-doll." That also meant Corky only had to wear a
skimpy, sexy, humiliating and/or traditional maid's uniform when
they were in residence at the Castle... or when she wasn't naked
and tied up, of course.
[Author's note: How Corky
Met Cressida is detailed in Immured
Anyway, using the excuse of testing the latest Sybian-Saddle
software update, Cressida had dragged poor Corky down to the
dungeons, placed her in her current naked, bound, gagged,
sweaty, and spreadeagled predicament... used the Saddle to bring
the Poor Yank to orgasm... then abandoned her in low-level
vibratory purgatory and gone upstairs for a cup of tea.
She'd only just returned to the overheated dungeon.
Cressida had decided the appropriate costume for torturing
adorable American redheads was full riding costume: brown
knee-boots, camel-tan riding breeches (with suede patches over
her inner thighs and seat), long-sleeved blouse in white with a
lacy, white matching tie, and a black riding jacket—but given
the perpetually overheated conditions down in the dungeon, she
opted to go déshabillé from the waist up. That is,
Cressida was topless. Also, she had a riding crop
conveniently tucked down her right boot. One never knows
when a disobedient ginger might need "touching up," does
one? Cressida's stylishly tousled brown hair was currently
cut short in an off-the-shoulders bob. The dungeon might
be slightly overheated, but Cressida hadn't been subjected to a
vibratory orgasm, nor had she been abandoned to languish in
low-level vibration. Therefore, while her firm, fit, tan
body did have a definite glow, her exposed
skin wasn't nearly as... fluid as Corky's.
Cressida smiled at her devoted servant (playmate, and lover).
The devoted servant in question smiled back... with her green
eyes, anyway. The gag-harness was rendering the rest of
her smile more-or-less as a grimace. Truth be told, Corky
loved being the Bottom to Cressida's Top, but one must
keep up appearances. She squirmed in her bonds and whined
through her gag, telegraphing her distress with crystal
clarity. It was heartbreaking.
Cressida's heart was not broken; however, a thrill
rippled through the crotch of her riding pants and across
her exposed nipples. Cressida loved her Corky,
and the feeling was mutual. Everyone in the Castle knew
it, from the lowliest Junior Maid to Lady Jane herself.
They were an adorable couple.
Cressida's smile turned evil. "This latest upgrade
includes a dozen or so sub-programs designed to keep the, uh,
'user' hovering at the cusp of orgasm indefinitely," she
purred. "Supposedly, they're highly effective
frustration torture." She paused to pluck an iPad from a
table near the door. "I suppose due diligence requires a
test of each and every one, don't you agree?"
Corky did not agree. "Mrrrf!" In her
current condition, she was hardly a good test subject, but even
though she knew her opinion on the matter was of little
consequence, she had to try.
Just then, the dungeon's heavy timber and iron-banded door
opened—"Creeeeak!"—and Lady Jane strolled into the
chamber. She was wearing one of her stylish, expensive,
sundresses, this one in Royal Blue. As usual, Lady Jane
looked stunning. But then, Her Ladyship would need the
services of a highly talented theatrical makeup artist if she
wanted to look less than stunning. The Tydwells are
blessed with very good genes.
"Good news, darling," Lady Jane gushed, planting a kiss on her
daughter's right cheek. "The window of possible dates for
the Corbyn visit next summer is firming up. Our New York
office will coordinate with their New York office."
"Wonderful, Mother," Cressida purred. She stabbed the
screen of the iPad, then shifted her smile to Corky.
Lady Jane's eyes were also on Corky and her predicament.
Her Ladyship had a refined appreciation of the naked
"I suppose I should light a fire under the oubliette project,"
Cressida purred. The Castle was always undergoing
maintenance and minor renovations, but at the moment a team of
expert stonemasons were at work in a chamber on the other side
of the dungeons, converting an already existing dungeon cell
into what would be more-or-less a stone-lined dry-well, a very
deep stone-lined dry-well.
"We have several months, darling," Lady Jane noted.
"But we want all signs of new construction to have time to
fade," Cressida countered. "And that includes the outgassing of
any adhesives or stains. No worries. I'll handle
"Our New York office is also preparing dossiers on the Corbyns
and their guests, who will be our guests," Lady Jane
stated. "You've met Bernadette Corbyn."
"I have," Cressida nodded. "She's... cute."
"As the proverbial button," Lady Jane purred, "as well as
feisty." Her smile widened. "And remember, she's
mine, daughter... but wait 'til you meet her daughters.
New York is sending you photos gathered from social media.
Alice and Chelsea are as beautiful as their mother. I'm
sure they'll be a lot of fun. And Bernadette
assures me her daughters and their friends are all
enthusiastic... shall we say... hobbyists?"
Cressida's dimples deepened as her smile widened. "You
mean they're bondage freaks like us?"
Lady Jane sighed and rolled her eyes. "Don't be crude,
"Sorry, Mother," Cressida purred. "Hmm... Alice,
Chelsea, plus four more... I think I should order an
inventory of the tack room. We may not have sufficient
ponygirl harnesses on hand in all the relevant sizes."
Corky had been following the conversation, her green eyes
darting from Lady Tydwell—to her beloved Cressida—and
back. But now, something was happening between her legs...
and inside her pussy! The Sybian-Saddle was
pulsing! So far, the pulses had been low intensity
and with no perceptible pattern... but now, the frequency and
strength was... increasing? She was sure of
it! Well... pretty sure. A shudder shook
her glistening, freckled body and her breasts quivered.
"Well... I'll leave you to it," Lady Jane said, but her smile
remained focused on Corky and she made no immediate move towards
the dungeon door.
Corky continued shivering, quivering, and weakly tugging on her
steel bonds. The chains didn't even sway. Also, her
green eyes were growing visibly desperate. It was horrible!
Or mesmerizing. Or both. Corky panted through her
harness-gag and her breasts began to bob in earnest as her
"ordeal" continued. The vibrator or vibrators built into
the saddle were, indeed doing their thing with increased
enthusiasm. The crescendos of the buzzing pulses were
barely audible, but Corky could definitely feel them.
Cressida leaned to the side and kissed Her Ladyship's left
cheek. "Goodbye, Mother," she chuckled.
Lady Jane blinked, then a sheepish smile curled her lips.
"Goodbye, Daughter." She then shifted her smile to
Corky. "Goodbye, my Dear Little Leprechaun." She
left the chamber, pulling the heavy door closed behind
Cressida continued smiling at her "suffering" lover. Now,
her bare chest (and breasts) were nearly as flushed and beaded
with sweat as her maid's.
Corky continued sweating and shivering, but not cumming.
So far, the frustration element of the software upgrade was
passing its test. She was very hot and bothered,
but release remained elusive. Corky tried moving herself
on the phallus, but her stringent bonds severely limited her
ability to lift up and drop back down. Lubrication,
however, was not an issue.
Cressida couldn't wait to see the photos of Bernadette Corbyn's
offspring and their friends that were supposedly waiting in her
e-mail queue... but there was no reason to hurry. Corky
was putting on quite a show.
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