|TALES OF THE FOXWOOD B&B
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The hum of machinery.
Hannah heard the hum of machinery.
And a wet bubbling sound.
It was background noise, and it wasn't particularly loud or
annoying. Nothing was
annoying, really. Hannah felt completely relaxed and at
ease. She opened her eyes—Ow!—and immediately closed them again. Bright lights! Now that was annoying.
Hannah was on her back with her legs together and her arms at
her sides, lying on a padded surface, and she was covered with a
sheet. It wasn't a bed, exactly. More like a cot,
no, a padded table, and...
"M'mmpfh!" Hannah's memory came flooding back. I've been kidnapped!
She tried to rise—"M'rrfh!"—and failed, miserably. Straps
of some sort were holding her down! She opened her eyes,
again, this time squinting as her eyes adjusted.
She was in some kind of laboratory. To her left was a
table laden with clear glassware in various exotic shapes, much
of it hanging from a framework of steel rods and clamped
together and bubbling and dripping and... Okay, it was a big
To her right were cabinets and shelves laden with books and
wooden boxes and strange instruments and machines made of brass
and glass and steel.
In the other two directions, behind her head and beyond her
feet, she could see the shadowed form of several rather large
mechanisms of no obvious purpose. They had brass gears
that meshed and turned and were lit by banks of blinking lights
and glass tubes pulsing with sparkling tendrils of violet
Dr. Frankenstein's lab!
I'm in Dr. Frankenstein's lab! Sydney! Where's
Sydney? And Jillian?
Her eyes had finished adjusting and Hannah could now see
that the lab was probably a pretty big room, but most of it was
lost in shadow, thanks to the glaring banks of old-style
operating theater lights suspended directly overhead.
She tugged on her restraints. They creaked and felt like
leather, but were hidden by the crisp, white linen sheet
covering her body and leaving only her head and shoulders
And she was gagged. It felt like tape, covering her lips
and most of her lower face. There was nothing stuffed in
her mouth, just the tape. Hannah worked her jaws and
probed with her tongue, but the adhesive held.
Hannah lifted her head and looked down her shrouded body.
She squirmed, struggled, and took inventory of her unseen
bonds. Wide, padded cuffs confined her wrists and ankles,
and broad straps were stretched across her thighs, waist, and
chest, just below her breasts.
And—oh-by-the-way—under the sheet she was pretty sure she was
naked. The white cloth preserved her modesty—but
underneath... naked. Also, her "Saxon braids" were
unraveled and her long, blond hair lay about her head in a
loose, tousled mass.
Hannah heard the tap of heels on a hard surface and turned her
head towards the sound. "M'rrfh?"
Two female figures emerged from the shadows. They were
about Hannah's height, by her best guess. Both had brown
hair, but were dressed in very different ways.
The one on the left was wearing gold-rimmed glasses. Her
hair was up and she was clothed in a white lab coat over an
old-fashioned dress with a high collar. Her entire look
was old-fashioned, so much so that her attire could only be a
Hannah decided, the
1890's. What do they call them? 'Gibson
girls'? No matter how "Four-Eyes" was dressed...
she was stunning; slender but with biggish boobs that strained
the top buttons of the lab coat.
The woman on the right...
Hannah glared and made a rude comment—or tried, anyway.
The woman on the right was wearing a leather catsuit exactly
like the ones worn by the kidnappers back at Foxwood. She
probably was one of
the kidnappers! The only things missing were the leather
helmet, mask, and goggles. Her long brown hair was loose,
framing her high-cheeked face, and her beauty was easily on a
par with her "doctor" companion. Granted, her boobs
weren't as big, but her smaller pair suited the leather-encased
proportions to her svelte, athletic figure quite nicely.
"What's she upset
about?" the catsuited kidnapper purred, a gloating, infuriating smile curling
shrugged. "I assume you're being your usual charming,
"I'm asking if you've already started 'entertaining' her."
"No," Four-Eyes replied. "She's simply restrained.
Here—" She took hold of the top edge of the sheet.
"—let me show you."
"N'rrrrrff!" Hannah struggled and squirmed, fighting the
straps with all her strength. They creaked and slid
against her skin, but any slack achieved was strictly
transitory, gained by her body compressing the padding in one
place and negated by added pressure, elsewhere.
Four-Eyes removed the sheet and folded it. Catsuit gazed
at Hannah's nude, helpless form with a feral, appreciative grin.
Hannah met her stare and growled her contempt.
"Nice muscle tone," Catsuit noted. She reached out, cupped
Hannah's right breast, and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Firm
and well-developed, but without being stringy. Most of
your experimental subjects aren't this attractive."
Hannah moaned through her gag, continuing to struggle.
"I like her coloring," the scientist said.
"Yes," Catsuit agreed, "that luscious, all-over tan." Her
hand slid from Hannah's breast and settled on her lower abdomen,
just beyond the waist strap.
"M'mmmf!" Hannah's bonds were, indeed, leather and were
buff in color—'medical
restraints', she decided. The wrist-cuffs were
wide and well-padded. The remaining straps were also wide,
about two or three inches. The cuffs on her ankles were
similar to the ones on her wrists.
"I like her nice, thick bush," Catsuit purred, combing her
fingers through Hannah's dark-blond pubic hair.
Hannah locked eyes with the grinning brunette and stared the
"Yes," Four-Eyes agreed. "Clean-shaven has its place, as
do the various styles of clipping and waxing, but a semi-wild
little brier patch suits her quite well." She unbuckled
the strap over Hannah's thighs and thumbed a switch somewhere on
the side of the table.
Hannah heard a quiet hum and felt a vibration—and her ankles
began to separate. She struggled, but the motor easily
defeated her efforts to resist. The lower part of the
table, from her hips down, was opening like a pair of scissors,
each half taking one of Hannah's legs with it.
"M'mmmpfh!" This continued until she was nearly splayed
into a full split. Then, the mechanism locked.
"Help me," Four-Eyes asked, and began buckling a strap around
Hannah's left leg just above her knee.
Catsuit stretched a similar strap above Hannah's right knee,
smiling as she cinched it tight
secured the buckle. She than stepped between Hannah's legs
and placed her right hand on her pussy.
"N'rrrf!" Hannah complained.
"Settle down, Blondie," Catsuit chuckled, then smiled at
Four-Eyes. "Are we going to do the piercings now?"
"M'MMMMPFH!" Hannah struggled anew, with predictable
Four-Eyes shook her head. "I've scheduled a number of
preliminary sessions with the machines to evaluate her orgasmic
potential. We'll move on to alterations after that.
In any case, it's too soon. I haven't yet designed her
"We can at least pierce her nipples and nose," Catsuit
suggested. "The sooner they're done, the sooner they'll
Hannah's heart was pounding. She couldn't help it.
"You have plenty of playmates to help you pass the time,"
Four-Eyes chuckled. She wheeled over a small cart, lifted
a cloth cover, and held up a steel speculum.
Hannah continued struggling.
tan, brightly lit body. Then—her eyes popped wide and she
froze in place. Four-Eyes had slid the blades of the
speculum between her labia and was closing the handle. The
instrument opened with a ratcheting vibration—click-click-click-click-click—until
most intimate anatomy was stretched and on display. Hannah
shivered and moaned through her gag. The blades were
smooth, hard, and cold.
"Easy, Number Forty Two," Four-Eyes said, then focused on
Hannah's gagged face. "That's your designation, by the
way: 'Experimental Subject Number Forty Two'. Remember
it. I am Mistress Patricia—" She gestured towards
her catsuited companion. "—and this is Mistress
Jaclyn. Remember that, as well."
"On the rare occasions when you are ungagged and given
permission to speak," Jaclyn added, "that is how we will be
addressed. Anything else will result in punishment."
Hannah shivered, again. 'Mistress Patricia" had used an
atomizer to spritz a clear spray over her entire crotch.
It was cold... and then she felt a gentle warming and tingling
sensation. She squirmed in her bonds, helpless.
Patricia wheeled away the cart and Jaclyn took her place,
leaning close to ogle Hannah's stretched and exposed
pussy. "Hmm... very nice. Seven rings, I
think. Three for either lip and one for the clitoral
"I told you," Patricia chuckled, "not yet. Out of the
way." She was trundling over... something. It had
small, squeaky wheels and was covered with another cloth.
Jacklyn stepped aside and helped her push it close to Hannah's
Hannah felt a pair of solid clicks
vibrate through the base of the table as the thing
snapped into unseen clamps. She lifted her head as
Patricia removed the cloth—"NRRRR!"—and screamed through her
A fucking machine!
Propriety aside, there was no other way to describe it!
The device's brass gears, piston arms, leather drive-belts, and
spinning governors reminded Hannah of a table-top model of a
stationary steam engine, only it appeared to be electrically
powered. Like the rest of the furnishings of the lab, it
had an antique, vaguely Victorian style.
And by the way—a phallus of translucent, natural rubber mounted
on a shaft was sticking out of the thing, and its anatomically
correct tip was less than an inch from Hannah's spread pussy!
"Don't worry, Forty Two," Patricia purred. She was using a
small brush to paint some sort of thick, glistening gel on the
phallus. "Your first session with the Orgasmogenic
Oscillametric Vibratron will involve only a little thrusting."
"It'll give you a good buzz, of course," Jacklyn added.
She'd walked to Hannah's left side and was stroking her hair and
smiling down at her tape-gagged, anxious face.
"Yes," Patricia continued. "This first session is mainly
to familiarize you with the apparatus. There will be long
periods of inactivity punctuated by periods of low to moderate
stimulation. You will experience several orgasms."
"Eventually," Jaclyn said. "You'll learn to cum on
command." She continued combing Hannah's hair with her
fingers. "You'll also learn to endure prolonged
stimulation without cumming.
Many of our clients find both forced orgasms and denial torture to be
Hannah stared up at Jaclyn's smiling, predatory face. Clients? Where the hell am
I? What is this place?
Patricia had removed the speculum and was making adjustments to
the machine. The shaft nudged her labia... then eased them
aside and the cool, slippery phallus slid into her vagina.
"The heat lamps will keep you warm," Patricia said, "and now,
we'll leave you to enjoy yourself."
"Things to do," Jaclyn purred.
Patricia threw a switch and the machine began to hum.
"M'mmfh!" Hannah could feel the phallus trembling... and
pulsing... and sliding back and forth, slowly, perhaps an eighth
of an inch in each direction. The bright lights overhead
blinked off and several smaller, orange-red lamps mounted in the
same fixtures began to glow.
"Peckish?" Jaclyn asked Patricia as they strolled into the
"Some tea and cucumber sandwiches would be nice," Patricia
"NRRRF!" Hannah screamed after them. The sliding and
vibrating of the Orgasmo... whatever-the-hell-she-called-it
increased in tempo. It was slow and not particularly
intense... but it was making itself known.
Hannah struggled and bucked, fighting her restraints.
Then, she collapsed, panting through flaring nostrils as her
breasts heaved. The machine was now definitely fucking her...
in a rather perfunctory manner. The dim, reddish light
from above caressed her glistening curves. Hannah closed
her eyes and shivered as the phallus buzzed and thrust.
Where am I? she
wondered, squirming and tugging on her bonds. Sydney! Jillian! What
are they doing to you?
Suddenly, the phallus stopped vibrating and sliding. It
was still inside her, but now as an inanimate presence.
The machine's gears continued to turn and its lights continued
to blink in regular patterns, but the shaft was locked in place.
Hannah sighed through her gag. If her captors had been
telling the truth, this was only a lull in the action. Her
"ordeal" was only beginning.
Who are these people?
Sydney, what have you done?
|| Tales of the Foxwood B&B: AMoM
all richly embroidered fabrics, floral wallpaper, fringed lamps,
etc. However, while individual pieces of furniture might
have been genuine antiques, there wasn't the musty smell of
century-old drapes and carpets. With a quick visual
inventory she tallied a canopy bed with four exceptionally
sturdy posts, an armoire, a chest of drawers, a washstand with
pitcher and basin, a pair of comfortable chairs, a dressing
table and bench, and the chaise lounge on which she was
She was naked. Her red hair was loose about her shoulders,
and her wrists and ankles were locked in steel cuffs. Both
sets were wide and thick-walled, but comfortably padded with
jade-green velvet. Their light but strong connecting
chains were each about six inches in length.
Light was streaming through a bay window at the far end of the
room. Jillian eased her bare feet to the carpet, stood,
and minced her way to the window, taking the baby steps her
shackles allowed. She parted the sheer drapes with her
joined hands, and beheld a wooded hillside. Stepping
closer, she could see part of a rather formal garden and a swath
of green lawn. Some distance away, several women were
playing croquet. All were dressed in Victorian/Edwardian
style, in long-sleeved, wasp-waisted, full-length gowns with
bustles and frilly lace. All were wearing hats of various
styles, which matched or complemented their pastel summer gowns.
The window was barred. The iron grill-work was stylish and
fit the decor, but was obviously solid and well-anchored in the
walls. There were no hinges or locks or any other
provision for opening the elegant framework.
Jillian looked towards the bedroom's only door, and noticed
there was no doorknob, not on her side, anyway. It was a
featureless plane of darkly stained wood.
She was in a prison cell. A stylish, well-appointed cell;
but a cell, nonetheless.
Her eyes focused on a painting hanging in a large niche above
the chest of drawers. She hadn't noticed it from the
chaise lounge; but here, in front of the window, she could see
it clearly. She minced to the chest of drawers and
inspected it closely.
It was Neoclassic in style, and evoked Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema
or John William Waterhouse. The setting was a Roman or
Greek garden. Two women—a redhead and a brunette—were
standing in a shallow pool of clear water, locked in a tight
embrace and sharing a passionate kiss. Both had flawless,
fair skin, but the artist had captured the subtle difference of
the peachy-pink of the redhead and the pale ivory of the
brunette. Their thighs and breasts were pressed together,
their arms entwined around their slender bodies, and their long
hair half-obscured their faces; but Jillian knew their
identities. And now, she knew exactly where she was, as well.
Suddenly, the door opened and a maid
entered, carrying a china tea service on a silver tray.
"Madam is awake," she observed. Her costume carried
forward the Victorian theme: a black, full-length, long-sleeved
dress trimmed in white lace at its high collar, cuffs, and along
its lower hem. A white, full-length apron and lace cap
completed the uniform.
The maid was young, in her twenties, and very pretty. Her big
brown eyes sparkled with mischief.
"I must arrange madam's hair," she announced as she set
the tray on the small table between a pair of wing-back chairs.
I'll make a scene later,
Jillian decided, with a more
Jillian turned and minced towards the dressing table. As
she drew near, she noted steel rings incorporated in the wooden
frame of the bench. Long satin ribbons were looped through
the rings, dangling nearly to the floor. Obviously, the
rings were lashing points, and the ribbons were to restrain her
on the bench, should they be required. Jillian decided to
cooperate, for now. She sat on the bench and faced the
ornately framed mirror. Her legs were together and turned
slightly to the side. Her cuffed wrists demurely rested on
The maid appeared in the mirror, behind Jillian's back.
She leaned close, picked up a brush and comb from the table, and
began brushing Jillian's hair.
"You have very pretty hair, madam," the maid purred.
"Thank you," Jillian responded. "You have me at a
A coy smile curled the maid's full lips. "I'm afraid I'm
under orders not to remove madam's restraints."
Jillian smiled and gazed into the mirror, locking eyes with the
"My name is Polly, madam," the maid finally answered. She
continued brushing Jillian's hair. Then, using clips from
the table, she began arranging the long, copper-red locks in an
elaborate coif—Victorian in style, of course. "Madam is
most attractive with her hair up," Polly said. "It
accentuates the curve of madam's shoulders and neck."
"Yes, I'm a veritable swan," Jillian purred.
Polly smiled and completed her work.
"And now?" Jillian asked.
"I'm to dress madam," Polly smiled.
Jillian lifted her cuffed hands. "Good luck with that,"
Polly gestured towards the center of the room. "Madam?"
Still smiling, Jillian stood and shuffled to the position
indicated. She watched as Polly pulled a small clip from
her apron pocket and knelt at her feet. There was a quiet
click, and Polly stood. The chain joining Jillian's ankle
cuffs was now secured to a ring peeping through a slit in the
Polly went to the wall and thumbed a switch.
A hum sounded from overhead. Jillian looked up and watched
a horizontal steel bar suspended between a pair of steel chains
lower from the ceiling. The bar stopped at shoulder level
and Polly lifted Jillian's cuffed wrists and secured her right
cuff to the bar. She then used a small key to release the
chain joining the cuffs and secured the left cuff to the other
end of the bar.
Polly then returned to the wall and thumbed the switch, again.
Jillian's arms were raised until she was in full stretch.
Her feet were flat on the plush carpet, but the mechanism locked
with her nude body just short of suspension.
Polly went to the armoir and unlocked and opened a drawer.
Now that Jillian noticed, there was a small, ornate lock-plate
beneath or beside the handle of every door or drawer of every
piece of furniture in the room. It's a good bet everything is bolted to the floor or
wall, she surmised, and
all the drapes and curtains are solidly attached to their
solidly attached rods. Unmovable furniture, a
knob-less door, and barred windows—Jillian truly was in a gilded
Polly returned from the armoir with a corset. It was white
satin, trimmed with matching lace. The maid fitted it
around Jillian's torso and secured a series of clips down the
back to keep it in place.
The corset's long, trailing laces settled between Jillian's
buttocks and tickled the backs of her knees.
Polly leaned close from behind, reached around Jillian's body,
and arranged her breasts in the corset's half-cup supports.
"Madam has such pretty skin," Polly whispered. Her lips
were an inch from Jillian's right ear. "And such firm
"Whalebone?" Jillian whispered back. She was referring to
the corset, of course.
"Synthetic substitute," Polly purred, "but just as strong.
I want to thank madam for her cooperation."
"Does it make any difference?" Jillian purred, tugging on her
wrist cuffs for emphasis.
"In one sense, no," Polly chuckled. "All the manor staff
are trained in the handling of reluctant guests. In
another sense, very much so."
"If madam had been difficult," Polly explained, "I was
instructed to use stringent measures, as well as a training
"Much more restrictive," Polly whispered. "More
'interesting', one might say."
"One might say this corset
plenty restrictive," Jillian responded.
"Oh, madam," Polly giggled, leaning close until her breath
stirred the errant strands of red hair dancing around Jillian's
right ear. "I haven't even begun tightening the laces."
Just then, the door opened and a woman entered the room.
She was forty-something. Jillian's age.
Jillian's breath caught in her throat—and she struggled for a
few heartbeats to control her expression. Finally, a
careful smile curling her lips, she watched the newcomer walk to
the tea service, pour herself a cup, and settle into a chair.
Meanwhile, Polly had taken a step back and was tightening the
|| Tales of the Foxwood B&B: AMoM
The newcomer was dressed in a tea
gown, ivory linen decorated with frogs of black brocade and
trimmed with white lace. Her brown hair was up, much like
Jillian's. She sipped her tea and gazed at Jillian with
pale blue eyes.
Finally, she set down her cup and saucer... and smiled.
"Jillian," she said.
"Caroline," Jillian answered.
Polly continued tightening the laces.
The redhead and brunette continued gazing at one another,
Jillian gasped and tried not to lose her smile, but the corset
was tight—and it was
getting tighter. Finally, just when Jillian thought she'd
have to voice some protest
while she could still breathe, Polly tied a double bow.
She then wrapped the remaining lace around Jillian's now very wasp-like waist, and
tied another bow.
Polly placed her hands on Jillian's hips, her thumbs on the lace
of the corset's lower margin and her fingers splayed, lightly
pressing the redhead's pale, freckled skin. "Would madam
like me to serve."
Caroline shook her head. "No, thank you."
"Perhaps bring some biscuits, cakes, and sandwiches up from the
"No, thank you," Caroline answered. This time, a little
"Get out, Puck," Caroline chuckled, "before I bend you over my
Polly leaned close from behind and kissed the side of Jillian's
neck. "Yes, madam," she giggled and left the bedroom.
Jillian and Caroline locked eyes, again. The door closed
with a thud, followed by a click.
Several seconds passed. "Puck?" Jillian asked.
Caroline's smile broadened. "Our annual Midsummer Night
Festival. Polly makes a delightful Puck. Our guests
find her antics most entertaining."
Jillian nodded. "I see."
"Are you still angry?" Caroline asked.
"No." Jillian shook her head. "Not for many
years. And you?"
"No." Caroline sighed. "I'm not sure I ever
was. Angry, I mean. Things were... complicated."
Jillian nodded. "Complicated."
"Foxwood is a success."
"Everything I dreamed it could be," Jillian answered. "And
Silverberry is successful, as well." It was a statement,
not a question.
"The manor thrives," Caroline smiled "Tea?" Jillian
nodded and Caroline filled a clean cup, then carried cup and
saucer to her guest. She held the cup to Jillian's lips
and let her sip the warm, amber brew.
"Umm, very nice," Jillian sighed. "Thank you. I take
it we have my little sister to thank for this reunion?"
"Yes," Caroline chuckled, "but I don't think events are
unfolding quite as Sydney had planned. More?" She
held up the cup and Jillian took another sip.
"Enough, thank you," Jillian said.
Caroline carried the cup and saucer to the tray, then
returned. She stood and drank in Jillian's helpless,
semi-nude body, looking her up and down from fingers to
toes. "More of a freckle farm than ever, I see.
Skinny-dipping in that duck pond of yours, no doubt."
"I use sun screen," Jillian purred. "We all do."
Caroline stepped forward, embraced Jillian, and kissed her
lips. "Welcome back to Silverberry Manor," she whispered.
Jillian smiled, and returned the kiss.
Caroline's hands roamed over Jillian's stretched body, caressing
her breasts and thighs. "You're a witch," she
whispered. "Time hasn't touched you."
"Liar," Jillian whispered back, and the kiss resumed.
Finally, their lips parted. The embrace continued.
Caroline turned her head and gazed at the painting in its niche
across the room. "Remember posing for that?" she sighed.
Jillian kissed Caroline's cheek, then rested her head on her
shoulder. "The water was cold, but the sun was hot."
"Yes," Caroline agreed. "Kayley would like to talk to
you. We'll make it a conference call."
"You allow telephones?" Jillian asked.
"I've made changes at Silverberry in the last few years,"
"One word: steampunk."
"Isn't that two words?"
"One word," Caroline
chuckled. "Steam-powered technology infused with science
fiction and fantasy."
"I'm kidding," Jillian smiled. "Steampunk: Jules Verne
meets Arthur Conan Doyle by way of H.G. Wells and H. Rider
"More or less," Caroline agreed. "Anyway, it lets us
integrate modern technology into the Manor, as long as it's
appropriately camouflaged. Guests aren't allowed to bring
their iPads and Smartphones, but they are allowed electro-tactile auto-transcribing
tablets, large and small."
"I see. Anyway, when?"
"The conference call," Jillian clarified, then kissed Caroline's
"Later," Caroline answered, and returned the kiss.
Jillian nodded towards the bed. "Release me," she
suggested, then gasped when
Caroline cupped her pussy—slid her middle finger between her
moist, flushed labia—and began stroking her clitoris.
"Like you wouldn't
have me in chains in one of your medieval dungeons if
circumstances were reversed," Caroline whispered.
"Touché," Jillian whispered back, then tugged on her bonds and
shuddered as the intimate caress continued.
Their lips met, again, and they returned to the serious business
of getting reacquainted.
Tales of the
All Manor of Mischief