by Van ©2013
getting seriously hungry. By her best estimate it
was now slightly more than twenty-four hours since her last
meal, if one could characterize a few nibbles of cucumber
sandwich and a cup of drugged tea as a meal. Granted, she
was experiencing what might be called ready-to-eat hunger and not
the early stages of starvation, but still...
Adding insult to injury—or indifference to discomfort—Cressida's
shoulders were beginning to ache from her wrists being cuffed
behind her back and to the back of the steel belt locked around
her waist. Yoga was a part of her regular exercise
regime—when mother wasn't treating her like one of her captured
guests, of course—so the pain wasn't that bad. It
was more of an annoyance than anything else, the unpleasant
icing on the distasteful cake that was the crushing boredom
of uninterrupted confinement in a dreary cell.
Cressida was sitting on the floor in a half-lotus, halfway
between her bed and the barred window. She'd tried pacing,
but shuffling back and forth with the machine overhead
shortening and lengthening her collar chain as she hobbled from
the window to the loo was a pointless exercise, but she could
only lie on the bed for so long before her shoulders started to
complain and she had to climb to her feet.
"The least mother could do is pop in and gloat now and then,"
she muttered under her breath, "or send Edna... or one of the
senior maids." Cressida didn't make a habit of talking to
herself, but even the sound of her own disgruntled whining was
better than total silence. She heaved a heartfelt sigh dripping
with self pity. "And this is only the first day."
Mother hadn't divulged the full duration of her "immurement,"
but the portrait taken during her immurement had borne
the label "the third month." It was a safe bet Cressida
was in for at least eighty-nine more days of imprisonment, and
probably more. "And all so I can learn empathy and
complete some ancient family ritual," she sighed.
Mother and her games...
Just then—Finally!—Cressida heard the door of her prison
being unlocked. "That had better be breakfast, lunch, and
dinner," she grumbled as she climbed to her feet. The door
opened, the gate was also unlocked and opened, and Corky O'Brien
appeared, dressed in her maid's uniform and carrying a wooden
tray. "It's about time," Cressida huffed. "I hope
that tray is something I—"
"Sit!" Corky barked. Okay, the "bark" in question was a
little high pitched, but it was a command. "Where
you are now will do just fine," Corky added. "Sit."
gazed at her personal handmaiden with amusement. "Who do
you think you're talking to, Miss O'Brien?"
Corky stooped and placed the tray on the floor, then
stood. "I'm talkin' to the damsel I've been ordered to
handle," she replied, then pulled a riding crop from under the
apron ties behind her back. She slipped the crop's
retaining loop over her right wrist, took a firm grip on the
braided handle, and pointed the whip towards Cressida.
"You will speak when spoken to and do everything I say... or
Cressida carefully suppressed a smile. Corky-the-Handler
was adorable. Her devilishly cute, freckled
features were set in a determined frown, but the wavering tip of
the riding crop telegraphed her nervousness. Obviously,
mother had put her up to this—another move in her game—and a
good move, at that. In terms of counter move, Cressida's
options were to unleash her inner spoiled brat and take her
anger out on Corky, or play along and make life easier for her
Noblesse oblige had been drilled into Cressida for as
long as she could remember. Servants were people, and in a
very real sense they were as close as family, or could
be. Cressida's privileged birth was an accident, what one
of her mathematics teachers would call a datum, a particular
stochastic outcome. In an alternate reality, their roles
could just as easily be reversed. Cressida Tydwell could
be in service as a junior maid at Castle O'Brien—which would
probably be someplace in Ireland. In any case, making
things unnecessarily difficult for the staff was very
bad form. Shenanigans associated with the Tydwell "family
hobby" aside, being kind and helpful to the maids was a lesson
Cressida had always embraced, and she wasn't about to let a
little thing like being "immured" change her now.
Cressida settled to the floor and folded her legs into a
semi-lotus, once again, following her "handler's" order—but she
did allow the previously suppressed smile to curl her
Ever so briefly Corky allowed her relief to show. She
wasn't going to have to use the crop on her beloved Mistress,
and that was a good thing. Then, immediately, she
reasserted her fierce (and adorable) frown. "All right,
then." She glanced at the still wavering tip of the riding
crop, then let the grip drop from her hand, freed her wrist from
the loop, and slid the crop back under the apron ties and behind
her back. She then carried the tray close to Cressida and
sat on the floor, mirroring her charge's pose—not counting the
hands-behind-the-back part, of course.
Cressida's stomach rumbled. On the tray she beheld a small
carafe of red wine next to a stemmed glass, a plate of
finger-sized wraps—pita or tortilla-like bread rolled around
various greens, vegetables, and savory meats—and a small bowl of
some sort of dark, syrupy sauce.
Corky's coral lips curled in a shy smile. "If you behave
yourself," she mumbled, "I'll feed you."
Cressida smiled back. "Excuse me?" she inquired.
"I'm afraid you'll have to speak up."
"I said, behave yourself and maybe I'll feed you!" Corky huffed,
a blush coloring her freckled cheeks. "And wipe that smile
off your face."
"Oh, I most certainly shall," Cressida purred.
Corky's cheeks were still flushed, but her green eyes were
determined. "That would be... 'I most certainly shall, Mistress.'"
Cressida gazed into Corky's devilishly cute face for several
seconds before answering. "I most certainly shall,
"Good," Corky responded, then leaned forward, picked up one of
the small wraps, dipped it in the sauce, then popped it into
Cressida chewed and swallowed. Whatever the origin of the
tidbit—Asian, Middle Eastern, or some form of Spanish tapa—it
was delicious. She knew, of course, that hunger had a lot
to do with her assessment, but it was delicious.
Corky poured wine into the glass, then held it to Cressida's
lips. Her charge took a sip, then accepted another
sauce-dipped wrap. She's so beautiful, Corky
thought, trying to keep her expression grim and...
dominant. Mistress Cressida was hot. Naked, captive
Mistress Cressida in chains was HOT!
Cressida locked eyes with her "handler" and continued to
chew. She's adorable... but I'm going to have to help
her play her part. She opened her mouth and accepted
a third wrap. Mother and her games...
Morena had had
a full day. After exercise and her tanning session (with
orgy) in the castle courtyard, she'd been returned to her
Practice Room dungeon. A lunch tray had been waiting, and
after eating she'd taken a brief siesta. Then, she
Rather than play any one piece, she had improvised,
mostly. Many of her favorite passages from the works of
various composers surfaced as she played, but mostly she
All the while, she considered the program for Lady Tydwell's
party. Mistress Edna had specified "three concert works,"
which suggested something between a half hour and an hour, but
there were so many possibilities. Should she go
with three different composers or with one? And if one, a
single concerto or movements from different works? Should
she establish a theme and then make her
selections? It would help if she knew more about the party
itself, but there was no one to ask. Morena was alone in
her dungeon... and even if Edna was here she wouldn't tell her
anything useful... probably.
Finally, her muse was satiated and allowed Morena to return her
viola to its case. She was no closer to a program, and it
was frustrating. She splashed her face at the loo alcove's
washbasin, then dragged her chain to the bed and reclined on her
back on the soft, rumpled sheets.
And speaking of frustration...
Morena's hands caressed the crotch-shield of her chastity
belt. The orgy in the courtyard—the horrible, wonderful
things the six naked maids had done to her—had more than
satisfied her erotic frustration, but only for the moment.
Although it may have been her imagination, she could feel a
ghostly, low-level tingling beginning to return... if it had
Morena Velzen was not a slave to her out-of-control
libido, but she was on vacation. Yes, vacation,
she thought, continuing to stroke the smooth, hard steel of her
chastity-belt with her right hand. I'm a damsel in
distress... chained in an inescapable dungeon... prisoner of a
cruel aristocrat... on vacation. Her left hand began
playing with her left nipple. Both nipples were
erect. On reflection, she realized the flushed, sensitive
nubs of flesh had been erect for some time... and her
steel-caged pussy had been tingling for some time, while
she was playing. "Brutale nymfomane," she mumbled
under her breath. "Brazen nymphomaniac," she repeated,
translating from her native Dutch to the language of her captor,
Somewhere in the back of her mind Morena heard the now familiar
sound of the dungeon door and iron gate being unlocked and
opened. She opened her eyes to find Mistress Edna and a
pair of maids in uniform striding across the dungeon towards
her. What now?
Edna addressed one of the maids. "A stage two restraint
package," she ordered, and the maid curtsied and left the
dungeon. Edna addressed Morena next. "Her Ladyship's
desires have been made clear. She does not want
you playing with yourself and your genitalia are locked away
from your fiddling fingers for that reason." She gestured
towards Morena's encased viola. "You will confine your
fiddling to your instrument, your musical instrument."
The watching maid giggled, then carefully composed herself when
the House Mistress turned her head and she became the focus of
her disapproving frown.
Edna turned back to Morena. "I am forced to reinforce that
Just then the other maid returned with an armload of steel and
leather... things. Morena couldn't really tell what she
was carrying—but she soon found out!
The maids encased Morena's fingers and hands in leather
mitts. She tried to resist, but the maids were
well-trained and their actions perfectly coordinated, as
always. The mitts were somewhat like thinly padded boxing
gloves and incorporated wide steel cuffs that closed and locked
around her wrists. Her fingers were trapped in individual
channels and had very little wiggle room. Fiddling of any
kind was now impossible.
"With the exception of practice and daily exercise sessions that
requires the use of your hands," Edna intoned, "those will
remain in place until I decide otherwise."
Next came a brassiere, a very special brassiere.
Its shoulder and torso straps were inch-wide ribbons of chain
mail, stainless steel and smooth to the touch. The cups
were also stainless steel, but edged with leather. They
covered but did not touch Morena's breasts, and over her nipples
were small convex domes that made doubly sure the
peripheral padding and the steel straps were the only things
touching her skin. The mitts and bra were both perfect
fits, like the chastity belt already caging her loins. In
fact, as best Morena could tell without a mirror, her new
"accessories" were similar in style. Is all of this a
matching set? she wondered.
The maids finished their task and stepped back behind their
Mistress. Morena returned their smug smiles with an angry
pout, then focused on the equally smug and amused House
Mistress. "This is hardly necessary," she muttered, unable
to stifle the complaint.
Still smiling, Edna met Morena's angry gaze for several seconds,
then turned to one of the maids. "Stage three," she
purred, and the maid turned and scurried from the dungeon.
"I don't like your attitude, Miss Velzen," she purred.
"And I don't much care what you like or don't like,"
Morena huffed. "You are being cruel for cruelty's
sake. I demand to speak with Lady—" Her eyes popped
The maid had returned quickly, and in her hands was what was
unmistakably a stainless steel mask!
Morena backed away from Edna and the maids. She couldn't
help herself. "No, please. I-I promise to be
good." The maids advanced, one holding the mask and the
other ready to assist. This time, Morena was really
going to struggle. "No!"
Struggle or no, the maid unencumbered by the mask had little
difficulty manhandling Morena's mitt-clad hands behind her back
and somehow locking the wrist-cuffs together and to the back of
"Please, no!" Morena continued to fight as best she
could. She tried kicking, but her handlers were already
too close for that to be effective. One maid was holding
her head by the hair, and the other was moving the mask closer
and closer to her face! Its interior was also shining
stainless steel, and was the negative of the generically
beautiful female features sculpted on the front. The
mask's eyes were open. That is, the pupils of the vacant,
staring orbs were a pair of quarter-inch, circular holes.
On the outside, the mask's lips were demurely closed, but on the
inside a two-inch plug of what appeared to be chamois or
micro-fiber waited to fill Morena's mouth. "No—Uuurf!"
The plug was in Morena's mouth, the mask against her face, and
the maids were securing chain-mail straps to keep it in
place. They held her struggling head steady by continuing
to grip her hair. Finally, the tousled brown tresses were
evenly distributed above and below the stainless steel ribbons
and the straps clicked together and locked.
"Mrrrf!" Morena tossed her head, tugged on her leather
encased and steel cuffed hands, twisted her shoulders, stomped
her bare feet, and tossed her steel-clad head. "Nrrrrr!"
Edna and the maids watched Morena's futile, steel-restrained
tantrum. What Morena could only characterize as evil smiles
curled her handlers' and their Mistress' lips. Morena's
eyes were wet, but she knew it was a safe bet the mask hid her
"Leg irons, Mistress?" one of the maids suggested.
"No, I don't think so," Edna purred. "She can't do
anything to stimulate herself with only her toes." She
gestured towards the open gate and door. "Go."
The maids curtsied and made their exits, pausing in the double
threshold to giggle and take a last, gloating look at Her
Morena stopped struggling, blinked back her tears, and glared
at Mistress Edna. Of course, her angry expression was also
hidden by the mask.
Edna smiled for several seconds before she spoke. "No
supper tonight, Miss Velzen. Perhaps your attitude will
have improved by morning. If not... There are other
options available... many other options."
Morena watched Edna turn and make her exit. "Nrrrf!"
It was more a gagged whine than a protest. In any case,
she was ignored. The iron gate closed and locked, the door
beyond closed and locked, and Morena was alone.
The Maiden in the Iron Mask, Morena mused. Okay,
the mask was steel, not iron, but it was the same torment.
The Maiden in the Metal Bikini and Mask,
she amended. Yes, 'metal' is better.
Morena knew she was in for an uncomfortable night. Her
encased hands were still locked to the back of the belt.
The two-inch obstruction in her mouth proved to be somewhat soft
and pliable, but it was still a gag. The steel covering
her face pressed against her lips and cupped her chin. The
mask was an effective gag. She tried breathing through her
mouth and discovered it was possible. That was some
small consolation, but the mask and gag were oppressive, even a
little claustrophobic. The barely adequate openings for
her eyes exacerbated the effect. She'd be able to find her
way to the loo alcove, use the commode, and sleep on the bed,
but that was all. And it was many long hours until dawn.
Morena lay on her right side on the bed, settling in as best she
could. No supper. Edna was being a real
bitch. Or is she following Lady Jane's orders?
She closed her eyes, willed herself to relax, and tried to
Eventually, Morena succeeded... but just before she drifted off,
a final thought coalesced: Will they keep me their
Morena had many vivid dreams that night. Surprisingly—or
perhaps not so surprisingly—many of those dreams were
Corky was terrified—but
it was a different kind of terrified from being naked and tied
up and gagged and waiting for Mistress Edna or Mistress Cressida
or a senior maid to do something nasty to her—very
Cressida was her Mistress! And Lady Jane, her other
Mistress, THE Mistress, had ordered her to do nasty
stuff to Cressida! And Mistress Edna had coached
her on how to proceed, and with the promise, the ominous
promise, of more coaching to come!
Granted, the stuff she was doing to Mistress Cressida was
exactly the sort of "bad" stuff that were she on the receiving
end would have Junior Maid/Personal Handmaiden Corky O'Brien
cringing and/or screaming through a hypothetical gag—while
simultaneously making her wetter than the paddling feet and
feathery underside of one of Lady Jane's beloved swans out on
the moat—but that was the point! Corky wasn't on
the receiving end, she was on the giving end! And
it was Cressida! And if she messed up...
Okay, Lady Tydwell (and even Mistress Edna, surprisingly) had
made it clear that all they expected of her was to do her best,
and had promised she wouldn't be tortured or shipped to a
sultan's harem if she failed. Are there still sultans?
Corky wondered. And do they still have harems?
She shook her head and returned to the freakout at hand.
Anyway, she wouldn't be punished, per se, if she
failed... but this was weird!
From Junior maid to Mistress Cressida's Personal Handmaiden to Prisoner
Cressida's Official Handler in something like two
Corky had finished feeding her naked, chained, and collared
charge, then ordered her to use the loo. And thank god
Cressida had decided to comply, because Corky knew she would
have started bawling like a baby if Cressida had made her use
the riding crop to make her comply. Anyway, comply
Cressida had, and the commode's flushing and bidet functions had
worked perfectly. Afterwards, Corky had led Cressida back
to the bed, quickly straightened out the rumpled sheets, then
"made" her prisoner lie face down on the soft surface.
Next, she spreadeagled Cressida face down on the bed, changing
her bonds one limb at a time as she'd been trained. She
took no chances. Cressida's right ankle cuff was chained
to the lower right bedpost before the hobbling chain
linking ankle cuff to ankle cuff was removed. Only then
was her left ankle cuff chained to the lower left bedpost.
Similarly, Cressida's wrist cuffs were chained to the upper
bedposts one at a time. The steel belt remained locked
around her waist.
Cressida found there was a reasonably generous amount of slack
in her chains, something like two or three inches for each
limb. She smiled up at her "handler" as Corky finished
securing her to the bed. "Very good, Miss O'Brien," she
purred. "Mistress Edna has trained you well." She
tugged on her inescapable fetters and the steel links clicked
and clanked as she tested her bonds. "At the junior maid
level, of course."
Corky stood erect, sighed, and reached into her apron
pocket. If I'm going to do this—and I AM going to do
this—I'm going to do it right. She pulled out a
ball-gag, leaned over the bed, took hold of Cressida's ponytail
with one hand, and thrust the ball into her mouth with the
Cressida's eyes popped wide and she gasped once she realized
what was happening. "No-urrrf!" If she'd kept her
mouth shut she might have made the process more difficult for
her redheaded handler, but it was too late now!
"M'mmpfh!" The ball was semi-hard rubber, two inches in
diameter, hollow, and pierced by a dozen or so breathing
holes. Corky buckled the main strap at the nape of her
neck, then buckled the secondary, much narrower strap under her
Corky stepped to the side and watched Her Mistress—her captive
Mistress—pull on her chains, toss her gagged head, squirm her
smooth, strong, naked body against the soft sheets, and mewl
through her gag. She's so beautiful.
Then, slowly and deliberately, Corky reached behind her back and
pulled the riding crop from under her apron ties. So
beautiful... and she's mine. All uncertainty and
fear of failure faded into the background. Front and
center was a new feeling, or more precisely, what for
Corky was an underdeveloped feeling: the joy of
dominating a beautiful, helpless woman. Corky had always
thought of herself as a bottom, but topping Mistress Cressida
was definitely something worth trying—and the fact that
she was being ordered to do so was unimportant—at least
while she was in this room... with Cressida in chains... naked
and vulnerable on the bed.
Mistress Edna's "advice" was to keep the initial session
personal, strictly one-on-one. That is, she wasn't to
mention Her Ladyship or Mistress Edna or to evoke their
authority. She wasn't to justify her actions.
"Mistress Corky" was in charge, and that's all Cressida needed
A wicked smile curled Corky's lips. She had no qualms
about what she was about to do. It was entirely different
from the uneasiness she'd felt about the possibility of having
to use the crop to make Cressida follow orders. She was
glad she'd not had to use the sting of the whip to enforce
Cressida's obedience, but that might be required
later—especially after what she was about to do.
She'd swan dive off that cliff when she came to it.
Anyway, this was different. This was an expression of pure
Cressida flinched when the flat tip of the crop touched
her left butt cheek. She looked back over her shoulder,
sending a warning glare at her "handler"—then her eyes widened
and her entire body went rigid. A somewhat unusual emotion
welled up inside her, and that emotion was fear.
The expression on Corky's adorably cute, freckled face was
disturbing. Granted, Cressida wasn't really
afraid. She didn't fear for her life, but Corky O'Brien,
lowly junior maid, was in control. She watched as Corky
raised her arm, the arm holding the riding crop. She
wouldn't dare! And then...
"Mrrrpfh!" The blow had landed on Cressida's left cheek,
and it was not a playful, teasing smack, it was a
seriously businesslike WHACK!
"Nrrr!" The second blow was to her right cheek.
Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!
It hurts! It really, really hurts! Six blows,
three on each cheek. Cressida waited for the seventh blow
to fall... and waited... and waited. Her eyes were wet and
clenched tightly closed. She realized her pulse
was racing and she was breathing in deep pants. Her bosom
would have been heaving, had not the bosom in question been
squashed into the soft bed.
Corky gazed down at her handiwork. Six red, clearly
defined, wedge-shaped patches graced Cressida's firm buttocks,
three on each cheek. The skin was unbroken and the marks
would fade quickly (probably), but the "taps" had been what the
junior maids termed "bitch-grade," or "six of the best" for the
more traditionally inclined. She felt terrible
about it... and yet, the smile still curled her lips. She
waited for Cressida to recover—as per Mistress Edna's
instructions—and mentally rehearsed her next speech and the
actions that would follow.
On very rare occasions Cressida had played with being on
the bottom, with the maids when she was a child and at school
with her circle of closest friends, but all involved knew her
"subservience" was a game, a lark, a hoot. It was very
rare indeed for Cressida to be the helpless player.
She was almost always the one doing the tying and gagging.
She'd been willing to go along with mother's game. She'd
even intellectually appreciated the fact that this was going to
be something different. But the truth had finally dawned.
I'm a helpless prisoner!
A trite observation, perhaps, but Cressida finally, truly
understood that what she was or was not "willing to go along
with" was totally irrelevant! She had zero control
of her fate! Her newly chosen Personal Handmaiden was using
a riding crop on her ass! And there was absolutely
nothing she could do about it! She lifted her head,
again, and gazed back at Corky.
Corky's smile broadened. "Good. I see I finally
have your actual attention." She sat on the bed, even with
Cressida's hips, placed the riding crop within easy reach, then
reached back into her apron pocket.
Cressida's eyes widened, again. Corky had produced a
"mini-rocket," a torpedo vibrator the size and shape of a
broad-tip magic marker or a small electric torch.
"Your task will be the exact opposite of the task you once set
for me," Corky purred. She clicked the vibrator's power
switch—Buzzzzz—then reached between Cressida's splayed
legs and ran the business end across the spreadeagled captive's
labia. "I'm going to feed your hungry pussy and you're
going to do you very best to cum." She continued her
light, oh-so-light teasing of the flushed, pink folds of the
hungry pussy in question. "Don't worry," she added, "I
don't intend to make it easy for you. You'll have every
opportunity to demonstrate your complete obedience through
diligence and hard work."
Cressida shivered, tugged on her bonds—"Mmmm!"—and moaned
through her gag. The vibrator felt good. Oh
god! What's happening to me?
Cressida began grinding her hips and trying to lift herself off
the bed, to press the slipping, sliding, vibrating shaft
against her pussy, perhaps to nudge the tip against her
clitoris—"Nrrr!"—but Corky was making the humming shaft a moving
target. She was lifting and lowering her hand in perfect
rhythm to Cressida's efforts, never losing contact, but denying
her the firm, steady, titillating pressure she
needed—"M'mmpfh!"—that she craved to complete her task,
to follow her Mistress' orders.
I am such a slut, Cressida thought. I should be
angry... but I'm not. "Mrrrf!" The tapered tip
of the vibrator had, indeed, nudged her clitoris, but the
contact had been fleeting. The rocket had returned to
sliding up and down her slit with firm, gentle pressure.
The nudge had been Mistress Corky's doing, not her own.
Cressida shivered, then moaned in renewed frustration.
Mistress had nudged her in just the right spot,
again—but again, it wasn't enough! The mini-rocket
continued its teasing strokes, but they weren't enough!
The game continued. Cressida was doing her best to ride
the rocket to orgasm, and true to her word, Corky wasn't making
Corky made her
way to the House Mistress' office.
She'd finally allowed Cressida to complete her task, to coax an
orgasm from the buzzing mini-rocket. Then, she'd set the
vibrator aside and given her Mistress—her Prisoner—a
full body massage, on her back side, anyway. Cressida
remained spreadeagled on her stomach, and Corky could tell her
charge greatly appreciated the deep, gentle kneading of her
shoulder and back muscles, her butt, and her arms, legs, and
feet. Corky had been tempted to tickle Cressida's soles
and toes, but she'd kept her actions therapeutic. Now was
not the time for additional torment.
She noted the telltale marks of her Stern Discipline, the six
red, wedge-shaped marks on Cressida's butt-cheeks, had already
faded to almost nothing. I got it right, she
thought. I got it right.
Next, she picked up the vibrator, clicked it on, and gave her
precious prisoner another orgasm.
There was no playing around this time. Corky did her very
best to make the experience as memorable as possible. She
knew Cressida had had sufficient time to recover from her
initial "ordeal," but her labia would still be somewhat
hypersensitive. For that reason, her initial probing,
caressing strokes with the buzzing rocket were light and
gentle. Cressida had flinched at the sound of the
vibrator, then flinched again at the renewed contact; but soon
she was shivering, shuddering, and tugging on her steel
bonds. Corky gradually increased the pressure of the
vibrator against the captive's flushed pussy.
As she walked the darkened corridor towards Mistress Edna's
office, Corky heaved a deep sigh. The memory of Cressida's
whining moans as the second orgasm engulfed her helpless body
would be with her forever. 'Urrrrrrrrf!' It
was the sound of surrender, or despair, or both—but what haunted
Corky was the possibility there was an element of betrayal,
as well. In any case, fighting back tears—tears unnoticed
by Cressida—Corky had prolonged the orgasm as best she could...
then left the chamber, carefully locking the gate and door
behind her, then switching the lights to night-mode.
Cressida remained—naked—spreadeagled face-down on her bed—locked
in inescapable, custom-made fetters—gagged with one of Her
Ladyship's best breather-gags—and alone. Corky wiped a
tear from her right eye. Cressida was alone in the dark
cell, with only a couple of weakly flickering LED "candles" to
keep her company, up in the rafters, above the silent gears and
chains of the collar-chain handling machine.
Corky arrived at Edna's office door, straightened her apron,
wiped her eyes one last time—took an additional few seconds to
compose herself—then knocked.
"Come," Edna called from within.
Corky opened the door, entered the office, and carefully closed
the door behind her. She took the five steps required to
approach the House Mistress' desk, and stood, feet together,
hands clasped behind her back, and chin up, as she'd been
Edna was writing in a ledger. Two computer screens were on
her desk, one to either side. The left screen displayed a
spreadsheet version of the housekeeping ledger before her.
The somewhat larger screen to her right was divided into four
windows, all of which displayed different angles of the same
thing: Cressida Tydwell spreadeagled on her bed up in the tower
cell. All four images were monochromatic, in various
shades of green, actually, but they were quite detailed.
The night vision cameras concealed in Cressida's dungeon were
state of the art, combining both infrared and light
amplification technologies. The hidden daylight cameras
were equally advanced, but at the moment they were turned off.
Edna noted Corky surreptitiously gazing at the surveillance
images and carefully suppressed a smile. "This will be the
first fully documented immurement of a Tydwell daughter," she
stated, continuing to write in the ledger. "Lady Jane's
immurement records include dozens of photographs, but only a few
feet of motion picture film." She closed the ledger,
returned her pen to its holder, then focused on Corky. "No
doubt the immurement records of the future Lady Cressida's
future daughter will include holographic recordings, or some
imaging technology not yet conceived."
Corky stared straight ahead. "Yes, Mistress," she
Silence stretched for several seconds before Edna
continued. "Is something wrong, Miss O'Brien?"
Corky's chin was threatening to start trembling. Then, it
was trembling. She couldn't help it. And her
green eyes were welling.
The House Mistress' reaction was the last thing Corky ever
would have expected. Edna rose from her chair, stepped
around her desk, and pulled Corky into a warm, gentle embrace!
Corky flinched at first contact. Then—in the second
complete surprise in nearly as many seconds—she returned the
embrace, pressing her face against Edna's blouse and bra-covered
bosom, her arms squeezing the House Mistress' strong, warm body
as tightly as Edna was squeezing her.
And then, the dam broke.
Corky cried and cried. In fact, she bawled, blubbered, and
wailed. And all Edna did was hold her tight,
continuing the embrace and letting her cry.
Finally, after more than a minute... perhaps as much as two or
three... Corky's lamentation wound down. "I-I-I'm s-sorry
Mistress," she sobbed.
"Think nothing of it, Miss O'Brien," Edna purred, continuing to
hold the shivering little redhead close.
"Y-your b-blouse!" Corky objected. "I'm g-getting it
Edna smiled. "It's due to be laundered, anyway," she
Corky's eyes popped wide. "Oh!" Mistress Edna had
lifted her into her arms and was carrying her towards a door to
the left of the desk.
Edna smiled down at Corky's wide, wet, green eyes. "Don't
act so surprised, Miss O'Brien," she purred. "I know my
reputation among the junior maids is somewhat, shall we say,
negative; but the 'Dragon Lady' does have a heart."
All Corky could manage in response was a wide-eyed nod.
Then, they were through the door and she found herself in a
large, well-appointed bedroom—Mistress Edna's large,
well-appointed bedroom. Corky was deposited on the neatly
made bed. Then, Edna gently turned her onto her stomach
and began releasing the buttons and fastenings of her
uniform. "M-mistress?" Corky gasped.
"Hush," Edna ordered, and continued undressing her flabbergasted
subordinate. She didn't stop until Corky was completely
nude—wide-eyed, amazed, and nude. "Stay," she ordered,
then turned and strolled to a closed door.
Still on her stomach on the bed, Corky watched Edna open the
door and enter what was now revealed to be a walk-in
closet. Corky glanced down at the floor. Her
uniform, bra, knickers, stockings, and shoes were in a
disordered pile. She'd been ordered to stay on the bed,
but Corky's domestic training took over. Keeping one leg
on the bed, she retrieved her clothing, folded everything, then
deposited them where they'd been before, only now in a neat
pile. She then flopped back down on the bed—and just in
Edna had returned. And she was naked! And she was
beautiful! Okay, Corky had always know Edna was beautiful,
but beautiful like a prowling tigress, or an alpha she-wolf, not
beautiful beautiful. Edna's skin was smooth and
fair, her body lithe and athletic. Her breasts were
modest, but firm and well-formed and in perfect proportion to
her waist and hips. And her high-cheeked, smiling features
were—"Exquisite." Corky blushed bright crimson, realizing
she'd spoken aloud.
"Thank you, Miss O'Brien," Edna laughed. "Consider the
compliment returned." She strolled to the bed and dropped
two generous coils of what Corky recognized as braided
microfiber rope on the bed. Castle Tydwell used several
different varieties of rope for "hobby activities," but this was
the good stuff. It stretched a little under load and was
smooth as silk against the skin. Yet, it held a knot
something fierce. On the flip side, if improperly tied,
knots had to be cut free, sacrificing at least part of the
rope's expensive length and requiring the new ends to be whipped
with thread to prevent the strands from unraveling.
As Edna lifted her to a sitting position, Corky opened her mouth
to ask the obvious question—but closed it immediately. The
answer was also obvious. A doubled loop of rope passed
over her head and was cinched tight, pinning her arms to her
sides and passing under her breasts. Box-tie,
Corky thought, and she was right. Quickly, efficiently,
and with no wasted effort, Edna passed additional horizontal
bands above and below Corky's breasts, yoked her shoulders, and
lashed her crossed wrists in the elevated or "advanced"
position, just below her shoulder blades and against the nexus
of the other ropes. Corky sighed as the remainder was
passed under the loop at the nape of her neck, back down to her
wrist bonds, then pulled taut, tightening everything. The
final knots were tied well away from Corky's useless fingers.
"Down you go," Edna purred, and eased Corky onto the bed.
She lifted the second coil of rope so that Corky could see
it. "You're going to stay on the bed, aren't you?" she
asked. "I'd hate to have to bind your ankles."
Corky heaved a sigh before answering. "I know my
place. I will follow Mistress' commands—Oh!" Edna
had reclined against the pillows piled against the headboard,
and she'd taken Corky with her!
Edna embraced her red-haired captive from behind, cuddling her
close and wrapping her left leg around Corky's left leg.
Her left hand was caressing the little maid's labia and ginger
bush and her right hand was squeezing Corky's right
breast. "You are a good maid, Miss O'Brien," Edna
whispered in Corky's ear. "Young and inexperienced, but
loyal and hardworking." She kissed Corky's cheek.
"Not counting allowing yourself to be caught leering at Her
Ladyship's guests now and then."
Corky shivered and squirmed against her bonds and Edna's naked
body. At the same time, despite her emotional turmoil and
physical weariness, she couldn't help but smile. "Mistress
is a tease," she sighed.
This time Edna kissed Corky's lips, and it was a long, wet, deep
kiss. Finally... after more than a minute... Edna came up
for air. "We will not let you fail," she said softly.
Corky's eyes were wet, again. "W-whether I f-fail or
succeed... she'll hate me."
Edna smiled. "She loves you, Little One. We all love
you." She released her embrace, leaned over the side of
the bed, and returned with Corky's knickers and stockings.
Corky watched as Edna tied an overhand knot in one stocking,
thrust the wadded knickers down the stocking until it was
stopped by the knot, then tied a second knot to keep it
there. It was no great mystery what Mistress was up
to. Corky opened her mouth and took the nylon-covered wad
inside. Edna cinched the ends of the stocking at the nape
of her neck, under her ginger hair, then tightened and completed
the knot. Finally, she stretched the second stocking over
Corky's mouth and tied it in the back, as well. Stuffed,
cleaved, and covered, Corky thought. A good gag.
It probably looks cute.
"She'll always love you, Little One," Edna
continued. "How could she not?"
Corky was on her back, semi-reclined against the pillows.
She watched with wide eyes as Edna took hold of her ankles and
with gentle, irresistible force, spread her feet apart.
The House Mistress was on her stomach and between Corky's legs,
her smiling face inches from Corky's pussy. Weird-weird-weird!
This is WEIRD!
"I know you're tired and need to rest," Edna purred, "but this
will help you rest. Edna knows best." With
that, she extended her tongue and gave Corky's labia a slow, wet
Corky shivered in her bonds. Oh, god! Weird!
"What is it, Little One?" Edna chuckled. "Why are those
pretty green eyes wide and staring? Did you think the
Dragon Lady's tongue was forked?" She licked the
glistening pink folds of Corky's labia, again, and Corky
shivered, again. "As you can see—" Lick.
"—and feel—" Lick. "—it's just a
tongue." Lick. "But a very experienced
tongue, Little One."
And then, Corky O'Brien, Handmaiden and Handler of Her
Ladyship's captive daughter, learned that the House Mistress'
tongue was indeed experienced—and very talented.
| Chapter 8