by Van © 2004
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actresses I would cast in a boxing kelly motion picture,
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The Sorceress' magical glowing guide vanished as Duana
entered the bathing chamber. She dropped her pack and sword belt
on a stone bench, then returned to the door, pulled it closed, threw
the substantial bolt, and wedged one of her boot daggers between the
bolt handle and door frame. She then strolled back to the bench,
unlacing her jerkin as she went. The chamber was dominated by a
large circular tub, so large it might better be described as an
pond. The sides were waist high, rounded, and tiled in lapis
It was full to the rim with clear water, and wisps of steam
on the mirror-like surface.
Duana's shirt followed her jerkin to form a pile next to the bench.
Her boots and leather pants were next, followed by her wrist
bracers, and the scrap of linen she used as a loincloth. The
stretched and flexed her limbs. She didn't entirely approve of
the Sorceress' Roman habit of dunking oneself in water,
but she had to admit it was a pleasant way to relax after a hard
She climbed over the rim of the tub and settled into the embrace
of the steaming water. The volume she displaced flowed over the
tiles and into a narrow drain running the circumference of the tub.
was a submerged seat around the inside wall, but the great interior of
the tub was dark and deep.
Duana sat on the seat and used a sponge to scrub her skin until she was
pink, then tossed the sponge over the rim and pushed off to
float in the center of the tub. She drifted on her back, arms and
legs spread and her hair floating like a fan on the shimmering surface.
The ceiling overhead was an open dome, stone arches that met at
ornate sculpture of a human, female figure curled in a fetal pose.
triangular spaces between were filled with clear, thick glass set in
frameworks. Through the heavy panes Duana could see the warped
of the rose vines that overgrew the entire castle. She closed her
Duana opened her eyes—and discovered with alarm the water level was
dropping rapidly, and taking her with it! The sides of the tub
loomed above her like the sides of an ever deepening well! She
swam to the side, but it was already far to late to grab the lip
of the seat. The tiled sides were smooth and slick and slanted a
few degrees from the vertical. Duana tried to climb, but there
nothing on which she could take a hold. Even the grout lines
the tiles were too fine for her nails to gain a purchase. She
and scrambled against the wall, shouting inarticulate curses as the
continued to drain away.
Then her feet landed on what felt like tiny pebbles or coarse sand.
The water was now gone, and she found herself at the bottom of a
deep well, her weapons and clothing tens of yards overhead, hopelessly
out of reach. She slogged to the center of the well, then
stooped to lift a handful of the material at her feet, and discovered
she was walking on countless millions of tiny metal rings. They
shone like polished silver, but were something else. She didn't
recognize the alloy. The rings were tiny, half the size of her
pinkie nails. She let them fall through her fingers—and was
alarmed to find that
several had somehow become linked around her lower fingers and the palm
her hand. She shook her hand, but the tiny chains were too tight.
Next she realized she had sunk into the rings up to the ankles.
She lifted her left foot, and discovered she was now wearing what
amounted to a chain mail slipper! Her toes were individually
in tiny pockets, and the mail fit the curves and hollows of her foot
exactly. Duana lifted her right foot, and found it similarly
"Sorceress!" she screamed, her voice bouncing off the tiles
of the well. "You lying slut! You treacherous
blackguard!" The rings slipped from under her left foot and
she was thrown on her side. She put her left hand on the surface
to gain leverage, it slipped under the surface, and she found herself
half swimming in the tinkling, roiling bed of metal. She
struggled to lift herself, and found she could no longer flex her left
leg. She looked down and found it smoothly and tightly encased up
to her lower thigh. Her left hand was encased as well, as if she
was wearing a perfectly fitting mail glove—a rigid, perfectly
fitting mail glove.
She thrashed and struggled and flopped onto her stomach. Now both
legs were encased, individually and collectively. "No!"
The more she struggled, the more the rings seemed to grow around
her. A chain of rings closed around the base of her right breast
and tightened until it bulged. She struggled to rise,
then lost her balance and rolled again... and now more rings had formed
a dome across the pink flesh of her breast and clicked together.
Another chain ring constricted the base of the nipple, and it was
covered as well. Duana attempted to lift herself on one arm, and
flopped heavily onto her side. The rings washed over her like
water, then receded, leaving more of her covered and encased.
Duana gasped! Her labia were individually captured in
pouches of mail, and more linked rings invaded her sex, pinched
a ring around the base of her clitoris, then snapped into an inflexible
shell. Her struggles weakened as rings covered her abdomen and
linked to the cups now covering both breasts. Her shoulders were
captured, then her neck.
"I'll kill you! You're dead, you—m'mmpfh—M'RFF
—mmm!" The rings covered her lips, then invaded her mouth
to trap her tongue, fill the entire cavity, and lock into a solid mass.
A chain mail hood covered her head, leaving openings only for a
topknot ponytail and for her eyes in front. Nowhere could
skin-on-skin. The mail cloth even stretched behind as
over her ears, up and under her armpits, and a ring's diameter into
her nostrils. Movement was nearly impossible, but she kept
trying... and the more she squirmed and struggled, the more difficult
it became... and her metal skin became tighter and tighter... and
Suddenly, the rings beneath the encased prisoner began draining away,
as the water had before. Duana found herself drifting in mid-air,
head up and feet down. She continued struggling, and
the constriction continued, individual rings falling away as tighter
connections were made. She drifted in a slow circle, staring at
the lapis lazuli tiles, squirming and wiggling, listening to the rings
click and tinkle as they tightened or fell... and eventually all motion
There was a flash, and Duana found herself in a different place.
Her vision was restricted, but what she could see suggested a
library and workroom of some sort. There were shelves full of
bound tomes and tightly rolled scrolls, and heavy tables cluttered with
and ceramic jars. She felt (just barely) something clamp around
mail encased feet. Then other objects snapped around her legs,
and torso. Immobilized as she was, Duana couldn't see what was
done to her... then the Sorceress herself strolled into view. She
had removed her red silk cape, but her cloth-of-gold gown remained.
was tight-fitting at the waist and left her arms and shoulders
bare. Her long, straight, pale hair hung down her back, and a
evil smile graced her angelic face.
"I believe your reward was to be a set of armor impervious to all
weapons," the Sorceress purred. Something settled over Duana's
head, clamped tight, and now she was gazing through the chain mail eye
holes and a narrow slit
Duana glared at her captor and forced several inarticulate and well
muffled remarks past her gag.
"I want you to see what I've done to you," the Sorceress said, and
raised her right hand. A full-length mirror drifted into view,
and Duana found she had been enclosed in plate armor. She was
standing atop a metal pedestal, her left gauntlet atop a shield propped
against her body, her right clutching a sword at her side. A
sallet with lowered visor covered her head, her ponytail emerging as a
decoration at the top. All of it looked like outrageously
expensive, fully articulated armor, but of course it was one immovable
outer encasement, tightly covering her inner encasement of mail.
The mirror drifted away, and the Sorceress was once again in Duana's
line of sight. "The mail and plate are adamantium, steel tempered
by transforming its carbon into diamant. There is nothing
stronger in this world." Her gloating smile became
unmistakably cruel, and she made a complex pass with her right hand
before Duana's angry eyes. "So you see... I've kept my
Duana and her adamantium shell began to shrink! As she watched,
the Sorceress' infuriatingly smug face passed from view and was
replaced by the expanding and rising vision of her flawless throat and
shoulders... then her gown-covered breasts... then the long, long, long
length of the gown itself... and finally the gown's hem.
The Sorceress, now a giantess from Duana's point of view, stooped
and lifted Duana's metal-clad form. She had shrunk to a height
of one span. Her gagged tirade continued as she stared at the
huge, gloating visage; but her well-muffled voice was now a
Duana was turned and found herself being carried towards a gigantic
table and chess set. She was set down and took her place as a pawn,
facing an opposing force in ebony armor. "There..." the
voice boomed. "Now you'll have plenty of time to contemplate how
much better your fate might have been if you'd precisely
followed my orders." Duana shivered in her incredible
bondage, the only movement possible, other than blinking her eyes.
Sorceress' voice continued, but it was fading. She were walking
"I grant you mercy, of a sort, and hope, Sword Maiden.
magic shall maintain your pathetic existence, and I may find
a use for your services later... perhaps in a year or two."
Duana heard a door close... then all was silence. I'll kill
her! I'll bathe in her blood! I'll chop her into a stew
meat and... and... Oh God—HELP ME!!!
ONE WEEK AFTER "DAWN'S
at the wildflower in her hand. She was kneeling in the dappled
of a willow near a small stream, dressed in one of Dorey's medieval
It was emerald green with rich embroidery around the square-cut
décolletage and at the hem of the loose, drooping outer sleeves.
sleeves were tight around her wrists, the bodice tight around her waist
and under her breasts. A sheer veil covered her hair, held in
by a narrow gold circlet around her brow.
Dressed in t-shirt, shorts, photographer's vest, and hiking boots,
Dorey was busy snapping pictures with her digital camera, just as she
had for the last hour. They'd begun with Kelly standing and
posing: Against a stone wall, a vine-covered arbor, an oak door with
elaborate iron hinges, strolling down a forest trail, and now kneeling
by the stream.
Model and photographer gasped—a butterfly fluttering across the
clearing had settled on the flower in Kelly's hand! Kelly smiled
and stared in wonder at the delicate insect. Dorey captured the
scene, then slowly, carefully moved to the side and captured it again.
The butterfly launched itself into the air and fluttered away.
Kelly and Dorey
locked eyes, and laughed.
"I've got all I need for now," Dorey said, then keyed her radio.
Seconds passed, then the radio squawked to life. "Dawn here."
"We're done with the Princess-in-the-woods stuff. You guys ready?"
"Ready and waiting," Dawn's voice replied.
"On our way—Out."
"What's up?" Kelly asked. "I thought we were done."
"Just a few pictures behind the barn, then lunch."
"I'll be glad to get out of this thing," Kelly confessed. "It's
Dorey gasped in mock outrage. "Are you criticizing my
"You are the Finest Seamstress in All the Land!" Kelly proclaimed with
a regal gesture, then tugged at her bodice. "It's just this
Princess prefers less restrictive couture."
Dorey laughed and led the way back to the Behr compound, changing
memory sticks in her camera as they walked. They rounded the
corner of the barn—and Kelly gasped... then smiled.
the stone wall of the barn was what was obviously one of Dawn's
Renfaire creations: A combination stocks and bench with a high back.
It was made from heavy timbers bolted and braced with iron
hardware made to appear hand-forged. Debbie Behr was seated on
her feet captured in the stocks, her back against the slightly sloping
back. Her arms were raised and her wrists manacled. She was
wearing a serving girl costume, but this one was finer than the one she
had worn the day Kelly and the youngster met, when she'd been modeling
of Dawn's "fiddles" at this very spot.
Debbie's skirt was a dusky rose color, her corset-like bodice black,
her blouse white and loose, the short, ruffled sleeves falling down her
arms and the gapping neckline threatening to expose her breasts.
Her hair was parted down the middle and plaited into two braids,
and a garland of wildflowers crowned her head. The cuffs around
wrists were purposely rough and crude, ragged bands of rawhide (fleece
on the inside), wrapped around her wrists and secured to the chains
from the top timber of the bench back with plaited rope. A
belt stretched across the bench and kept the captive's bottom on the
and her spine against the back. Her legs, mostly bare as her
was slit on one side, were flat on the bench and stretched full length.
Her bare feet (slightly dirty, of course) were about a foot apart
and solidly padlocked in heavy timber frames. The ankle holes
tight, but well-padded with scraps of lambskin fleece, and her big toes
were captured by nooses of thin cord and tied to iron nail heads
protruding from the stock's top timber. She was gagged (of
course), one rag stuffed in her mouth, and another folded into a narrow
bandage and tied between her teeth. She was a helpless, pathetic
sight... but her cornflower
eyes twinkled as she gave Kelly a welcoming, albeit gagged, smile.
Dawn was standing to the side, dressed in modern boots, jeans, and
tank-top. She exchanged a quick smile with Kelly, then nodded
towards her little sister. "Maid Deborah," she proclaimed with a
courtly gesture, "a slovenly serving girl who has dropped one
too many flagons of ale, slopped suds on one too many paying customers,
and... was heard to proclaim herself Beautiful as The Princess
Herself!" Nearby was a wooden post on a cross-shaped stand.
Dawn set it next to the stocks and turned its attached signboard
to face the front. The sign read:
the Miscreant Maiden!
1 crown —— 1 turn of the glass.
2 crowns — 1 turn & keep the quill.
signboard was a
horn cup filled with long feather quills, and a shelf with a small
sand-glass on a thin chain.
"One crown?" Kelly asked.
"Renfaire speak for a dollar," Dawn explained, then gazed at her still
smiling little sister. "Look at the cheeky little slattern,
sitting there happy as a clam..." She plucked a quill from the
cup, handed it to Kelly, and stepped back. "...a helpless,
Kelly smiled and strolled to the side of the bench, twirling the
feather in her hand. "As beautiful as the Princess... ummm?"
Debbie forced a pathetic whine past her gag, but her eyes were
Dorey was busy snapping pictures. "Let's see some acting, Brat,"
she said, "unless you want Dawn to take a quill and warm you
up for an hour or two."
Debbie's eyes darted to Dawn... who smiled sweetly... then back to
Kelly. The twinkle was gone and she began squirming and
Kelly continued smiling. Debbie was a truly pathetic sight, her
eyes pleading for mercy, her strong young body writhing in her
inescapable bonds, helpless and vulnerable. Well, Kelly
mused, why not? She held the quill before Debbie's wide,
terrified eyes and gave it a slow, delicate whirl. "Imagine," she
purred, "a common serving girl comparing herself to a princess!"
They locked eyes
and Kelly's smile turned evil. "The very thought. Surely
feckless pride merits severe chastisement." Kelly whirled
the feather near Debbie's throat and the helpless blonde shuddered and
went perfectly still, her eyes straining to focus on the threatening
Kelly gave the side of Debbie's neck a slow, delicate stroke, and
the prisoner whined through her gag, clinched her eyes tightly closed,
and suppressed a giggle.
Kelly let the feather wander up and down Debbie's throat, watching the
helpless girl squirm and struggle to maintain her composure, then took
a step back. Debbie opened her eyes and stared at her tormentor,
her bosom heaving and her nostrils flaring above her tight gag.
Continuing to twirl the feather, Kelly nodded towards the stocks.
"But the focus of this magnificent contrivance Mistress Dawn has
constructed is elsewhere... is it not?"
Debbie forced a heart-rending whine past her gag and shook her head,
causing the tips of her braids to sway.
"Oh, I think it is," Kelly purred, an evil, gloating smile on
her face. She slowly strolled to the foot of the bench, still
twirling the feather.
Kellan opened her eyes. She was in a stone-walled
chamber lit by sputtering torches. She was also lying on a pallet
of some sort, and was still bound with golden cuffs, bands, and chains:
Ankles together, wrists and elbows behind her back, collar around her
neck, and a brank with its head-cage and golden ball-gag. Her
breasts and loins were covered (barely) by golden cups and a triangular
shield, all secured with thin golden chains. She was dripping
with honey from head to toe, and her hair was plastered to her face,
neck and shoulders in a gooey, tangled mass. Her head was clear,
and she felt rested, but the half-dried honey was uncomfortable.
It clung to her skin, forming viscous, dripping ropes
as she writhed and rolled in the glistening amber pool covering the
Kellan heard a tinkling sound and lifted her head. Dallas
was walking towards her, emerging from a dark corridor. Her bonds
were similar to Kellan's, only they were steel and arranged in a manner
considerably less restrictive. Her ankle and wrist cuffs were
and joined by long chains with her wrists in front; and the torques
above her elbows were mere decoration. Kellan stared
in surprise. Dallas was clean, very different from the
trail-worn, filthy mess she had been. Her skin was unblemished by
a single scratch, scrape, or bruise. Her hair swayed in elegant
waves, flowing neatly
through the bands of the brank caging her head and gagging her lips,
naturally dark blonde hue lightened by pale streaks.
The Princess frowned. Dallas' blue eyes were open and staring,
and she moved with a stiff, slow gait, as if she were walking in her
sleep. A silver ewer was clutched in her chained hands.
rolled onto her back and bound arms and stared up at her fellow
prisoner, forcing a questioning noise past the golden sphere filling
her mouth and
the shield covering her lips. Dallas tipped the ewer and poured
the contents over Kellan's head. It was clear water, scented with
rose petals. She continued pouring... and pouring... and pouring.
The cool liquid sluiced over Kellan's face and hair; throat
and shoulders; breasts, arms, and torso; loins, thighs, legs, and feet.
Dallas continued pouring, wetting the writhing
princess again, this time from toes to crown. Obviously the ewer
enchanted, holding many times its apparent volume.
The torrent stopped, and suddenly Kellan was very cold.
She shuddered and shivered on the sopping wet pallet, goose bumps
up all over her body... and then the pallet was dry, and she was
looked down her captive form. Her skin was
and unblemished. Every scratch and cut was completely healed.
Even a childhood scar on her right knee was gone. She was
a dusting of freckles, as if she'd been bathed in sunshine, just
enough to give her a healthy, peachy color. She
shook her head and several long locks of hair flowed off her shoulder
into view. Normally straight and copper-red, her hair was now
curled, with reddish-blonde highlights.
Dallas set down the ewer, and Kellan noted a pint or more of water
slosh past the spout. It's still full, she realized.
Kellan lifted her gaze to her fellow captive's eyes. For an
instant, Dallas lost her blank stare. She blinked and her wide,
blue eyes were full of fear... then she gathered her strength, bowed
her head respectfully towards the daughter of her king... and winked.
Kellan smiled up at the young blonde. Good girl! Be
brave, Maid Dallas... and I will too.
Suddenly, Dallas shuddered in her bonds, her eyes full of pain.
Then her eyes glazed and she stood perfectly still. Kellan
caught movement out of the corner of one eye, turned her head, and the
Sorceress floated into view. Her bare feet were on pointe,
drifting several inches above the stone floor. Her pale, straight
hair and red cape roiled behind her, as if driven back by a great wind.
Her arms were raised and she was making complex gestures with her
hands. Her face was cold, beautiful, and hard. Her eyes
at Dallas with lightning intensity.
The Sorceress' voice echoed throughout the dark chamber, although, as
far as Kellan could see, her lips didn't move. "A strong will!"
She drifted to a stop and her feet settled to the floor.
She smiled down at Kellan (sending a thrill of fear down the
Princess' spine), then lifted Dallas' steel-gagged chin with her right
hand. "Admirable... but inconvenient. Get thee to the pits.
A dungeon cell awaits. You will see light again when I have
time for your training." She made a dismissive gesture and Dallas
picked up the sloshing ewer, slowly turned, and lurched away... down
the dark corridor from which she had come... her chains clinking and
tinkling as she walked... and then she was gone.
The Sorceress shifted her gaze back to Kellan. Her smile turned
decidedly cruel, and she made another gesture. Kellan found
herself floating in mid-air. Her body righted itself, her head
slowly drifting up and her feet down. The Sorceress made another
gesture and long, thick, golden rods flew out of the darkness from all
directions. All were curved, some like a strung bow, and some
like the body of a crawling snake. They took positions around
Kellan and floated in a slow circle, snake-like vertical rods in one
direction, semi-circular horizontal rods in the other.
"I have time to begin your training immediately, Princess,"
the Sorceress purred. The rods spun faster... and faster... and faster,
then snapped into a tall, narrow, body-hugging cage.
Kellan squirmed and shivered in the gibbet-like encasement.
The cage followed every contour of her captive form. Real
motion was impossible. A golden chain flew from the floor and
clicked to a ring in the cage base, a second chain dangled from the
darkness overhead and clicked to a ring on the top, then both chains
snapped taut with quivering twangs.
The Sorceress drifted into the air until her eyes were even with
Kellan's. Her hair and robe floated around her in slow, billowing
waves. "Your first lesson," she said, levitating backwards, "is
patience." And then she was gone.
The chamber's torches guttered. What little light there was faded
to total darkness. Kellan forced a piteous, despairing whine past
her gag, then her thoughts turned to Dallas... brave, feisty
A memory from her childhood surfaced in Kellan's mind. Her father
had gone walking in the town market, taking her along. He also
took three men-at-arms: two grizzled veterans and a beardless youth.
The soldiers were less for protection than to control what
quickly became a
very friendly crowd. The merchants pressed their wares on King
not for purchase, but as freely given gifts. The Royal Response
"Excellent grapes!" he told one vendor, breaking up the large bunch he
had been given and distributing it through the crowd. "Well worth
As they were returning to the castle, the wife of a tavernkeeper handed
the King her daughter. The youngster was perhaps three, and she
stared at Brom's strong, bearded face, her eyes wide with curiosity and
fear. Even Kellan could follow the war being waged in the
child's mind. Would it be tears or laughter? The crowd
watched in silence... then a smile curled the tot's lips, and she cooed
a giggling laugh. Both the crowd and the King laughed back.
Brom turned to face Kellan.
"Fortified borders? New towers of the latest design?
of trained warriors?" He held the giggling child high for all to
see. "This is the strength of a kingdom." The girl
continued laughing and the crowd cheered. "Never forget, my
Bound and gagged, caged and helpless, countless miles from home, the
prisoner of great magic, Kellan felt a tear roll down her cheek.
Brave, feisty Dallas... I'll get you home, Maid Dallas.
save you... unless you save me first.
| boxing kelly