Daniel removed Jane’s blindfold. No one else moved or spoke, except the driver, who exited the car and came round to Daniel’s side to open the door. Their chauffeuse was a woman about Jane’s age, tall and athletic. Gleaming in the shimmer of a driveway lamppost, she was almost unbearably beautiful. Her hair was cropped like Lydia’s. She waited stoically, standing at attention uncovered in the rain, her diaphanous white dress clinging soddenly to the luxurious contours of her body. Her throat was girded by a broad leather collar, and similar bands were affixed to her wrists and ankles.
At last the big man beside Jane spoke. “Lean forward. More.”
She bent her body until her chin was almost between her knees.
“Put your hands behind you.”
She crossed her arms over the small of her back. The man was gruff in his words and his actions. He looped a cord about and between her wrists, drawing the ends tightly and cinching the knot with a vicious tug. She barely stifled a yelp.
She did not understand why she was restrained in this way, because she did not feel like a prisoner and had no intention of disobeying her instructions; but she did not resist. Yet her instinct was to test her bonds by flexing and twisting her arms. The effort produced only chafing.
She was blindfolded once more, again by Daniel. This time the sash was red. She had no idea why the change was necessary.
As she was being bound, Jane was still leaning forward. The two men’s movements as they prepared her caused her nipples, already aroused by what she was feeling (and by the chill of the air from the open door), to brush and rub against her thighs. She could not hold in a soft moan.
She tried to sit up, but a hand on the back her neck held her down.
“Stay as you are,” the big man commanded.
“Nearly done,” Lydia whispered.
One of the men (she thought it was Daniel) wrapped a belt around her arms, just above the elbows. When he drew it tight and buckled it, the stress on her chest as her shoulders were wrenched backwards by the tension of the strap forced a gush of gasps and groans from her lungs. Then he grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled upwards to make her sit straight once more; but he did in such a way as not to hurt her too much.
Behind her blindfold, she had no clue what the others were doing, but she heard shuffling noises, and then the part of the seat to her right heaved, as the big man climbed out of the car. She started to move as well, but Daniel’s hand was on her shoulder, holding her back. She felt something pressing lightly against her lips. It was smooth but pliable, with a velvet quality, and she did not realize straightaway what it was. But after some prodding she opened her jaws and Daniel pushed the ball between them. It fit snugly behind her teeth, filling her mouth and depressing her tongue, but well clear of her throat, so she had no fear of choking. It had a slightly pungent, rubbery taste, unpleasant but not repellent.
Daniel secured her gag with a rigid leather strap, the edges of which dug painfully into her cheekbones as he buckled it in place; but once it was fastened it was not so bad. Even without the attempt, she knew she could no longer speak, nor indeed make any sound other than a gurgled, gargled mumble.
She did not have much time to savour this latest brand-new sensation.
“Get out,” the big man ordered.
Both men helped her, half-dragged her, from the car. It wasn’t easy with her arms pinioned. The pantyhose bunched at her knees fell to her ankles when she stood upright. Neither of her escorts made any attempt to free her feet, or to assist her in doing so, as she shuffled along the gravel driveway. She managed to kick away the nylon only just before losing her footing.
Daniel had taken a firm grip on her strapped elbows and steered her onto a cobbled path. The stones were jagged under her bare feet, though not painfully so, but greasy from the rain. Several times she slipped; and although he stopped her from falling, he did nothing to warn her when they reached a set of steps. Sightless, she stumbled at the bottom one. Her shins knocked viciously against its sharp edge. She rasped a feeble remonstration through her gag. Daniel muttered something that may have been an apology. They halted on the porch.
“We will leave you here,” the big man said. “When the door opens, do what you’re told. If you don’t comply immediately, if you refuse or hesitate or disobey, you will be punished. Do you understand?”
She slowly bowed her head.
It was Lydia who continued. She sounded unfazed by her colleague’s harsh words. “Never forget, you are here of your own free will. No one has forced you. Do you agree?”
This time she replied with a vigorous nod.
“You’re doing well.” Daniel spoke in a low, soothing voice. “Remember, we’re in this together.”
Jane was grateful at that moment for the blindfold and bulbous gag. They concealed her laugh.
“Don’t worry about your purse and shoes,” Lydia told her. “You won’t need them.”
No one knocked or rang a doorbell. So she waited. At least she was out of the rain. The men’s footsteps retreated, but in what direction she could not tell. She did not know what had become of Lydia or the chauffeuse. She did not hear the car start up and move off. Yet she knew she was alone, cold and wet and fearful. Her bound arms ached, her wrists felt numb and swollen. The ball-gag did not quite seal her mouth, and dribble oozed from the corners and down her chin. She shivered as the breeze gusted onto the porch, over her bare arms and legs, under her skirt to tickle her uncovered loins, and through her open blouse. Her wounds, although mild (she felt no blood trickling down her shins) had begun to throb.
It was some time before the door creaked open. Warm dry air wafted over her. She could faintly discern a bright light as a dull orange radiance beyond her blindfold. Pairs of hands took hold of her arms and guided her over the threshold. No words were spoken, but the fingers were slender, soothing and feminine. A luxurious thick-pile carpet was squishy and friendly between her toes, even if water still dripped down her legs and formed a saturated patch beneath her feet. Her attendants (there seemed to be three of them) did not appear to mind as they undressed her. The skirt came off without any trouble, but with her arms still bound behind her, the blouse could only be cut away. Jane sighed on hearing the scissor blades shear through it. But the woman who did the cutting fondled the material as she did so. Jane could tell because the back of the woman’s hand kept brushing against her breasts. They lingered long enough for Jane to be aware that the touch was not unintended.
Now she was naked, but for her blindfold and gag, the cord and the strap.
The women began drying her hair and body with a fluffy, heated towel. They dabbed her chest, patted her back and shoulders, buffed her belly, padded her most intimate parts. The way her arms were pinned behind her back pushed out her front, straining her bosom to a piquant stiffness, and the sensual strokes of the warm fleece drew from her a blissful whimper. One of the attendants tended to her shins, gently daubing the abrasions with a cloth and tenderly applying some sort of ointment. Another sprinkled perfumed water, which had a subtle floral fragrance, over her body, and applied a rose-oil rouge to her lips, nipples and labia. They were fastidious and unhurried. They said not a word.
When they were done, each of the females in turn ran her hands slowly down Jane’s torso, front and back, caressing each curve and exploring both of her lower crevices. She felt an unexpected thrill, something different from what she had experienced so far. As all three, at once, began to tease and squeeze her quivering body, as her insides tightened and she began to convulse in the exquisite agony of an onrushing orgasm, she suddenly remembered where she was, what she was and why she was here. Yet it seemed not quite real, as if she were in a play, and all the actors but herself had read the script. Or maybe this was a dream after all, and these people were nothing more than her imaginary creations. Perhaps it was part of a joke she had not yet got. But she did know that she had once, as a teenage girl, read a novel which reminded her very much of this. If only she could recall the details, to prepare herself for what was to come…
She could not see the women, knew nothing about them. She was stark naked and completely helpless in their lustful clutches. But they, in a sense, belonged to her.
The new mistress of the Château Chaînerie sucked in a few hurried, panting breaths before the next wave of pleasure shuddered through her.
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