Chapter 1: Prologue - ‘And the gates slammed shut behind him’
Summary:
Welcome to the prologue of my rather long (both in terms of word count and planned chapters) erotic tale. This story, and others that I may be able to write in the future, are based on a simple premise: If a person did have the unlimited time, resources and ability to live out their perfect kinky life, what would that look like? What would it entail?
So this is a fair warning, this story is long and slow, it will be a slow burn before getting to direct sexual activities so keep that in mind if you're wondering why the characters aren't yet bumping nasties. But with that out of the way, please enjoy.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hearken, O Muses divine, and let your voices ring,
For I tell a wondrous tale, a strange and mystic thing.
Calliope, and Erato too, I implore your aid,
As I recount a tale of seed, of beauty, and of maid.
A seed unwilling, yet so fair, fell into foreign ground,
A gardener of great beauty then did take it and surround
With care and skill, determined that the flower would grow,
Though fate and fortune might decree it otherwise, and woe.
O Muses, hear my plea, and guide my trembling hand,
As I recount that fateful day, so blessed and so grand.
When early July did bring forth light, and sun, and heat,
And the gardener tended her seed, so delicate and sweet.
-An extract from the Lady Florence’s personal journal. Sixth year
Deep in the heart of the Barbican Centre in central London, the main auditorium was packed nearly to capacity along its dozens of rows of neatly arrayed seating. Some of the listeners, student or guest alike, listened attentively to the man on stage while others tuned the older man out completely. Metaphorically sitting between those two groups, only tuning out some of the long winded praise was a young man in row G, instead choosing to fiddle with the sleeve of his graduation gown. He was a relatively nondescript young man at first glance, perhaps 22 with a willowy build, pale skin and hazel eyes, wavy dirty blonde hair trailed down from the back of his mortar board to tickle the nape of his neck. While he looked at the head of year who by now was at full bluster, he periodically looked down at his sleeve, watching as the slippery satin passed between his fingers like water.
His name was Sam.
The air conditioning was working at peak performance but the combination of the harsh point lamps and warm fourth of July weather meant that standing centre stage for any period of time was hardly a pleasant experience. It was for this reason the man currently standing upon the stage had only a singular bead of sweat trailing down from his temple. He flicked it away and continued to speak to the audience.
“I hardly think that any of you are looking for a long speech, frankly I am looking forwards to starting my holidays just as much as you all are,” the man in his forties chortled into the microphone, an understanding amused burble answering him, “But it does need to be said that everyone here in this auditorium today deserves to be here. The effort and commitment it took to take your education this far under such trying circumstances and unprecedented times is something worthy of praise, and as your head of year, I thank you all for giving me the chance to teach you.” The Head of Year began to clap which was quickly joined in chorus by the audience, many of whom donned flowing scholarly gowns and mortarboards made from navy blue linen.
Contrary to his prior words, the Head of Year then launched into a long and sincere recap of the events that had made the last few years annoying to be a student, particularly the pandemic. And slowly but surely Sam began to tune him out.
“Earth to Sam, London calling,” spoke a woman’s voice from Sam’s right, causing him to jolt lightly. He turned to look into the beautiful face of the one who had spoken. She had a beautiful, blemishless face with blue eyes and an arrow straight curtain of long raven black hair.
Sam felt a niggle of embarrassment, “Sorry, Victoria, was a million miles away.” he said, causing the older woman to arch an eyebrow in amusement.
She looked between him and the head of year and settled back into her seat, “Says a lot about his speech if you find your graduation gown more interesting then our esteemed commandant verbally sucking his students dicks.” She whispered in a candied cheek, drawing a snort of humour from Sam. She seized on his slip, “Samuel Hayes, laughing at crass jokes at your graduation, have you no shame?” Victoria’s hand went to her mouth in mock shock, earning her a shove in the arm from the younger man, she was four years his senior but acted far younger at times.
“Keep telling yourself that, Freudian Slip,” he barbed in return, “No I just think that for a fifty pound hire fee these gowns feel like they’re gonna rip if I sit on it the wrong way.” he explained his prior actions.
“Satin as a material should never be put in a situation where it could be ripped my dear peer.” The raven haired beauty tucked her bangs behind her ears, revealing blue stud earrings. “Treat it well and it will treat you well, it all evens out in the end.”
“Right…” Sam drawled in response, he still thought it was a stupid fucking fee, he was already up to his eyeballs in student debt, the least the University of London could do was fork over a free graduation gown. On that he and his girlfriend were in agreement.
Yes, girlfriend.
The pair had known each other for the last four years ever since they were first roomed together in the on campus dorms and much to his surprise, became romantically involved with the 26 year old beauty in the last two years. A mystery of life he was still attempting to puzzle out but more often than not decided to chalk it up to ‘ don’t ask, you won’t like the answer ’, something that would prove to be far more prophetic than he ever could have hoped. He was interrupted from his reverie by the sound of the head of year clearing his throat, a wave of shuffling movement percolating through the assembled students.
“Right then, that’s enough waffling from me, I think we should start handing out your degrees, you’ve all earned them.” Victoria’s blue eyes swept over her gown clad boyfriend, her hand finding his and giving it a squeeze that he was quick to return. She knew her boyfriend to be placid and not overly comfortable with public affection, but she wanted him to know that she was proud of the both of them. The head of year looked down at his lectern and began to list off names. “Tariq Aaron, Masters in Engineering.”
What followed was pleasant in that it ran with efficiency, a name was called in alphabetical order by surname as well as their field of study before that student went on stage to collect the award. Sam reclined back in his chair, having an M for your surname meant he was bound to be in the middle either way it went. It was not long before Victoria found herself being called up to the stage. “Victoria Florence, Master of Fine Arts.”
Victoria rose to her feet and began to make her way down the steps gracefully as the audience clapped, sending a look over her shoulder to smile at her boyfriend. He was caught in that moment by just how beautiful she was. At 26 years old, Victoria Florence could be described as a true beauty. Not in a ‘look at me I’m a supermodel’ kind of way, but rather a beauty that drew the eye and subconsciously made all those who looked upon her concede ‘this is a beautiful woman.’ She was above average height and he knew that underneath that gown that seemed to flow with a practised grace was an athletic yet trim body with a modest bust.
In a word, gorgeous.
The corners of Sam’s mouth twitched all the higher when he recalled once comparing her looks to those of Selene Gallio, a comparison that had tickled the older woman fiercely. He spent a few seconds watching Victoria ascend the steps to the stage before accepting her diploma with a handshake and a smile before disappearing into the throng of diploma wielding graduate who now milled at the foot of the stage like satin garbed wraiths. Feeling a rumble by his thigh, he fished out his phone and saw a simple message from Victoria telling him to not run away from the photo op. ‘ I’ll know, I’m always watching. ’
‘So much for slipping back home with no one noticing ,’ he mentally sighed as the names slowly hit L.
“Samuel Hayes, Master of Arts in Media.” the head of year read out and Sam rose from his seat. Descending the steps with a brisk walk, his one overarching visible feature became apparent, he was quite tall. In fact the moment he clasped the Head of Year’s slightly too sweaty hand and accepted his certificate, he stood a good three inches over the 5’11” gentleman at 6’2”. “Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life!” The older gentleman said, voice full of optimism as Sam left the stage, his words following close at the tall young man’s heels.
Descending amidst the mob, he felt a little lost, his head bobbing above the sea of mortarboards like a catamaran dragged into stormy sea until he felt a set of arms slink quickly and firmly around him from behind. Cheeks warming at the action, he knew immediately who it was and held his hands up in surrender, “Alright, you got me, no sneaking away.”
“As if I’d let you even if you tried,” Victoria spoke as if it was the most natural thing in the world before rounding on her younger yet taller boyfriend. He had five whole inches on her but she stared up into his face as an equal, her eyes conveying affection, pride and so many more emotions that he could not parse in that moment when she came around to his front before taking him by the hand and leading him in the direction of the doors. Soon enough they were all arrayed on the steps to the Barbican, ready to throw their mortarboards for the photo op.
Looking up at her boyfriend’s annoyed glower, Victoria rolled her eyes before a note of predatory need flashed in them, a possessive glint that bled out from behind a usually perfectly constructed guise. When the call came to throw their hats, she instead fisted the front of Sam’s gown before dragging his head down into hers, bringing him into a searing kiss forever immortalised on film. Sam was taken aback by Victoria's sudden move, feeling a rush of embarrassment at the impromptu public display of affection. He blushed, feeling as though everyone around them was staring at them. In truth, no one beyond the cameraman saw the sudden moment and despite Sam's discomfort, Victoria seemed unapologetic, her lips possessively pressed against his.
When they broke for air, Sam felt a mix of emotions, torn between his desire to enjoy the moment and his unease with the attention they were getting. So it was with immense relief that the moment was over, starting to make their way home amidst a rain of mortarboards.
After returning the loaned graduation gowns to the miserable looking custodian who muttered about seemingly imaginary creases in the satin, Sam and Victoria made a quick exit from the venu and hopped on the nearest train back to their dorms. While a good majority of the Masters cohort were making their way to their watering hole of choice to slake the thirst for booze that only graduation can bring, the duo were set on a much quieter evening of celebration; partially because neither of them liked the prospect of getting blackout drunk but mostly because neither had all that many acquaintances amongst the student body. So it was with heavy feet and legs feeling like lead that Sam turned the key in the lock to their dorm room door and pushed it open, letting out a sigh of relief that that whole faff was over and done with.
The dormroom could be more accurately called a small four room flat. Past the threshold was a small entryway and hall from which one could access any of the rooms, but the majority of the space was taken up by a moderately sized living room come kitchenette separated by a granite topped island. The Kitchenette was fully furnished with an oven, microwave, fridge freezer and a large coffee machine that took up a lot of wall space. On the other hand the living area was filled by a moderately sized coffee table, a large TV hooked up to a set top box and several consoles and an L shaped sofa that Sam promptly collapsed into with a huff.
“Thank god that’s over,” he breathed out, enjoying the feeling of sinking into the soft cushions while Victoria closed and locked the door behind her. As she turned to face him, her eyes glinted with an almost feline quality that belied her placid exterior. Spotting a letter on the welcome mat, the raven-haired Florence stooped to pick it up, her lithe form bending and stretching before depositing the envelope on the coffee table.
“Quit whining, you overly tall baby, it wasn’t that bad.” she said, her voice a bell like tenor. Victoria looked down at her boyfriend with an expression of doting amusement at him so utterly defeated by the prospect of social interaction. “As far as high society bashes go it was honestly pretty tame.”
Sam made an offended noise from his throat, sitting up and looking into Victoria’s eyes, waving his arms in a gesture of protest, one that was enjoyed by the cheshire cat that his girlfriend currently emulated. “It’s a bunch of pomp and circumstance over being given a slip of paper saying ‘yes, you passed,’ when they could have just sent it in the mail.” Exhaling hoarsely, he added softly, “How you ever convinced me to go along with it I don’t know…”
Victoria’s face softened, she took a step closer, resting a hand on Sam’s shoulder and rubbing small circles into it with her thumb, it was a calming gesture and the placid mannered boy soon found his mood mellowing under the ministrations. “Be that as it may, it's also about being honoured for hard work and brilliance, and by god did you work hard for that first my brilliant little blossom,” her hand trailed up to cup Sam’s warming cheek, a smile on her plump lips, “Sometimes you have to accept the trappings of your own worth whether you like it or not.”
Sam sniffed, but he couldn't deny the truth in Victoria's words or their earnestness, even if he didn't want to admit it. "I guess so." He exclaimed, looking away from her, off towards the kitchenette.
“That’s the ticket!” Victoria patted his head before sweeping out of the room, “Gonna grab a shower, then we can start our celebration off in style.” she said, making her way into their shared bedroom and fluidly pulling her blouse off in one clean motion, revealing her C-cups held in place by a black sports bra. She pulled her pants down before stepping out of her clothes and showing off her matching panties. The young woman’s waist was trim indeed, maintaining an athletic touch of tone while adhering to a pulled in sides, giving her that desirable hourglass silhouette.
She hooked her thumbs around the elasticated waist of the stretchy black fabric and slid the panties down her hairless legs. The thin straps held them up, but she wiggled them off over her feet with a soft sigh of satisfaction. The sports bra followed and Victoria was rewarded with the pleasant feeling of her breasts bouncing against her chest. Her fingers trailed along the curve of her hips and along her waist, squeezing lightly and seeming to gain a note of wanting from the pressure before shaking her head and striding towards the door to the bathroom.
Opening the door, she spotted a rucksack on the bed. “Everything packed for tomorrow?” she called through the closed door.
“Are you sure I only need one change of clothes?”
His answer came in the form of an amused giggle from Victoria, and he heard the rush of water as she stepped into the shower. The sound was soothing, a gentle patter that filled the small apartment and made Sam's mind whirring unbidden. He could imagine Victoria in the shower, her lithe form slick with water and soap, and he felt a pang of desire in his chest.
"One set is just fine ," Victoria said, her voice slightly muffled by the running water. " I'll provide you everything you'll ever need ."
Sam couldn't help but take comfort from her words, banishing the errant thought to join her in the shower. He imagined the steam rising up around her, the slick sound of soap as she washed her body, and he felt his desire grow with each passing second. And then came the ever nagging voice of reality with an edge of nervous discontent.
He banished it with a thought and instead rose from the sofa and made his way over to the kitchenette and quickly set to work on a large pepperoni Pizza. Victoria indulged in her showers like a fish to water, so if he was lucky he could have the food ready for them to share. As he sat at the table, tapping his knees to pass the time amid the susurrus of humming oven and muffled shower, Sam couldn’t stop the soft, somewhat puzzled smile manifesting on his face as the same question wafted in front of his mind's eye like a persistent revenant.
“How on earth did someone like her fall for me…”
It was a conundrum with simple beginnings, back in 2018 he had come to London University with a simple goal in mind, do his Bachelor's degree in media studies and if that went well, try for his Masters. It was a conundrum faced by many young people across the world and he had thrown himself into it with the fervour of one with a willing soul but quite inept social skill. If he had been blessed with a surplus of funds he would have quite happily enjoyed a single flat to himself. Sadly, funds were not exactly permitting so he had to pick shared accommodation in the University's dorms and hope to the ends of the earth that he didn’t get paired with someone that he couldn’t stand for what would likely be years on end.
Which was why he had been immensely surprised to find out he would be sharing a space with an older woman of undeniable beauty and a propensity for Art. He had, in a word, panicked. But to his immense surprise they became friends. It was slow at first, the odd comment here, a chuckle at clothing choice there, but as time passed, the unlikely pair had begun to tease information out of one another. What they were working on, what their schedules were like and what they enjoyed doing. Despite her beautiful appearance, the age gap and everything that would tell the contrary; as the months crawled by proven to fit his inclinations like a Yin to his Yang.
He considered idly, why it had worked, chalking it up to the fact that neither of them had pried all that far into the other’s background, something the both of them appreciated. Soon enough, they were watching TV together. Telling jokes, playing games. As the pandemic hit and they were confined to their dorm for six months. Sam and Victoria found themselves spending even more time together. They were forced to rely on each other for company and entertainment, and it was during this time that they truly got to know each other. They would cook together, binge-watch shows, and discuss everything from their hopes and dreams to how they missed attending conventions.
It was during these late-night conversations, when they were both far too drunk to obscure their thoughts, that they began to realise that they had feelings for each other. At first, it was just a subtle shift in the way they interacted with each other. Lingering glances and touches, and they found themselves wanting to spend even more time together. But as the weeks turned into months, their feelings for each other grew stronger.
It wasn't until one night, after a particularly emotional movie, that they finally kissed. It was a moment of spontaneous intimacy, and it solidified what they had both been feeling for months. From then on, they were inseparable. They spent every moment they could together, revelling in the newfound joy and connection they had found in each other. They had indulged in plenty of fun but Sam’s awkwardness about sex had meant that they had never progressed beyond kissing, cuddling and romantic petting.
Shaking himself from the trip down memory lane, Sam looked down at the little white envelope bearing his name in small, depressingly formal script. Thumbing it open, he pulled a letter from within and unfolded it, frowning when he spotted a trio of letters in the top right corner.
SLC
“Well shit, that was quick,” Sam said under his breath, quickly looking through its contents before sliding it back into the envelope and rising to check on the Pizza. He had better things to focus on than an ever mounting strata of student debt, like their impending trip to Victoria’s home.
When the pair had got their results back a few weeks ago and saw a pair of First Class honours, Victoria had given him a searing kiss and a firm squeeze of his behind. And with a face redder than a ripe tomato, Sam had expected that to be the extent of the celebration but Victoria had out of the blue suggested that after graduating they should go to her home for a few days to celebrate together. The prospect alone had been exhilarating, a week alone with his girlfriend away to ring in the end of the long and arduous road of his higher education, a veritable coda at the end of the song of his life so far before the next act began. But as he pulled a can of beer from the fridge and poured it into a crystal clear pint glass, he couldn’t help but note that something rang bizarre about the gesture. She had been so insistent they attend the graduation ceremony, when usually she would have taken his desire to not attend at face value. She could be remarkably persuasive when she wanted to be.
Then there was the fact that it was her home, not just a hotel. In the four years that they had been together, he had never pried into her family background as much as he could have, because she had never asked about his own family. It was something he appreciated and did his best to return. But still, he had teased out a few details over the years. He knew that they were well off by virtue of a few factors; she didn't have a job, yet she was paying tuition by herself and still had enough funds to support both of them. The TV on the wall and the plethora of gifts she had given him since they became an item were all signs of someone for whom money was no object. The only time she had ever mentioned her family in any detail was in vague allusions to having to go see them over the weekend prior to the lockdown. And now, all of a sudden, to go to her house with no warning… It smelled fishy.
By the time Victoria emerged from the bedroom dabbing her damp hair, Sam was pulling the pizza out of the oven and setting to work cutting it into segments. She wore a pair of tight black pyjama bottoms and a camisole top draped in a slinky blue dressing gown that matched her eyes. On the way to the sofa she paused while selecting a Blu Ray from the neatly arranged stack of media, tapping along the plastic spines before stopping on one in particular. Sam approached, doing his level best to balance the large platter of pizza in one hand and a bottle of white wine in the other. “Well aren’t you just the most dutiful little housewife,” Victoria chuckled, nodding approvingly as the taller and younger man sank comfortably into the sofa beside her.
“Yeah yeah, I’m just a regular stepford aren’t I?” he asked rhetorically, turning on the TV and picking up a large slice of pizza, savouring the meaty taste of the neapolitan delicacy. Victoria nodded sagely before opening the Blu Ray case and inserting the disk into the games console that served as their media player. Hazel eyes scanning the front of the Blu Ray, Sam scoffed, “Dracula? Really?”
“We’re both celebrating, remember? So cut a girl some slack in wanting to watch one of her favourite films with her sourpuss of a boyfriend!” the raven haired woman groused, letting out a trill of enthused when she felt Sam kiss her on the cheek. “That’s more like it.”
The pair clinked glasses as the opening credits began to roll of Francis Ford Coppola's dip into gothic horror, a toast to times past and times yet to come. Despite his exasperation at her choice in film that they had watched perhaps a dozen times before, the young man could not help but admit it had an allure to it, it was still a good movie that as a media student he could not help but appreciate. Well, he mused, he supposed he wasn’t a student anymore.
As the movie slowly but surely crawled into its first act, Victoria drew closer to the willowey youth, her arms slipping around his waist and head resting on his chest, listening to the steadily quickening beat of his heart. They were enjoying a pleasant silence when his girlfriend abruptly spoke. “So what’s the next step for you, Sam?” she asked, tearing her eyes away from the screen to look up at him searchingly, “Serenade your audience with some sage words of what comes next.”
She did have a way with words, even when it came to mundane realities. Sam looked and the amber contents of his pint glass with a thoughtful frown then shrugged nonchalantly. “Get a job, earn a living, make a dent in my student debt.” he explained glibly, taking a sip. He hardly wanted the debt of the last four years of university hanging over his head for the rest of his life. “I’m thinking of going into film review, possibly freelance. There’s hardly a lack of need for them and its what I trained to do.”
Victoria hummed in thought, digesting his words, but the questioning tone did not quite reach her eyes which seemed sharp and focused, having already made their choice. “You deserve better than that, Sam. You’re one in a million that deserves to shine, not be lost amidst the mob.” the black haired beauty crooned, causing his heart to skip a beat.
He was flattered by her confidence in him but shook his head to disagree, “I’m being pragmatic. It’s either put in the effort and get a job or let that debt hang over my head for 30 years before it voids, and I don’t want to be forced to rely on yo-”
“No,” Victoria cut him off, her voice gaining a strength to it, “You don’t have to worry about that or anything else; I will take care of you.”
Sam blushed, not seeing the flicker of possessiveness in the blue depths of his girlfriend’s eyes. He was flattered by her desire to take care of him, really he was and he found it cute how she never seemed to spare any expense on letting them occasionally indulge in fun. But wanting to get away from such a morose subject, Sam looked back at the TV screen. “Why do you like this movie so much anyway?”
“I love everything about it. The aesthetic, the music, the dark romance, the era and especially the clothes. There’s nothing sexier than elegance.” she said softly, listing off the reasons with certainty, hugging herself to him all the tighter.
Sam felt the softness of Victoria’s bust press against his chest and by contrast felt another part of himself attempt to harden even as he attempted to maintain eye contact. “Victoria loves the Victorian era huh? Isn’t that a little redundant?” they shared a laugh, “Though I would have thought you would take issue with the clothes, I hear corsets are absolutely nightmarish to wear.”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Victoria smirked slyly, batting her lashes in a way to try and get him hot under the collar.
This game of light titillation and couples comfort continued throughout the runtime until finally the credits began to roll. Sam raised an eyebrow in question when Victoria got up to retrieve another bottle of wine from the fridge.
“You should probably tone it down a notch, don’t want to risk it for tomorrow.” he said, concerned. He couldn’t drive and the trip up to Oxfordshire would hardly be a pleasant one if Victoria was pulled over for driving while intoxicated. She smirked at him, shaking her head as she elegantly poured the gold coloured wine into her glass. “It’s not funny, I don’t want you getting points on your licence.”
Swirling the contents of the glass twice before taking a long sip, Victoria finally answered him, “Oh I’m not driving us down there, we’re being picked up.” she said, taking a level of joy from her boyfriend's cute confusion. “I didn’t bring it up but this is all part of the surprise, the first of many. Call it the seven surprises of my home that will leave you with life changing shock!”
“Little Minx,” Sam exclaimed in surprised enjoyment, he was starting to like this new side of Victoria, or perhaps that was the beer talking? In the grand scheme of things it didn’t really matter, for Victoria had every intention of subjecting her man to her will whether he consented to it or not.
Later that night as the pair got into bed together spooned against one another, Sam was the first to fall into Morpheus’s domain, blissful in his closeness to the person he cared most for. Alas, unknown to the dirty blonde haired graduate his elder paramor was still very much awake. Moving with a lithe, feline grace, she turned in the bed to look at his sleeping form, watching the gentle pitch and yaw of his chest rising and falling with each breath. Her eyes seemed to glow with mirth and possessive glee, myriads of machinations twirling with hidden idiosyncrasies behind them. Extending her hand, she ran a long finger over his rough cotton bed shirt and felt her nose wrinkle in disgust. It was far too cheap of a material for her liking, he would look so much better sleeping in silk.
“You already belong to me, now I just have to show you your place.” she whispered aloud as she let her eyes drift closed, satisfied that long drawn stings were finally drawing together.
Morning swept into the shared dorm room like a well oiled machine, prompting the romantically involved duo to rise from their beds. Victoria was first to get up and quickly procured a cup of coffee for Sam to ward off the lethargy of sleep. He was dimly aware of her buzzing around him as he slowly drank the energising brown nectar, setting his mind at ease. You might say he had an addiction to the stuff but he didn’t particularly care. It kept his mind working at peak performance and meant he was always ready for the day that lay ahead.
No amount of coffee on God’s green earth would prepare him for this day.
Going through the motions of getting ready saw Sam quickly dressed in relatively casual attire. He wore a white T-shirt with short green sleeves and a cheap hooded jacket along with comfortable jeans and a pair of trainers. Shouldering his rucksack, the wavy haired graduate leaned against the kitchen island waiting for Victoria to join him. His ears perked up, hearing a series of sharp clicks coming down the hallway, mouth falling open when Victoria emerged into the living space.
Victoria’s ensemble was a far departure from his comparatively casual attire, donning an aegean blue summer dress with a plunging neckline and golden clasps at the shoulders. It ran down to mid calf letting her creamy toned legs be shown off, her feet adorned in high heeled black sandals that wrapped up her calves with spaghetti thin straps. The heels on the shoes looked positively nightmarish to Sam, thin stilettos of five inches and red soles. Her long neck bore a lose necklace of pearls and Victoria’s long silky hair was gathered under a wide brimmed black summer hat.
The Florence looked at Sam’s stunned face with amusement, “I’d suggest closing your mouth lest you start catching flies.” she said, smirking idly, her lips painted matte red.
His mouth snapped shut with an audible click, running a hand through his hair as a nervous tic. “You’re making me feel really underdressed…” he said, Victoria sidling up beside him. The sound of her heels clicking on the hard floor of the kitchenette was hypnotic.
“We’ll get that sorted out soon enough,” Victoria replied ominously, standing in front of Sam, shading him with the brim of her hat. With her tall heels, Victoria was now the same height as the willowey young man. As she spoke, she exuded a sense of authority that was foreign to Sam, but it seemed to suit her in a way he could not put into words. Before he could say anything in response, the melodic trill of a harp sounded through the apartment and Victoria pulled her phone from inside her handbag and answered. The conversation was short and the phone was slipped back inside her handbag in a matter of moments. “That was the front desk, our car is here.”
Befuddlement betwixt the hazel eyed young man, his brows knitting together in a confused line, as far as he knew, Uber’s weren’t allowed to make direct pickups from the student dorms, you had to catch them from the street. He opened his mouth to ask when a sharp rap came at the door. Brushing past Victoria and trying not to shiver as she touched his cheek when he passed, Sam opened the door and felt his eyebrows shoot up to join with his hairline at what he saw before him.
Standing in the doorway was a woman in her mid 30s. She was shorter than Sam by a head with fair skin, grey eyes and short brown hair styled in a pageboy. She wore a tight fitting designer suit that clung to her athletic figure consisting of black slacks, white shirt, black tie and an armani jacket. Her tie was held in place by a gold tie pin and she wore a pair of black driving gloves. What drew Sam’s gaze the most however was the chauffeur’s cap perched atop her head.
Sam opened his mouth to say something but found the words would not come, so weirded out by the sight before him. He opened and closed his mouth several times, affecting a rather convincing impression of a goldfish, but if his floundering concerned the woman at the door she did not show it, maintaining businesslike polite silence as she stood there.
“Everything okay, Sam,” Victoria asked, stepping into view over her boyfriend’s shoulder. “Ah, Johanna, you’re right on time.” The moment she was addressed, the woman at the door sprung into action. She removed her cap and held it over her chest, the lowered her head to snap off a crisp bow.
“Mistress Florence, I’m glad to be of service to you today.” she said, annunciating her words with lightly accented english. Her grey gaze snapped to Sam, memorising his face in an instant, “And you must be Samuel Hayes, esquire. Johanna Hämäläinen, I will be your valet for this day.” Johanna introduced, offering a hand to Sam who still looked as if he could not quite parse the reality before him.
Victoria giggled at the interaction causing Sam’s brain to reboot. Gingerly he extended his arm and shook the woman’s hand, finding her handshake to be controlled but firm. “Uh, nice to meet you, I’m Sam.” he introduced, releasing a moment later that she had already known that, “Just Sam, please.” He added as Johanna replaced her hat atop her head. He had never been one for a glut of pomp and circumstance, though judging by the aura of genuine glee emerging from Victoria he was willing to let it slide just this once. ‘ I guess this must be one of those seven surprises ,’ he wondered internally.
“Indeed, It is a pleasure and a honour to meet you, now do you have any luggage that I can take down to the car for you?” Johanna asked. Before he could respond, the suited driver stepped forwards and brushed by him to step beyond the threshold.
As she brushed by the much taller blonde, Johanna’s gloved hand delicately slipped into Sam’s pocket and lifted his keys, slipping them up her sleeve without him noticing. She sent a nod Victoria’s way whose eyes glinted with approval.
Blissfully unaware that he had just been robbed, Sam stuttered out a quick response. “No, no, I’ve everything I need right here.” he said, thumbing one of the straps of his rucksack.
“Oh, my apologies. Would you like me to take it down to the car for you?” Johanna asked, extending a hand expectantly.
“Nah, it’s fine, I got it.”
“I must insist, Samuel,” the valet replied with an edge to her voice, “It’s a Valet duty to escort her charge’s luggage to the car.”
Sam felt a bead of sweat roll down his brow, “Really, I can handle my own rucksack, it's not that heavy.” he tried to argue, sending a pleading look to Victoria.
His answer was an amused eyebrow raise from Victoria who looked between Sam and Johanna’s waiting hand expectantly. An entire unsaid conversation passed between boyfriend and girlfriend in those scant moments before his shoulder slumped. Unhooking his backpack, the blonde passed it to Johanna who held it with professional competence as opposed to shouldering it.
“Excellent, now if the both of you will follow me to the car,” Johanna said, turning on her heel and making her way back out of the dormroom. The duo followed at a sedate pace as the driver scooted past a pair of women who were locked in an amicable conversation.
“She’s really putting her heart and soul into the bit, isn’t she; I can see a lot of people paying a pretty penny for their Uber to dress up as a chauffeur.” Sam said jokingly, getting his confusion of the situation under control.
Victoria smiled in response, her eyes meeting with those of the two women in the hall as they came onto the stairs, the sharp click of her heels punctuating each graceful movement, there was an imperiousness to her movement that she seemed to suit. Her smile was definitely a warm and inviting one, but her eyes, hidden from Sam by the wide brim of her summer hat, held a note of well meaning condescension at his words, like he had just said something overwhelmingly naive that she found funny. Arriving in the lobby, the Sam shielded his eyes from the bloom of sunlight as he emerged onto the pavement in front of the student accommodation.
Eyes adjusting to the light, he came up short seeing what was parked in front of him. Johanna was in the process of putting his rucksack into the boot of a car, but it was not just any car. The Jaguar XF sat in the summer heat like a sleek black mirage, its chrome wheels and blacked out windows stopping the glare of summer sun dead in its tracks. But even a cursory glance would tell a viewer that there was something odd about the powerful saloon. It was far too long to be standard.
‘A Limousine…’ he thought glibly as Victoria drank in his shocked face as if it were the sweetest nectar.
As Victoria looped her arm around Sam's and ushered him into the back of the Jaguar, she couldn't help but relish in the feeling of power. The thrill of being in control was intoxicating, and she could feel her heartbeat quicken with every step closer to their destination. She turned to look at Sam and gave him a sly smile, her eyes glinting with something that he couldn't quite decipher.
"This is Surprise number two," Victoria explained, her voice dripping with smugness as the driver closed the door behind them with a pronounced thud. Victoria looked out of the tinted windows, relishing in the knowledge of being watched by unseen eyes.
Back in the dorm room, the two women nodded before making their way to Sam and Victoria’s room. Upon closer inspection the duo bore a striking resemblance to Johanna, with their cool, steely eyes and professional grace. The blonde of the duo pulled the keys that Johanna had passed them from her pocket and entered the vacated abode while the brunette snapped on a pair of blue latex gloves. They looked around the room with a disconcerting level of precision, taking note of every item that wasn't bolted down. The blonde, Sofia, unzipped a duffle bag and revealed an array of black bags and cleaning equipment, while her sister, Kaarina, grabbed an armful of bags and started stowing away everything in sight.
As they worked, the sisters exchanged terse, almost banal comments in Finnish. They seemed to be communicating without the need for words, their movements in perfect sync. There was an air of professional playfulness to them..
"I never had a place this nice when I was a student ," Sofia remarked in Finnish, her eyes flickering around the room with interest. " What about you, Kaarina? "
Kaarina scoffed at her sister's question, her expression professional and unyielding. " Military school never has good accommodation, " she replied, her tone almost menacing. " You and Johanna got off lucky. "
Sofia pouted at her sister's brusque words, but she didn't argue. They had a job to do, and nothing was going to get in their way. She nodded in agreement and set about her task, her movements quick and precise.
As the Hämäläinen sisters worked, there was a sense that they were a cog in some far bigger scheme. Something ominous was looming on the horizon.
Back in the Limousine, Sam was immersed in a world far beyond his usual ken. The limousine was upholstered in rich chocolate brown leather seats that he sank into with a pleased sigh, they were incredibly soft but with just enough firmness to offer a well and truly comfortable experience. The seating was arranged with two main pieces, three abreast seating at the back of the car sported comfortable inset backrests that bore quilted cushioning akin to a smoking jacket. Victoria sat at the far right seat eyeing Sam with muted amusement as his gaze swept over the many amenities. Sam himself was seated on a long L shaped sofa that ran along the left side of the limo, with plenty of legroom separating him from the opulent drinks bar made from rich dark wood and sporting a number of bottles of wines and spirits.
“So what do you think, is it to your liking?” Victoria asked dryly, crossing one leg over the other.
“What do I think?” Sam said, his face splitting into a genuine excited grin, “I think its bloody brilliant!” he enthused. Sam had never been ofay with overly gaudy splashes of cash, he found it rather gauche all things considered. But as he sat there, buckled into this veritable royal carriage with his girlfriend nodding approvingly at him, he decided that as a one of indulgence it was rather special.
“Excellent, let's be off.” Victoria reached out to her side without looking and danced her fingers across a small control panel, coming to a stop over a large silver button and without looking pressed it down. A sharp click was heard before the button popped back up on the end of a stick that the hat wearing young woman withdrew, revealing it to be a short cane. Grasping it in her hand, she lifted it and rapped it twice against the padded roof of the limo. Just like that and the luxury car pulled away. Sam gave a small clap for the theatrics which Victoria seemed to preen under, pushing the telescopic cane back into its mount.
“Now you’re just showing off,” the man groused, looking out the window as the limousine seems to scythe through London’s midmorning traffic with no resistance.
“You could say I’m returning to type,” she replied before reaching for the drinks rack and pulling a fastidiously cleaned Brandy Balloon and decanter from their place, uncorking the crystal stopper and expertly pouring herself a half glass.
They settled into a comfortable silence as the car worked its way onto the main roads and seemed to almost silently make its way past the burble of the city. It occurred to Sam that the cabin must have been soundproofed to offer a level of privacy for the occupants and when paired with the tinted windows and black glass divider behind the driver the duo were isolated in their own little bubble of luxury.
Usually he would have been content to simply sit there and enjoy himself, but unbidden something began to niggle at the back of his senses, an awareness that something wasn’t quite right here but he couldn’t yet see it. He was still missing pieces when he broke the silence, “I didn’t think Uber did Limousines.” Sam said conversationally.
“They don’t.” Victoria swirled the rich liquid in the glass, enjoying its bouquet as it undulated within the crystal balloon before answering her confused boyfriend. “Would you like me to relive your confusion?”
Sam nodded slowly, eyes on Victoria who looked to be in her element. “Johanna is a chauffeur and valet employed by my family, she is a very skilled and professional driver from Finland who came highly recommended. In fact, all of her family are, we also employ her two sisters. As for this little bastion of baroque class,” she gestured to the interior of the limousine, “It’s a…you could say it's a company car that I’m borrowing to shepard my darling home.”
Sam felt his cheeks warm at her words as Victoria drummed her fingers on her thigh, pouring a second glass of brandy and offering it to the blonde. “Oh, no, It’s a bit too rich for me,” Sam declined only to find Victoria still holding the glass out for him, her face not brokering any refusal.
“I insist, and we’ll get to work on refining your palette in no time, love.” she said bluntly, the dark liquid rolling in the glass as they went over a bump. Her gaze was intense and expectant and the hazel eyed graduate felt his will erode with each passing second before he gingerly accepted the glass. He smiled at her which she returned but could not deny something disconcerting about her cadence, she meant what she had said, but at the same time, it was said in a way that felt broader, grander.
‘Final’ he mentally supplied, suddenly finding a dryness in his mouth that had nothing to do with the hot July day.
Over the next hour the car set a brisk yet refined pace out of London, surging past the vast majority of traffic with a V12 snarl that barely registered inside the opulent cabin, covered up by the classical music that Victoria had turned on once clearing the M25. The Jaguar happily cruised along at 95, always taking the right stretches of roads to avoid any potential speed cameras or police interdiction. In fact their progress towards South Oxfordshire was so good and smooth, one had to wonder if Johanna had a pressiant knowledge of the roads or if she could simply spot the flow of the traffic.
Sam had done his best to enjoy the journey and the creature comforts offered by the car and sink back into conversation with Victoria, and with the latter pursuit he had met with success. It had not taken long before a random thought had got the pair back onto a conversation relating to their usual nerdy pursuits. Soon enough they were neck deep in discussing seemingly every facet of fictional universes to their recent dip into dark fantasy.
“How can you fuck up so monumentally on the last season, like episodes 1 and 2 were great but 3 to 7? Talk about going off the rails straight into the sea.” Sam said, alluding to a monumental bungling of an otherwise beloved series, “Like so the Dragon knew the throne was evil and somehow burned it in ten seconds when it took a similar dragon a week to make the thing in the first place?”
Victoria giggled at the fire in Sam’s eyes, he had a way with words when it came to the his passions and it filled her with joy to watch. “I hardly think the teleporting general was much better, or snow in the middle of summer. My regards to the actors who had to salvage a performance from bad writing.” she chortled.
Her boyfriend nodded, lifting the still untouched brandy in toast. While he hadn't drunk any of it he had found it a remarkably good prop to gesture with, and he would be a liar if he said he hadn’t caught himself looking at the pattern set into the rounded glass surface. It was an intricate design: A six pointed flower surrounded by a snake biting its own tail and flanked by two griffons.
Entering the outer limits of Oxfordshire, Johanna turned off the motorway and sent the car off onto a series of smaller country roads with progressively less traffic the further they drove. Looking out the window, Sam saw the rolling hills of England had been replaced by progressively denser forest that covered both sides of the road. Dappled sunlight streamed in through the tinted windows and he found that the time between seeing another car was growing longer the further they drove.
“Uh, Victoria, I don’t mean to be that guy,” he began, confusion fogging his tone, “But where actually is your house? You said it was Oxfordshire but I haven’t seen a town in like ten minutes.”
Victoria sighed pleasantly, looking out the window fondly as the cage of trees briefly broke to reveal a rolling set of meadows bisected by a sparkling river. She loved this place, so far removed from the filth of the city. “Just enjoy the ride, the destination comes when it comes.”
He tried to inquire further but a sideways glance served in quieting him into silence. Much as it killed him to admit it, he found this new side of Victoria interesting.
A few minutes later and the car began to slow from its blistering pace to a more sedate pace, coming to a pair of tall hillocks that seemed to bar passage and driving between them. Out of the window, Sam began to see elements of life again, what appeared to be a small village that was the poster child for ‘postcard britain.’ A small highstreet with a number of boutique shops, a few restaurants and an old church at the end of the lane, even a small river that they had to drive over to weave between some buildings that looked to have been here since at least the reformation.
It was like driving back in time.
This must have been the place, and it certainly was a pretty little place to grow up he mused. When the car slowed to 20 he made a reach for his belt buckle but Victoria tutted ruefully, causing him to look at her questioningly.
“We’ve five miles to go, so you’ll have to stay strapped in for a few minutes yet.” she purred, fishing her brandy that she had been nursing for the better part of an hour.
The car wound through a tight meandering road through dense wood that was thick with oaks, bracken and bramble, almost swallowing up all light, it was suffocatingly close. In fact, the road was so small, Sam wouldn’t even call it a road, rather a paved track. Still, the car’s suspension absorbed the bumps and any unevenness with ease, nary a shake felt within the cabin. The same could not be said for the blonde’s sense of direction as despite looking out of the window nearly a hundred times he was completely turned around. The track was so dark from the boughs of tree canopy that Johanna had been forced to switch on the headlights to cut through the gloom, and even then Sam began to feel a sinking feeling that they had gotten lost.
This couldn’t be the way, right? This path didn’t seem to lead anywhere and even then, according to his phone they were far outside of mobile rage.
Then with an abruptness akin to a canon firing, they were once again in the open under a bright summer sun. But Sam’s focus was not on the sudden bloom of light that the tinted glass did it’s best to defuse, nor was it on the fact he had no idea which direction they were facing. No, his hazel eyes zeroed in on the landscape’s dominant feature.
Gravel crunched under wheel as the Jaguar approached an immense concrete wall that stretched as far as the eye could see. It was immense in scope, extending for hundreds of metres in each direction before curling out of view and made weathered but still very solid looking concrete before blending seamlessly into ancient smooth stone, the glint of granite unmistakable at any distance. It had to be fifteen feet tall at least and three feet thick. Victoria giggled at Sam’s gawping face, enjoying his shock, Johanna pressed a button on the dashboard causing the privacy divider to slide down and let Sam see out of the front of the car.
“Woah…”
“Woah indeed,” Victoria reiterated, the car pulling up to an imposing pair of black iron gates, twenty five feet high and with hinges as thick as both of Sam’s forearms. Coming to a stop in front of the imposing gates, Sam took a moment to get a better look at them. While at first glance appeared to be a normal gate, he was able to pick out growths of black iron styled into tendrils of metal vines bearing metallic blossoms, serrated thorns and iron bunches of grapes weaving between the bars. And set into the apex of the gate was the same six pointed flower sigil as the one on the glass held in his fingers, involuntarily growing tighter around the glass.
“My family is very well off, more than you know.”
Johanna pressed a button on the dashboard causing the gates to begin to swing open on old but well oiled hinges, yet still they squealed and rattled as each twenty five foot tall slab of iron parted to admit them. The Jaguar trundled forwards onto a long gravel track that seemed to extend deep into the grounds that sprawled out before them in planes of meadows and hillocks. Sam found himself looking out the back window of the limo at the gates that began to swing closed less than ten seconds after the car had passed through them.
As the car slowly crunched its way up the seemingly endless gravel track, a pair of wide hazel coloured eyes took in the sheer scope of the lands splayed out around them. Mile after mile of verdant green meadow blurred together with distant woods and small forests from which flocks of birds took flight, soaring gracefully on the wonderful thermals of the hot July day. The car made its way past vast fields of blooming wildflowers and astride copses of towering trees. The land seemed to stretch out endlessly, a vast sea of green and gold that rolled and undulated as far as the eye could see. As they continued on their journey, the scenery only became more magnificent. The perimeter wall grew smaller the further they drove, letting him see the distant hills, their tree thick peaks hemming in the little slice of paradise. All the while a river wound its way through the landscape, glittering in the bright sunlight.
Swallowing thickly, Sam turned to the front of the car, “Uh, Johannna? How far is it to the actual house?” he asked, overwhelmed by what he was seeing. It just didn’t make sense!
“About three miles between the boundary gate and the outer gatehouse then half a mile to the house itself.” Johanna answered, not taking her eyes off the road as she continued to drive at a sedate pace.
“The drive down the driveway is always long, don’t want to go too fast unless you want to shred the bottom of your car. It’s annoying but it is what it is.” Victoria chipped in, looking out the window. She surveyed her surroundings fondly, like a mother seeing her child return after a long time away.
Be that as it may, her calm words served only to throw Sam off kilter, sending a torrent of questions bubbling in the base of his throat until he could no longer stop himself from speaking. “Alright, fess up. I know you’re well off but I was thinking doctor’s salary not…” he gestured to the distant forest, “whatever this is.”
Victoria looked like the cat that got the canary, running a finger along the brim of her summer hat. “Let’s just day my family has a relatively important share in FMC for now.”
FMC? He racked his brains as best he could, vague memories of purchasing allergy medication swimming in his mind. ‘That’s a pharmaceuticals company, right?’ he wondered, looking at his girlfriend in a new light as she basked in his confusion.
“Just enjoy the rest of the drive, love. We’ll be coming up on the gatehouse in a bit.” Victoria replied, shaking her head, “I think you’ll find the first glimpse of home as something to remember.”
“Right,” Sam drawled, “If I pass out from shock please don’t take a picture.”
“Noted and promptly ignored.”
The gatehouse was a two story house with a russet red chevron shaped tiles covering the roof and arched windows set into the second floor; the entire house was constructed around a tall, arched passageway that ran through the heart of the house and was barred by a pair of leaf shaped doors that swung open as the car approached, allowing passage through the gatehouse. Sam could have sworn he saw movement in the upstairs windows but ignored it in favor of the sight he beheld upon emerging from the other side.
“Welcome to Eden’s Rest.” Victoria said with pride.
The manor house sat imposingly on the horizon, a visage of elizabethan stylings hewn from tanned stone into a grandiose sight. The main building was over four stories high and built in an E-shape that expanded in either direction. Dozens of chimneys and turrets rose from grey slate roof with either end of the ‘E’ bearing a thin, turreted tower, serving to punctuate the skyline. The front of the house was positively studded with dozens of large french windows set into the masonry and cleaned with a perpetual shine. The most notable feature of all had to be the central spire that sprouted from the centre of the facade a whole story taller than the house’s main body, bearing a dark blue clock face with golden hands and numerals. The front patio was encircled by a ten foot tall smooth wall topped with pillars that parted in the middle, serving as a secondary gatehouse.
Passing through the second gatehouse, Johanna bought the car in a slow loop around a fastidiously maintained grass common. It was then that Sam saw them. The Maids.
There were thirty five in total, arranged in neat rows of five, three deep and separated by an arms length. Three rows stood on either side of the entrance at a military style parade rest, hands clasped in front of them demurely. The last five were arranged on the steps to the front door with one of their number breaking from formation to approach the arriving car.
Sam didn’t know where to look, his utterly flabbergasted couhrenance sweeping between the grandiose edifice of Eden’s Rest, the hoard of prim and proper maids but eventually settled on the smug, gloating face of his girlfriend. “Explain.”
“You know you look really cute when you’re confused, but I prefer the look you have when working on something while relaxing.” Victoria said, smiling brightly at Sam and taking his hand.
“This isn’t normal!” he whispered, pleading for answers.
“It is when you’re a Viscountess.” Victoria said melodically, succeeding again in scattering what was left of Sam’s wits.
The car came to a stop at the first step and Johanna killed the engine before getting out and making her way around to the passenger door, opening it in a single fluid motion. Victoria stepped out of the back of the car, her high heels making a sharp click upon hitting the stone steps, standing tall as the warm summer breeze rustled her blue dress and hat. She took a moment to look up at the house lovingly before turning and offering Sam a hand, his much taller size making it slightly awkward to get out gracefully. Accepting the hand, Sam allowed himself to be helped to his feet and stood beside Victoria, putting off the same air as a child lost in the supermarket.
On reflex he looked over the assembled staff who watched him and Victoria with hawklike intensity, he found himself feeling incredibly naked under their looks despite their polite, demure faces. Still reeling from the reveal that his girlfriend had secretly been an aristocrat this whole time, Sam only took in a few details from the hoard of women, mainly the air they put off of earnest professionalism.
He did not notice at first that each and every one of them was hardly what one would consider normal as far as hired help in the 21st century went. All were women of beautiful looks, they ranged in age from perhaps 17 to their early 40s from all backgrounds. White, black, asian, indian, all beautiful. What one observing would likely be drawn to was their uniforms, for each and every one of them bore the uniform of a maid from the Victorian era.
Their uniform consisted of an ankle-length, high collared black dress made from cotton with some subtle and tasteful piping across the bust. Its long sleeves ended in tight white cuffs held closed by black buttons. All wore a crisp white apron that covered both the bust and the main A-line of the dress, it was tied off at the waist as well as notably frilly straps that criss-crossed between the shoulder blades. Peaking from the hems of their uniforms were a layer of frilly white petticoats, adding volume to the elegant uniforms. Each maid wore an identical white lacy headband seated atop their tight hair buns while their high collares were affixed with looped black ribbons.
The central maid approached Victoria, receiving her with a professional but still very warm hug. “Mistress Victoria, welcome home, I trust your graduation was pleasant?” she greeted before calling out in a rich voice. “Welcome home your mistress!”
In one wave of movement the maids responded, grabbing the sides of their dresses and lifting them in a curtsey. “Welcome home, Mistress!!” they all called in unison, their legs crossed.
Victoria gestured limp wristed with her hand and the maids rose from their curtseys before she returned the woman’s embrace gently, though her face was glowing with happiness. “It was, and all the better knowing what is yet to come.” she said before pulling Sam gently to face the Maid. “Sam, allow me to introduce you to Diana Thomas, she’s the housekeeper here at Eden’s Rest.”
Diana was a woman in her mid 40s with impeccable modest beauty with a straight nose, large green eyes and thick eyelashes, she also possessed a notable bronzed tan. Her hair was, like many of the other Maids, in a tightly controlled Victorian bun and was the colour of brushed steel. She also had a small beauty mark on her right cheek wich contrasted beautifully with her wire framed half moon glasses. She was tall, a few inches shorter than Sam but still impressively tall at 5’11. While she was attired in a maid’s uniform it was notably different from the multitude surrounding them.
It was a much more embellished version of the standard uniform made from a shimmering black satin, featuring puffed shoulders, a nod to her position of power, and her apron extended around to the side of her body, a practical choice for her role. As opposed to a headband, Diana donned a white lace mop cap, with white ribbons trailing down her back, setting her apart from the other maids, highlighting her elevated status. Her cuffs bore that familiar six pointed flower sigil while her neck ribbon was adorned with a jewelled pin, marking her as the Housekeeper. Lastly, a silver ring of many jangling keys was affixed to the back of her apron. Despite her mid-40s age, she carried herself with grace and poise, her tall frame adding to her air of authority.
“Diana, this is Sam, my paramour.” the Viscountess said, causing the young man to cough lightly to clear his throat.
“Nice to meet you,” he said softly, gingelly extending a hand to Housekeeper who looked him over intently, appraising him as if he were some interesting animal that had wondered into her scope.
“Charmed and honoured.” Diana took Sam’s hand and inclined her head in greeting, he found her grip to be gentle yet firm, more so than Johanna’s. “It’s a great honour, after all, Mistress Victoria has told us all so much about you. We are all at your service for your every need. Now,” she turned to Victoria, “I have prepared a boudoir for Sam on the first floor, it is fully appointed and furnished to your suggestion, Mistress.”
“Thanks…” the blonde said glibly. Sam felt a cool bead of sweat roll down the nape of his neck, there was something about the sureness with which that was said that he found disconcerting. ‘ Talking about me like I’m not even here… ’ He looked behind him only to see Johana passing his rucksack to a waiting maid who quickly spirited it away indoors.
Diana made a chopping motion with her hand to signal the Maids who all turned on their heels and began to file in through the front doors in neat lines with military precision. Soon enough, only Sam and Victoria were left standing on the bottom step of the entrance.
He looked up at her, pleading for answers as Victoria gently ascended the steps towards the huge oak double doors.
Victoria smirked at him and offered a hand, “Come on then, let's get you comfortable.” she stated. A beat passed between them before Sam relented and accepted the hand, ascending the stairs with his girlfriend, keenly aware of the crashing sound of the courtyard gates slamming shut behind him with finality.
Notes:
Thanks for getting to the end of the prologue, things get spicy next chapter so hurray for that. I intend to post a chapter about once a month depending on circumstances.
My hopes for the future with this fic? That it inspires someone to draw fan art. I consider that a goal as a writer that if you can inspire others to be artistic then you've done your job right.
Chapter 2: Chapter 1: A Well Prepared Surprise
Summary:
The first true chapter of this piece where Sam finds himself on the receiving end of a rather grand scope surprise.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Eden’s Rest’s entry hall was huge, easily a hundred feet across from one end to the other and put the capital G in Grand. Light streamed through the tall French windows on either side of the large, oaken double doors that served as the entrance. An opulent marble floor expanded from the threshold towards the grand staircase, big enough for a cortège to march up ten abreast without needing to push or shove. The staircase was richly appointed in plush scarlet carpeting inset with gold filigree, with not a speck of dust present in the light cast by the imposing crystal chandelier that hung high overhead.
Hazel eyes widened at the sight, transfixed by the feast for the senses presented to them. A sharp bang from directly behind him caused Sam to jolt in place, shocked back into action by the outside stimuli. He looked over his shoulder and was relieved to see it was simply Diana closing the doors behind him and Victoria as they had entered. She inclined her head to him in professional apology for the sound before setting off, gliding across the mirrored finish of the marble floor and vanishing into a side arch with the twin silken tassels of her mop-cap flowing gently behind her.
Letting out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding in, the dirty blonde-haired graduate gave the entry hall a much closer once over, spotting that the walls bore many subtly striking features, including plush chairs, ornate tables upon which sat expansive vases of flowers and one large grandfather clock hewn from cherrywood; its broad bronze pendulum swinging back and forth like something from a gothic torture chamber. Sam paused, his gaze catching on something he had missed upon first entry, obscured by the bloom he had experienced from exiting the July sun.
Upon the floor sat the same six-pointed flower symbol as he had seen on the outer gate, only this relief differed with two key factors. The first was its size, over three metres in width, stretching across the heart of the floor. The second was that it was rendered in far greater detail, the flower a rich lapis blue and the foot of the entire sigil bearing an inscription in looping Latin cursive.
Innectis ad Perfectum Flore
Victoria could not stop the melodic giggle from slipping from her painted red lips, finding the range of facial expressions on her paramour's face a veritable feast. “Priceless,” she said, voice carrying over the hall and getting Sam to look at her, stood upon the first two steps with one hand on her hip.
“Ummm,” Sam exclaimed unsurely, gesturing glibly to his surroundings, finding it challenging to come up with an adequate response. Thankfully for the out of place twenty-two year old, Victoria was more than willing to give the conversation a much-needed jumpstart.
In fact, she practically glowed at the chance. “We can play twenty questions soon enough, Love, but there are much more appropriate venues than the middle of the threshold. Come along, let's get you rested and watered.” Turning on her heel, she began to ascend the steps, eyes swimming with joy as Sam scarpered up the steps to join her. She always maintained a lope that put her footfalls a step ahead of him, the combination of that and her heels meaning that she eclipsed his lanky stature for a short time until they arrived on the first floor.
Sam found he could not muster the words to speak despite the slew of questions practically hammering on the back of his teeth to escape his mouth, still off-kilter from the metaphorical hammer blow that Victoria had delivered to his perception of her, his girlfriend, the Viscountess. Swallowing thickly, he instead decided to continue to tentatively take in his surroundings in the vain hope that the sights and sounds would alleviate his desperate need for answers. Passing a row of pillars that ran from the bannister overlooking the entry hall, they found themselves in a wide corridor that Victoria navigated with the air of someone who could do it with her eyes closed. Corridors and anti-chambers branched off from the hall that was filled with doors. Very glad of his beautiful guide, Sam found his eyes glazing over, passing sightlessly over paintings and busts of long-past Florences.
They eventually reached a door identical to the rest, save that a maid stood in front of it at parade rest, curtseying to both before opening the door to admit them to the reception room. It was a comparatively ‘small’ room about twice the size of a standard living room, the walls panelled in light-coloured woods and a mint green flock-effect wallpaper. Victoria removed her hat and passed it off to the maid, who promptly left the room and closed the door behind her, leaving the couple alone. Trailing her fingers along his chin as she passed him, Victoria sauntered across the room and deposited herself in a high-backed armchair daintily, crossing one leg over the other before looking expectantly at her befuddled beloved.
Scanning the room, he saw that the only real piece of viable furniture was the green chaise lounge opposite Victoria next to the unlit fire and soon found himself sinking into its plush upholstery. Despite the abundance of comfort, he sat ramrod straight, clearly still disquieted by all this and only kept from losing his cool by the amused energy rolling off Victoria.
A gentle knock came at the door before it opened, and a maid entered pushing a fully laden silver drinks trolley covered in a white linen sheet.
“Ah-ha! Phoebe, right on time.” Victoria spoke in a familiar tone with an underlying steel, the sound of which caused the maid to incline her head, “My fool of a lover here hasn’t had anything to drink since London; do be a dear and fix him something to slake his thirst.”
Embarrassment covered Sam’s face like an artful flush of oil paints that Victoria favoured, letting out a strangled grumble at the ‘lover’ comment.
“Certainly, Mistress,” Phoebe replied, seemingly ignoring the couple’s nonverbal joust. She curtseyed to Sam, revealing her shiny black Mary Janes. “I’m Maid Phoebe, honoured to make your acquaintance.” Phoebe was a pretty young woman in her late teens with auburn-coloured hair and green eyes. “How do you take your tea?”
Sam suppressed the urge to grimace, running a hand through his hair, “Nice to meet you, Phoebe, but I’m more of a coffee person if you have any.”
He was being polite, exceedingly polite because, in truth, he couldn’t stand tea, he thought it was little more than a watery cup of mud, but his passive, introverted nature put the kibosh on expressing that so strongly to someone just doing their job.
The maid bit her lip and sent a searching, askance look to Victoria. It was such a quick gesture that the hazel-eyed young man didn’t notice it, his introversion keeping him from meeting those pretty green eyes. Victoria’s face revealed nothing, giving a lone, singular nod to her maid who instantly sprung into action, retrieving a cafetières from under the drinks trolley and busying herself with making each of her charges their desired drink. Soon, the familiar hiss of a bubbling kettle filled the reception room, and Sam had to marvel at the speed with which the young woman went about her duties, a range of invisible minutia feeding into each deft hand movement until Phoebe handed him a cup of aromatic caffeine.
“Blonde Roast Arabica, semi-skimmed milk and one sugar,” the hot drink was placed on the coffee table between him and Victoria, sitting on its saucer like a baroque art piece. It was joined by Victoria’s cup of tea, who swiftly lifted it to her lips and began to sip its contents. Sam inhaled deeply through his nose, the charmingly calming scent of his personal vice a life preserver in this stormy sea of confusion. He took his first sip before being absorbed by the rich, smooth flavour. “I take it is to your liking?” Sam could only nod, still quietly savouring the gift, but he did glimpse a look of satisfaction on the maid’s face at his reaction before she excused herself, rolling the drinks cart out with her after leaving the teapot and cafetières on the table.
The mundane high of good coffee bleeding away, Sam looked at Victoria drinking her tea and finally allowed the dam on his curiosity to buckle. “What the fuck?” he let out in a long-suffering sigh.
In retrospect, the exclamation was the perfect encapsulation of the past 24 hours.
Victoria’s smirk maintained but did gain a rueful softness to it, while she found her boyfriend’s confusion to be a sweet nectar, it would not do well to have him falling into a nervous breakdown. So, she decided to add an air of familiarity to her response.
She sniffed at the teacup in her hand, the trails of barely white vapour lethargically sucked in with a breath, permeating her smell. She smiled. “I promised a game of twenty questions but you seem a little highly strung, so I’m going to be bold enough to say that I know you well enough to guess the first…” she tapped her chin in thought, “three questions, and if it will make you feel better then I’ll go ahead and get them out of the way.”
She was in her element, her words spoke concisely with an air of amusement, still familiar, still Victoria.
Sam’s spine lost some of its rigidity, which was all the sign she needed to push on.
“To address the biggest elephant in the room, yes, I’m an aristocrat. My full title is the Viscountess Victoria Florence, daughter of Earl George Florence of Bath,” she explained, a banal delivery to underscore the reality of the truth. “Second, this isn’t just a very elaborate rental. Eden’s Rest is my home. Everything you see here, from the house and gardens to the forests and rivers, belongs to my family. If you see someone here that’s not yours truly, then they work for me.” Victoria leaned forwards, blue eyes piercing his hazel. “And the third…”
She left it hanging, an unsaid order in the tone.
He looked at his shoes, feeling her eyes bore into him until he finished her sentence. “Why did you never tell me?”
She regarded him for a moment, tasting his words on the air; there was not as much hurt as she had expected; in fact, it was barely an aftertaste compared to the simple base question. Why ? She could see the cogs in his brain beginning to align and spin, that wonderful mind that she so adored, trapped beneath a humdrum form and timid demeanour, was coming to life, aligning the fragments of information to elucidate a conclusion like so many academic papers. Her look turned predatory. ‘ No, no, not yet. You will have the chance to put that mind to good use ,’ she gracefully rose from her seat to sit beside him on the chaise lounge. ‘ But for now, I will give you your gift of knowledge, love. ’
He looked to his left, into her beautiful face as she alleviated his confusion. “It’s simple. I didn’t want it to sour our relationship.”
“Yeah, it probably wouldn’t have made for a good first impression. ‘ Hello, pleb, observe that my blood is blue, looking forwards to rooming with you; what’s for dinner? I’m feeling stew.’ ”The good-natured barb was out of his mouth before he could stop it.
Victoria practically lit up with mirth, covering her mouth as the giggles came peeling out of her, eyes crinkled in amusement. It was infectious, and Sam couldn’t help but feel some of the weight lift from his shoulders when she slapped his arm goodnaturedly. And honestly, in a way, it confirmed something he had considered the previous day, that their relationship had clicked because neither had pried into one another’s backgrounds. But alas, his mind caught on something else about Victoria: the way she laughed and talked and held herself even.
It was still undoubtedly her, but she seemed so much more outwardly confident, refined, an aristocrat even.
He blew out his breath in a huff, “It’s still like… A LOT… to take in. My girlfriend, the Viscountess, eh… like what do I even call you now.” he cocked his head to the side, “Your Ladyship?”
She wagged her finger chidingly at him, tutting for effect, “Tsk, Tsk, Tsk, there will be time for etiquette faux pas later, but know that that title in particular is being held in trust for someone else.” she said matter of factly. “To you, I will always be Victoria, nothing less,” ‘ But a lot more yet to come ’, she added in thought. “The fact of the matter is, Sam, that we passed our courses with honours, and I’ve brought my beloved home to celebrate in the lap of luxury,” she stated, planting a chaste kiss on his warm cheeks before returning to her seat and pouring herself another cup of tea.
Musing internally, he recounted the day's events so far, first the trip, then the chauffeur, then the reveal of her Viscountess status and now the plan for the rest. ‘If this is surprise number four, then what the hell will number seven be!?’ he thought, recalling her promise of seven surprises.
“Now, I’m more than willing to answer any questions that take your fancy, providing they don’t spoil the surprise, but for now, why don’t we just enjoy our drinks?”
“I can drink to that.”
And drink they did, slowly and with great care to savour their caffeine and wordplay in equal measure. As time ticked by in an inexorable march, Sam fielded a variety of questions pertaining to Victoria and her status, and while she was true to her word in answering those questions she could, a few of the answers rang hollow. They were true, but there was an amused undercurrent and double entendre to them that was hardly a Freudian slip. Still, for now, he was content to gain as many crumbs of information as he could, enjoying this far more decisive side to her.
Red Flag.
He perished the thought, barely acknowledging the seed of doubt sitting bitter at the back of his mind. He paused in tapping his foot as she explained that the staff numbered over 70. “Should I really be wearing shoes inside? I don’t want to make more work for the workers,” he queried.
“Servants,” Victoria corrected, “Maids if you want to be specific, and let's rectify your conundrum right now.” She went to a nearby drawer and retrieved an object from it, getting a closer look at it, Sam saw that it was a small silver bell. Victoria gripped the tip of the handle between her fingers before limp-wristedly ringing it. She then put it down on the coffee table and continued. “Once we get that sorted out, I’ll give you a little tour of the house and grounds before we finish off the evening with a Michelin-star meal.”
Sam pulled a face at the comment, but his partner was quick to point a finger at him in warning; her look was clear, that he was to be pampered whether he liked it or not. His will wilted, and he sank back into the chaise lounge. Victoria nodded, good, he was learning.
A knock came at the door, and a maid entered, different from Phoebe. While she wore the same uniform as the redhead, this maid was in her mid-20s with inviting mocha-coloured skin and large, doe brown eyes, her lips plump and kissable. “Mistress. Is there anything you need?” she intoned.
Confusion washed over Sam like a lukewarm sheen, had she been standing outside the door? She had to have been to be called by something as seemingly frail as the lowly silver service bell.
Gesturing at the now exhausted cups and saucers, Victoria ordered, “Gather up the fine china and call two of my Ladies Maids to bring slippers for us.”
The maid curtseyed low in affirmation, exposing some of her legs to Sam and letting him see that she wore a pair of sheer black silk stockings before stooping to collect the crockery.
Feeling like a bit of a stuffed lemon, the blonde spoke to the dark-skinned maid. “Thank you for waiting for our conversation to come to an end before coming in,” he said, assuming that she had been waiting outside the door.
The unnamed young woman looked confused at what Sam had said, it lasted a beat before she seemed to remember something and smiled, bruising a finger past the base of her ear. “Of course, sir, you’re most welcome.”
Despite her arms being full of crockery and drink, the maid made a seemingly graceful exit, her load hardly slowing her as she left.
Yet Victoria rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, “You’ll have to forgive Maid Kate, she’s still adjusting to a few recent additions.” she said, making a mental note to inform Diana of the slip.
A few minutes later, the door was opened again, but this time, two maids entered, each holding a pair of plush, floral-marked slippers. They inclined their heads to them both before splitting off and each taking a knee at Sam and Victoria’s feet. Setting down the slippers, the maid grabbed Sam’s jean-clad leg before undoing the laces on one of his trainers and sliding it off his foot before he could voice surprise.
“What the-”
“Just let Jeanne and Chloe work, Sam,” Victoria instructed, the chestnut brown-haired Chloe having an easier time with the aristocrat’s heels. “They’re Lady's Maids, this is entirely under their job description.”
The two Lady's Maids wore the same floor-length Victorian uniform as the rest of the staff but were set apart by the gold pins set into their neck bows. The flaxen-haired Jeanne was very good at her job and able to wrestle Sam’s shoes off in short order, her thin arms hiding a surprising strength, sheathing his sock-covered feet in a pair of rose-themed slippers. Their task done, the Lady's Maids stood and looked at both of them with the same serene, self-amused smile, their eyes seeming to look at Sam with fascination.
“Thank you, girls. Please take our shoes to their appropriate places.” Victoria said, dismissing the two.
“Yes, Mistress!/Yes, Mistress!” each answered enthusiastically before leaving their mistress and her partner alone once again. But as the door swung shut, Sam could have sworn he spotted the retreating form of a new figure, the swirl of a blue dress and a pair of gloved hands clasped behind their back as the door clicked shut.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, “You can’t sit there and tell me that being waited on hand and foot is not weird.”
“Different, not weird, Sam,” Victoria answered, her smile just a hair's breadth too wide.
Walking down one of the many corridors, Jeanne and Choloe marched in a veritable lockstep, the heels of their low-heeled boots letting out uniform muffled clicks as they walked. Each carried their separate shoe cargo in the same way, reverently but with heels out so as to not sully their uniforms.
“I can’t believe he’s actually here, it feels like the Mistress has been talking about all of this for years,” said Chloe, the younger of the two. She was a beautiful woman in her mid-twenties with brown eyes and a modest bust that puffed up the front of her maid’s dress nicely.
Technically speaking, Maids were not supposed to discuss the idle gossip outside of their dormitory, but being the Mistress’s Lady's Maids did come with a share of perks.
Jeanne nodded in agreement, the twenty-eight-year-old had pale blue eyes and a beauty mark on her right cheek. “She has, though the rabble from the Housemaids has probably made it seem a whole lot longer.”
“Can you really blame them? It's surreal to think how much planning the Mistress has put into this, and soon enough, it will start on the long path to bear fruit. Things will certainly be changing at Eden’s Rest.”
“True,” Chloe replied before closing her eyes in sympathy, “I almost feel bad for him, Dr Ito and the Governess seem to want to make a magnum opus of him.”
Jeanne reached the central staircase, “What else but a Magnum Opus could you call the shaping of our Mistress’s Spouse?” she asked rhetorically before splitting off from her sister maid. While Chloe ascended a flight of steps bound for Victoria’s bedroom, Jeanne descended to the ground floor and made her way to a nondescript wall inset with a metal handle. Pulling it revealed a long trash chute, which she promptly dropped Sam’s trainers into before closing it and returning to her work.
Their Mistress had said he wouldn’t be needing such crass footwear for his new role.
Sam and Victoria could be seen walking through the corridors of the ground floor at an even pace, occasionally broken when the older woman was seized by a particular zeal to enthusiastically point out some kind of interesting furnishing and the storied history that went along with it, her eyes gleaming with life, enjoying the simple pleasure of talking about two of her favourite things in the world. Painting and, as he was quickly finding out, her home. Sam did his best to follow the seemingly disjointed gait of his girlfriend, aided in part by the slippers that cushioned his every footfall. Not only were the plush pair of black slippers with floral patterns comfortable, but they were a perfect fit for his size nine and a half feet.
They were the best fitting pair of footwear he’d ever had the pleasure of putting on, almost like they had been tailored.
“All the staff have an excellent eye for sizes,” Victoria had said when asked what the chances were that the Ladies Maids had picked out the exact perfect size for the both of them. And honestly, he believed it. In the roughly twenty minutes since they had left the reception room behind them, the tall man had seen a score of maids going about their tasks like monochrome frilly wraiths, gracefully seeing to the needs of the house. They kept to themselves and did not acknowledge their presence unless he and Victoria directly crossed their paths, where their greeting was silent and demure before returning to whatever task they had been assigned like clockwork.
He had done his best to offer quiet waves and little greetings when he passed them, to which they had all smiled and returned, though Victoria had yet to address any of them on this jaunt, her attention squarely on him. The attention from the one familiar face here was a welcome balm amidst the unfamiliar surroundings.
Grabbing his hand, the shorter woman dragged her placid blonde in front of a large portrait in the centre of their current hall, “Ohh, this is one of my favourites. This is Countess Elicia Florence II, while her parents were the ones to draw up the initial plans, she was the one who oversaw most of the building.” she explained. The painting rested within a gilded rectangular frame and depicted a woman in her early 40s. She had a narrow face with her dark brown hair gathered in a Tudor hair net inset with pearls; her body sheathed in the tight waist of a white Farthingale Dress with red accents.
“Tudor?” Sam questioned, looking for any kind of tag to denote the age of the piece. Art had never been his strong suit, but he’d seen enough behind the scenes for period drama at University to recognise a general era of clothing.
“Close, Elizabethan. Elicia II put much of the era into the building facade but left space for people to tweak it to their liking.” Victoria replied, looking up into her ancestor’s face with a proud expression.
Feeling a touch of impulsiveness breaking through his usual placid shell, Sam leant down and rested his chin on Victoria’s neck, whispering in her ear. “If she’s a builder, then you’re an artisan to make them proud.”
“Such a tease, blossom,” Victoria pecked him on the cheek before resuming the little tour.
Little was simultaneously a perfect descriptor and woefully undershooting the reality.
Leading him downstairs through a series of internal annexes and at least one door hidden behind a tapestry, Victoria came to a pair of glass double doors with curling iron handles that she seized before opening with a flourish. Bright summer sun poured into the corridor and temporarily blinded Sam before his vision adjusted to the outside. Green. Everything was so very green. As they began to slowly walk along a path of enormous stone slabs, they both took in the majesty of the grounds. Rolling hills and meadows of varying terrain that disappeared beyond the horizon, framing Eden’s Rest as a lone island in an ocean of verdant colours. He let out a sound of astoundment more than once as he traced distant copses of woods obscuring tracks through the grounds that snaked like great slithering serpents.
High above him, behind a large panoramic window, stood another figure, clad in blue. They watched Sam and Victoria traipse their merry path around the back of the house with an invested stare, taking in every detail of them from the distance apart they walked to the slight awkwardness with which the taller of the two walked. That spoke of someone who still had some hangups about the reality before them. An expected occurrence, one that had been planned for.
Unaware of this hidden peeping tom, Sam eventually saw that they were coming around to the more organised gardens that rolled out from the back of the house and low and behold, an Olympic-sized swimming pool, covered in a cleaning tarp to protect its crystal waters from dirt and grime.
He shook his head in disbelief, “How the hell could any family afford to buy this?” he asked rhetorically, hands slipping into the pockets of his jeans.
“We didn’t buy it, it was given to us, remember?” Victoria corrected, cupping the bloom of a low-hanging magnolia that they passed before gesturing with a sweeping motion. “Our money situation keeps everything maintained and running, tickatee-boo.”
Sam was incredulous, jabbing a finger at a distant hedge maze, “How in the f-” he thought better of cursing, “That maze alone looks like it could be part of The Shining, so unless you’re growing money trees, how the hell do you even put a dent in keeping everything running?”
Victoria giggled at his question, “Oh, Sam, you do find serendipity in your analogies, don’t you, touching on truth for the purpose of a joke.” She lifted her hand and pressed a finger against his chin, gently pushing it until it faced south and pointed to the distance. Squinting his eyes, Sam could just make out a glimmer of glass obscured by trees, a dome and spire poking from the treeline outlined in green steel. It was a Victorian glasshouse. “It might not be money trees, but it's something just as lucrative and far more profitable. It all started with flowers, Sam.”
Returning to her walk, a stray summer breeze caught the hem of the ravenette’s dress and sent it a flutter. “Flowers, and everything you get out of them. Saffron is worth more than gold, sugars keep the masses motivated, and pharmaceuticals are derived from their most lucrative secrets. It's something my family has had on tap for ages, after all, the F in FMC stands for Florence .”
A metaphorical lightbulb lit up over Sam’s head at her words. ‘ FMC… Florence Medical Concern .’ he thought in realisation.
An hour passed serenely, their slow walk through the boundaries of the gardens and along the seemingly never-ending house yielding a return to the peaceful feeling that he got in Victoria’s presence, but it was not entirely idyllic. While he was still grappling with the fact that not only was his girlfriend an aristocrat but pharmaceutical royalty, there were a few oddities that were slowly bundling together at the back of his mind, forming into a seed of doubt.
A shift of movement out of the corner of his eye caused his head to snap and look back at the manor, but all that greeted him was its tanned edifice and gently rustling curtains that could quite easily have been moved by the wind. That was the fourth time he had seen it, a half-snatched glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye, watching him from on high from the house's upper floors but always gone by the time he had turned to look at it. It had solidified into that oh-so-unpleasant fallacy of ‘feeling like he was being watched.’
‘Stop .’ he thought to himself, breathing in deeply, ‘you’re mind is just playing tricks on you, you’re having a nice walk with Victoria, enjoy it, ya lanky fuck .’ he added. The self-deprecating words served their purpose, and he found that most of his calm was returning with a blanket of rationality. There were over 70 staff, of course, one might get curious and poke their head out a window…
“God damn, how long does it take to circle this place; it feels like it has no end.” he commiserated, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. While the weather was simply divine, it was not especially fun to be out in it for too long without shade.
“Sorry, darling, but some of us are not blessed with such long, shapely legs.” Victoria jested, playfully slapping a hand against Sam’s chest, which he returned, soon devolving into a cartoonish exchange of amused chuckles and faux insults to the choir of half-hearted slaps and gentle shoves. Through it all, Victoria’s dress remained un-creased, not a hair out of place.
This was how a maid found them a minute later, catching their breath in the shade of a large oak that grew near the path. Victoria had already returned to her image of self-control and power, standing tall in the presence of her servant. “Yes?” she asked, causing Sam to look at the maid.
“Begging your pardon for the intrusion, Mistress, but Miss Diana told me that she needs to speak with you regarding tonight’s dinner.” the maid said, her olive-coloured skin and Asian features a perfect compliment to her somewhat breathy, lightly accented voice.
Sighing at the reality, Victoria shot her boyfriend an apologetic look. “Duty calls, it seems, no rest for the wicked. Bian, will you show Samuel to one of the drawing rooms while I speak with Diana.”
“Actually, do you mind if I look around for a bit longer?” he asked, surprising the blue-eyed woman; his demeanour had taken a marked uptick from the good-natured roughhousing. “I kinda want to see the rest.”
Mulling the words over in her mind, Victoria struck up a thinking pose, caught between annoyance that he wanted to do something without her and happiness that he already wanted to see more of what the manor had to offer. “Okay, just don’t stray too far from the house; I really don’t want to have to call in the SAS to pull you out of a tree like a scared cat,” Victoria said before turning on her heel and walking back towards the house with Maid Bian falling into step behind her.
Sam cupped his mouth to call out to her, “Unless you have Triffids in here somewhere I doubt that!”
“Ha! If anyone could find a fictional plant monster in our gardens, ’ it's you, blossom!” Victoria called back, disappearing back into the manor.
Moments after reentering the house, Victoria’s face shifted. She was still happy and amused, but her bright blue eyes now glowed with a profoundly sinister light, a dark humour that one might glimpse in a spider as it watched the beautiful aerial dance of a butterfly, noting how each arc, innocent and free, brought it closer to the spider’s perfectly spun web. Bian excused herself silently to return to her tasks, and Victoria paid her no mind, ascending the grand staircase to the third floor before pushing open the door to her private study.
The door swung inwards silently on well-oiled hinges, revealing a bonafide command centre in Victorian stylings. The study was the size of a school staffroom with a polished teak floor and matching panelling across each wall's lower reaches. The upper wall panels were all the same: forest green wallpaper with vine designs in a darker colour. The right wall was inset by a tall bookcase filled with scores of leather-bound tomes, almanacks and ledgers, as well as a medium-sized landscape painting of Eden’s Rest. The left wall was comparatively sparse, dominated instead by a large fireplace. A few other small tables and sideboards, as well as a drinks globe, could be spotted dotted around the room, but what stood out most was the desk.
It was large and hewn from polished cherry wood with a black leather surface. You could be forgiven for thinking it was a replica of the Resolute Desk at first glance because it did bear a striking resemblance, framed as it was by the large panoramic window that took up much of the far wall. Two gold desk lamps sat upon it, several manilla folders held down with paperweights, and a PC monitor canted off to the side. Lastly, the front of the desk was carved with the Florence family coat of arms and painted to stand out from the wood.
There were two other women in the room, both of whom Victoria knew. The first was Diana, the housekeeper greeting her politely, her uniform as the head of staff in perfect order. The second stood behind the desk, looking out of the window over the breadth of the grounds. She turned around, face set in a pleased and professional half smile, “Mistress Victoria,” she greeted pleasantly before rounding the table to stand beside Diana.
“Trisha,” Victoria returned the greeting, walking further into her study before refinedly sitting in the comfortable leather office chair, enjoying the creaking sounds of rich leather as it adjusted to her form, it came with an old and heady smell that she was especially fond of.
Trisha Moore was an attractive woman of 5’6” with a trim, athletic build and small bust conferred by healthy living. She looked five years younger than her 32 years would lead you to believe, with creamy blemishless skin and narrow, intelligent, light brown eyes set behind a pair of oval-shaped rimless glasses with red frames. Her straight auburn hair was gathered in a simple ponytail that trailed between her shoulder blades, with two chin-length bangs framing either side of her face. While not strictly period-accurate, her attire fit in with the aesthetic of the manor. She wore a navy blue high-collared velvet maxi dress with gold buttons running down its front to below her navel before opening to be more akin to a coat, its sleeves tapered tightly to her wrists. She wore dark pantyhose over her exposed legs and black Mary Jane flats, giving her an air of professionalism compared to Diana’s more ‘traditional’ attire. Finally, she wore a pair of meticulously fitted black leather gloves and held a worn but perfectly maintained black riding crop in her right hand.
Victoria gestured both to sit and greeted them amicably, talking to Trisha first. “You’ve taken the time to have a look at your soon-to-be charge,” it was a statement, even if phrased like a question.
“Yes, I first saw him from the gatehouse window when you arrived. He nearly caught me watching from the window a few times during your little tour.” Trisha said, finding the fact mundanely delightful, “Your reports said he was placid, but low and behold, he has a sense of his surroundings.”
“It won’t be a problem.” Victoria pulled one of the manilla folders from her desk and thumbed through it slowly.
Trisha preened. “On the contrary, I look forward to turning that against him. Sharp minds are like rough diamonds; it takes a guiding hand to truly make them shine.” she said, indicating the files with graceful movements, “The majority of my teaching materials are ready, and I’m looking forward to starting; the only thing pending is your choice of name.” With that, she opened to the floor to Victoria, who had the meagrest mote of uncertainty in the depth of her eyes.
“To tell the truth, I’ve been wracking my brain for months, but with the last push on finals, it's sort of slipped my mind,” she said, chuckling awkwardly. Her bearing was maintained, intense and refined as ever. “It doesn't matter, though, I shall decide in the moment. On that, you have my word.”
Accepting her employer’s judgement, Trisha leant back in her chair, trying to guess what she may settle on.
Diana waited patiently until Victoria turned to look at her before speaking. “Johanna’s sisters sent word an hour ago, they’ve finished up in London. You should have the manifest of what to keep or dispose of by tomorrow morning.” the steel-haired housekeeper communed, drawing a pleased nod from Victoria.
“Any issues, both here and afar?”
“Samuel’s meal is being prepared to your specifications. Few issues outstanding, even fewer of note.” Diana replied.
“Save for the good Doctor’s absence,” Trisha pointed out, her eyes resting on the third empty chair beside the older woman.
Diana raised a dark silver eyebrow at the glove-adorned woman in playful rebuke, “Check the time, dearest Trisha.”
Briefly askance at the request, Trisha rolled up her left sleeve, revealing a thin silver wrist watch and checked the time. “Ah, vaping then,” she muttered glibly, internally chastising herself for forgetting something so elementary.
Victoria smiled, enjoying the bi-play between her servants. She hummed in satisfaction before relaxing into her seat, drumming a nonsense beat on the desk with her fingers.
“You seem exceptionally satisfied, Mistress,” Trisha commented, her own face a mask of neutrality.
Victoria smirked at the older woman. “I am many things, Trisha, if I wanted to speak candidly I’d say I’m barely restraining myself from pulling the cuffs from my drawer,” she tapped her middle finger on the desk, “cuffing you to the radiator and kissing your snatch till you scream my name from the sheer euphoria of what’s to come.”
Trisha smirked, her bangs hiding the bead of sweat that said she knew her Mistress was serious.
“But let's just keep it simple and say that it feels good to finally be on the verge of my desires.” The raven-haired Florence finished with certainty.
“It’s true, we have all waited a long time for this, so much preparation both for today and what’s to come. It’s the start of a long and enjoyable journey that, while hard, all of us will come to enjoy.” Diana declared, perfectly summarising their feelings.
And in that sunlit room, where three women schemed, all were united in a fantasy they’d dreamed.
Walking a complete circuit of the manor house had proved to be a surprisingly tricky task. While there wasn’t much to get wrong with ‘walk till you see the front doors again, he had been tripped up by just how huge the estate actually was. No matter how far he walked, he was treated to the expanding breadth of the house, with numerous outlying buildings catching his eye and slowing his progress as he tried vainly to define their nature. The constants of tan house, green grounds and blue sky became an odd constant for Sam, feeling that while the particulars of his surroundings changed, he was still standing in the same place. Shaking his head at it all, he spotted what appeared to be a wooden park bench overlooking a distant river and decided he had earned himself a break.
His trainers crunched on the gravel before he unceremoniously flopped down on the left side of the bench, taking in the postcard vista sprawling out before him. If there was one thing that was plain to say about everything, then it could be found in the weather, Britain’s infamous summer rains nowhere to be seen in favour of fair sun and clear skies. It was not overly hot now, shaded as he was by the dappled shadows of an overhanging willow tree. Sam pulled out his phone and checked it, seeing the cold white letters in the top right of the screen reading ‘NO SIGNAL’, causing him to wrinkle his nose in annoyance. In all the rush, he had forgotten to ask for the Wi-Fi password. What was a media graduate without a steady stream of intellectual stimulants?
‘The Wi-Fi hub for this place is probably solid gold and encrusted with jewels,’ he joked to no one but himself, twiddling his thumbs as a warm breeze rustled his hair. ‘ On second thought, definitely not, I doubt Victoria’s that tacky.’
“Then again, I seem to be finding out an awful lot about her today, she wasn’t lying when she said this was going to be a surprise-filled trip,” he spoke aloud, looking up at the shifting branches of the willow overhead, their thin strips rustling against each other hypnotically.
Moments later, he heard a different sound cut through the ambience, the unmistakable crunch of gravel underfoot growing steadily closer to him. He kept to himself, chalking it up to one of the staff coming to check that he hadn’t been lost amidst the flowers.
The approaching person advanced at a relaxed pace, coming up behind the bench before placing a hand on its back, surprising Sam when they vaulted the wood in a single, clean hop to land beside him, one leg crossing the other.
“Hiya,” said a woman’s voice in thickly accented english. Now sitting on the bench beside him was a short woman of 5’5” were it not for her footwear. Looking at him, she flashed an easygoing smile, “Taking a break?”
If one were to look up the word ‘Japanese’ in the dictionary, they might just happen upon a picture of this woman, given how archetypal her features were. At 27, she possessed mischievous almond-shaped brown eyes, a small bust and a thin waist. Her straight black hair was kept in a square chopped bob cut and Hime fringe that covered her forehead, framing her beautiful face as if it were a piece of art. Compared to the almost total Victorian stylings of everyone else he had met today, her outfit was comparatively mundane. She wore a dark grey turtleneck sweater, tight-fitting leather pants and a pair of black patent leather knee-high boots with block heels.
That was not what drew Sam’s attention, though, that went to the crisp white doctor’s coat she wore open over the rest of her outfit, falling to just above the knee.
Taken off balance by the banal intro, the young man offered a weak smile to the Asian woman, hoping that he was not about to be told he was somehow out of bounds. “Just catching my breath; I’m Sam.” he introduced awkwardly, offering a hand that the woman casually took, surprising him by how gentle her shake was.
“Nice to meet you, Sam. I’m Yui.” the now-named Yui drawled, her dainty finger slipping into the pocket of her leather pants and fishing for something.
“Ditto, Yui… um, can I help you with anything?” he asked.
“Not really, other than maybe a bit of flowerside chitchat to break up the monotony of breaks on my lonesome.” Yui’s Kansai accent was very thick, causing her to roll her R’s and give her words a poetic quality despite how relaxed they were. Seeing that he still looked uncomfortable, she pouted cutely, “Relax. I’m not gonna read you the riot act for taking a break looking pensive in my favourite vaping spot.”
Sam chuckled at the comment, watching her finally pull a chrome-plated vape from her pocket and press it to her lips. That was a relief. “Sorry about that. It looks like I just had a bad string of luck.”
Yui shrugged, taking a slow drag off the chromed pen, “No worries, there isn’t anything wrong with a chat and a smoke. To be honest, most of my co-workers have no concept of social life.” She exhaled into an errant breeze, the wind carrying the blueberry-scented vapour away from them both. She pointed a finger at him with a smirk, “And then there’s meeting you. Samuel Hayes in the flesh and faded jeans, it was going to happen sooner or later.”
“You know me?”
“How could I not? Victoria has a case of verbal diarrhoea, and most of the time, it's your name coming pouring out of her mouth, I doubt there’s a maid at the house who hadn’t heard you were coming.”
Sam felt his chest warm, heartened by the fact that his girlfriend seemed so gleeful to talk about him, even if he’d have rather she kept it to herself. “Everyone seems to know me around here…” he mused, it rang oddly sour to his ear.
Yui raised a thin, plucked, black eyebrow, “She didn’t tell you about me?” she asked, receiving a negative and facepalming. She shook her head and chortled. “Oh, that corset-addicted bitch, she’s really gonna invite her boyfriend to stay without telling him about her best friend?” she asked rhetorically, amused at Victoria’s choice.
Sam performed a double take, taken off guard by Yui’s crass words spoken in well-meaning humour. “First I’m hearing of it, I’m afraid. Are you one of the surprises?”
Yui shook her head slowly, “Nope, I'm an eventuality, not a surprise.”
He leant forwards, curiosity shining brightly in the hazel depths of his eyes. “You’ve known her for a while.”
The Japanese woman held up both hands, “About ten years thereabouts.”
Her words were nonchalant and humorous, with little held back, seeming more than willing to provide the answers to the myriad of questions buzzing around his head like bees. So, taking the initiative, the placid young man asked where the pair had met.
“You’re probably thinking that it was some kind of picturesque meeting out of some manga, aren’t you? The beautiful Japanese Doctor, wrapped in Furisode, crossing a moonlit Kyoto bridge to meet the foreign princess in the dead of night…” Yui proposed, then let out a snort of laughter. “Nah, nothing so cliche. We met in a club about a decade ago, shortly after I started working at FMC and hit it off, one thing led to another, we had a lot of fun, and eventually, Victoria made me Manor Physician here in this little slice of Tamaka-ga-hara.”
The concise retelling told Sam everything and nothing, but information was information. He was brought back to the here and now when Yui hummed in thought. “I think more proper introductions are in order. Dr Yui Ito, Manor Physician and personal doctor to the Mistress Victoria Florence and family.” she reintroduced, making a flowing gesture towards herself.
‘So the coat’s not just for show, ’ Sam thought as Yui continued.
Simply put, when you had a staff of over seventy servants who were at work on their hands and knees for most of the day, one was bound to eventually scrape their knee, and for that, Yui was there.
“Sounds hectic,” Sam quipped, but Yui made a ‘so-so’ gesture in reply.
“Yes and no. I oversee the health of the staff and the house residents while conducting clinical trials for FMC, a win-win in my mind,” Yui looked at her vape and sighed, “'Only downside is I had to give up smoking.”
“I assume because of the health risks,” Sam hypothesised evenly.
Yui snorted with laughter again. “Nah, the Housekeeper just hates the smell of cheap cigarettes.”
They continued to talk for some time and Yui answered every question he put to her in that same amused detachment that spoke of someone who just wanted to shoot the shit, filling the blanks in a corkboard of conspiracy that had taken form in his mind's eye. However, he was broken from his thoughts when he felt the irresistible and unignorable call of nature taking root in his bladder.
“Something the matter, Sam?” Yui asked, having noticed the shadow of concentration fall over his average features.
Sam blushed in embarrassment, “I don’t want to bring down the mood or anything but I really need to go to the toilet, you wouldn’t happen to-”
“There’s a few toilets on every floor; just head inside and have a look; ask a maid if that fails.” Yui directed him inside, indicating a particular door amongst the masonry.
“Ah, the maids,” Sam pulled an unsure face as he stood to leave, “To tell the truth, I think they’re a little unnerving at times.”
“You will get used to them,” Yui called to him as he left. There was something ominous in the way she spoke, as if it was just a formality, not a reassurance.
He quickly excused himself, leaving the short Japanese woman to the rest of her break while he walked back inside with a stilted gait.
Despite his best efforts, Sam soon found himself lost amidst the seemingly non-euclidean architecture, confounded by identical doors and more crossroads than he thought possible for a structure conjured from the imagination of man. It caused his anxiety to rise up his back like a creeping noose, but eventually, he saw what he had longed to see: a swirl of black and white cloth vanishing around the end of his corridor. “Excuse me!” he called, jogging to keep up and nearly stumbling when he came face to face with one of the maids, this one in her early twenties with chocolate brown hair in a severe bun, a healthy tan in her features.
“Yes, sir?” the maid answered, hands gathered at the front of her apron.
“Sorry to catch you when you’re at work, but do you know where the bathroom is? I’m kinda lost.” Sam asked sheepishly. He hated having to palm his issues off on strangers, and there was a certain mundane humiliation with being unable to find the restroom.
The violet-eyed maid was not at all perturbed by the blonde’s apparent discomfort and gave a crisp nod, raising a hand asking him to follow her, soon navigating the halls like a fish in water while Sam awkwardly walked behind her. They passed hundreds of items of note in their trek, from paintings of long-gone family figures to suits of armour and other nicknacks from foreign lands preserved behind crystal clear glass. Unknown to him, every step he took, every action he made was observed, tracked and logged by hidden cameras that lurked where none would expect them.
The silence was heavy and awkward, so he broached an introduction to break the ice.
“Nice weather we’re having…” he trailed off, fishing for a name, leaving it to the British to bring up the weather when all other avenues of introduction failed.
Her tanned face peaked over her shoulder to look at him, her frilly maid’s headband jostling as she walked. She smiled politely at him. “I am Maid Flora, sir. And yes, the weather is most fair.”
“Yeah, I’m glad I’m back inside, tell you the truth. Flora…”
“Maid Flora,” Flora said again, confusing the blonde. She cocked her head to one side, not understanding his hangup. “I am Maid Flora; you may refer to me as Maid, Flora or Maid Flora, whichever takes your liking, sir.”
Eventually, they came to a long hallway with a wooden door identical to all the others, gesturing for him to enter.
Turning the polished brass door knob, the statuesque young man entered the last refuge of the drunk and needy. As with everywhere else in Eden’s Rest, the toilet was opulent without being gaudy. However, it was not without a touch of anachronism, featuring a chain-pull toilet with an ebony wood seat. Far too in need of relieving himself to comment on the finery, Sam quickly pulled down his jeans and sat on the toilet, letting out a pleased sigh as he let nature run its course.
Sam had always had a smaller than average bladder, and draining half a Cafetieres worth of coffee had served to fill it to such a capacity that he didn’t trust himself standing up. As he did his ablutions, he took the time to fit together the bits of information that he had learned from Yui about Victoria and the rest of the Florence family.
The Florence family were an old aristocratic family with Victoria being the daughter of an Earl, and while they were wealthy beyond reproach, they chose to remain in the background of society and keep to themselves. Admirable, Sam thought, not liking gaudy splashes of cash, finding it tasteless. But just how wealthy were they? Extremely, according to Yui. While Florence Medical Concern specialised in the research, manufacture, and sale of pharmaceuticals, they were just a cog in the much grander scale Florence Multidiscipline Conglomerate , which had its fingers in a lot of pies across the public and private sectors. Liquid assets alone were in the region of twelve digits, which strained credulity in Sam’s mind, until he remembered the colossal house and staff of enumerable maids at its disposal.
Sam stopped.
Now that he had time to himself, he could address the multitude of minutia and nuanced weirdness within the house instead of being overwhelmed by the sheer size of it all. Now that he thought about it, since the head arrived here, he had never once seen or heard mention of male staff working out the house, and were it not for Yui’s existence, he would have sworn it was a maid-only show. A distinctly Victorian maid-themed show. He knew that Victoria was fond of the era, but surely this was just a one-time thing, right?
Something about this was ringing wrong in his ears, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
Looking around, his train of thought was derailed by something else amiss: the distinct lack of toilet paper.
His business concluded, Sam’s gaze swept over the large restroom from its marble flooring to stone basin and mirror, but he couldn’t find a scrap of toilet paper nor any holders for it.
“ Is something the matter, sir? ” Flora spoke from behind the door, her muffled voice causing him to let out a girlish squawk.
“Gah!” Sam looked at the door with wide eyes before remembering that something very much was the matter. He awkwardly gestured, futile, given she couldn’t see him. “I seem to have run out of toilet paper.” he lied, the truth that he couldn’t find it a galling embarrassment he didn’t want the stranger to know.
She saw clean through his deception. “ There is none, sir. All the toilets at Eden’s Rest are Takino type, from Japan. ” He didn’t reply, so she added, “ The water washlet rinses your privates while the air duct dries you .”
Huh, well, there was an oddity: brand spanking new Japanese toilets modified to resemble Edwardian chain flushes. Sam knew about them, though he had never had the pleasure of using one. “How do I…”
Flora cut off his question before it had left his throat. “ There is a button on the end of the chain pull, press it and simply wait for the process. ” She instructed truthfully, remaining professionally polite despite the fact that right now, her guest couldn’t wipe his ass to save his life.
Finding the chain hanging to his left, the dirty-blonde-haired young man grabbed the black enamel chain pull and studied it for a second before finding the button where Flora had said. Depressing it, he heard a small whirr under him as the washlet unit slid out of the toilet bowl. “EEP!” Sam squeaked when a warm jet of water struck his unprepared rosebud, clenching up on reflex. He slowly overcame the shock and became acquainted with the strangely pleasant feeling of water rinsing over his privates before being blown dry. The graduate stood up and caught sight of the device as it silently retreated into the porcelain as if it had never been there. “Cool,” he stated honestly before pulling the chain to flush.
Nothing happened.
He tried again, the chromed chain pulling the lever beside the elevated cistern, but was rewarded with nothing but a hollow ‘thunk’. “Flora,” he called, “I think the chain pull might be busted.”
Flora paused for the first time since he had first spoken to her. It lasted a full three seconds before saying, “A moment, sir, ” in an apologetic voice with an edge of something he couldn’t describe. Sam heard her feet retreat from the door for a few seconds more before he heard a sharp ‘CLINK’ from the cistern above him. “ Try now, sir. ”
He gave the chain another pull, and to his immense surprise, it worked flawlessly, the urine-yellowed water flushing away.
Exiting the toilet after washing his hands, he found Flora just outside the door in a low curtsey, head bowed in shame, where she launched into a heartfelt apology. “A thousand apologies, sir! It slipped my mind, sir!”
Sam held up his hands, waving away her prostrations and supplying, “It’s no problem, really, but what actually was wrong with it?” He asked as she rose from her curtsey, and he half expected her to pull a plumber's tool kit from under her petticoats.
Maid Flora still looked upset, but it quickly faded; she was more disappointed in herself than scared of him. “All toilets at Eden’s Rest possess a weight sensor in the seat that requires you to be sat down to flush. I had forgotten that you had not yet been told, and so I switched the toilet to ‘Guest.’”
Another oddity about the place, he could ‘maybe’ see the application in a place that prided itself on no mess having a system that kept you sat as you pissed. Lord knew his aim turned to shit when drunk. “I see. Well, thanks for waiting by the door, avoiding some embarrassment, even though you didn’t have to.”
“On the contrary, Sir,” Maid Flora countered, hands clasped in front of her once again in her demure parade rest. “You’ve yet to be issued with a Service Bell, and it is a maid’s duty to be on hand should her owners or guests need her.”
Sam felt the muscles in his neck tense, there was something about the way she said those words that made his hackles rise in warning, an assuredness that had been drummed in again and again. Yet still, curiosity won out. “Speaking of the maids, why do you all wear Victorian dresses? Is it something special Victoria put you all up to?”
Violet's eyes narrowed in confusion, not understanding his question. “This is our standard uniform, sir, decreed by the Mistress many years ago.”
“It must be tough to wear, though,” he ventured; the waistline of the dress, while obfuscated by apron and petticoats, was clearly very tight to Flora’s waist.
Flora looked affronted, clutching a hand over her heart. “Being hard to wear has nothing to do with it, sir. All Maids must come to love their uniform as much as they love their Mistress!” she gave in an impassioned speech before freezing, realisation punching through the fire in her eyes like stygian ice. She shouldn’t have said that. Before Sam could even process what she had said, Flora’s features sharpened, her hand brushing the base of her ear. “I must excuse myself, sir, but I can hear a service bell being rung,” she said quickly before excusing herself with a curtsey, vanishing around the corner before he could get out even two words to stop her.
Hazel eyes remained fixed on where she had vanished. Swallowing thickly, Sam was once again alone in the corridor, confused and with more questions than answers.
“I never heard any bell…”
He trudged forward, eyeing the paintings as he passed, unable to shake the returning feeling that despite being alone, he was being watched.
Hours passed like shifting sand within the manor, never uniform, always unique and dancing to the beat of its own drum. The afternoon had come and gone, and now the shadows began to grow long, the sun’s lower angle causing the Jacobethan-styled home to glow gold almost supernaturally. Maids went about their duties and chores, Diana walking the halls with an eye for detail, spotting every minor error or object of note and adding it to a mental checklist only she knew. Everything had to be perfect for tonight, as it had to be perfect every night that had come before it.
And in a living-come-drawing room on the first floor, Samuel Hayes could say he was nearly at peace, sprawled out over the comfortable reaches of a plush couch, his head resting on Victoria's lap. He looked up at her as she regarded him, a pleased serenity to her that glowed with unpassable emotion, happy to bask in it in the pleasant silence of the drawing room. ‘ Who would have thought a smile could put you at ease so easily?’
After his… interesting interaction with Maid Flora, it had taken him a few minutes to gather his scattered wits before trying to find his way back to familiar pastures.
Victoria had found him soon after, emerging from a door behind him with a chiding word about getting lost. She had offered a hand to lead him, and he had accepted, following her back to the entry hall in a blur of unfamiliar corridors. When she had initially suggested returning to the tour, he had been against it, but seeing his state, she had amended it to ‘looking into something fun.’ To his immense surprise, it had been just that. Hidden away amidst myriad solariums, boulders and small libraries, he had been shown many modern amendments to the building that were right up his alley, albeit tuned to Victoria’s taste. Media rooms furnished with tortoiseshell tables, games rooms with every console imaginable upon gilded plinths, computer labs held in the same room as what he was 99.9% sure was a replica of Babbage’s Difference Engine, and so much more. She had even made mention of a personal movie theatre while they had whiled away some time crossing swords in a game, quashing his prior jitters and returning him to his default placid manner.
Most of the afternoon and oncoming evening had been spent relaxing in this drawing room and, with it, familiarity. This was the core of the couple's joy in each other’s company. Conversation and quiet closeness just played out on a much grander scale.
Victoria gently ran her fingers through his messy, dirty blonde hair, sending waves of calmness through him before Sam let out a pleased hum that made Victoria dip her head to kiss his cheek. But as she pulled back, his inverted view of the room alighted on something interesting. Above the fireplace was a large portrait of what appeared to be some kind of knight of old, donned in mail and a white surcoat with a straight black cross over his chest. He had long blonde hair in a lion's mane and proud green eyes, locked on the form of what must have been his black-haired wife off to the side sporting a dress marked with the Florence sigil.
His eyes raked down the painting slowly to the unlit fire before stopping on an object set upon the coffee table, the silver and black shape of a Service Bell, the evening sun causing it to twinkle gold.
His lips thinned imperceptibly. Despite his calmer mind, a solitary nugget of discontent sat on the periphery of his senses, some primaeval part of the caveman mind that refused to die and screamed YOU ARE IN DANGER. In their wandering and relaxing, if ever refreshments had been required, all Victoria had had to do was ring one of those little silver bells, and in two minutes or less, a Maid or two would enter to attend to their needs. It was… disquieting, to say the least. Summoned by a sound they could not possibly have heard, they kept the seed in his mind well-fed. Alas…
He squashed the feeling again, feeling Victoria’s shapely thighs jostle against his head and neck. There was nothing to fear here.
His thoughts briefly returned to the pretty Japanese doctor, her sarcastic smile shining in his memories. “Will Yui be joining us for dinner?” he asked out of nowhere.
Victoria shook her head, her waves of shiny black hair fluttering around her face, “Ah, you’ve met our esteemed doctor then.”
“She’s alright, kinda bummed out that this is the first time I’m hearing about her unless she’s one of the surprises.”
“Ha!” his girlfriend bleated a laugh, “Definitely not. Miss Gion-District would never let me live it down.” She then smoothed her features and perfectly mimicked Yui’s tone of voice, “ I could never be a surprise; I’m just a part of your life that just happens to be surprising! ”
Sam chuckled at the impression; it was nice to know that Victoria had some friends outside of him, and it sounded like the Viscountess and Japanese Doctor were thick as thieves. “Is she just shy for dinner or…”
“If she could have, then she would have, but unfortunately, the good Doctor Ito is preparing for a large clinical trial tomorrow morning and can’t attend.” she giggled coyly, a half-truth.
Sam hummed, ignoring the warning sirens in the back of his mind.
The young man could not bring himself to bring up the issue to Victoria, and despite her seeing he was at times out of sorts, she did not ask. His reason for not speaking about his worry? Part of it was something he had no overt control of; it was in his nature to be placid and, some might say, submissive. If one knew the right words and actions, his will would crumble like wet tissue paper. The second reason was cognitive:
‘ There has to be a logical explanation for all of this. Odd stuff aside, if they are swimming in money, I’m sure most people would play the clown for the sake of the paycheck at the end of the month. Enough to love their job and employer despite her requests. And who's to say there’s not some kind of switchboard that registers the bells? I’m sure I’m just overreacting. ’
It was a good argument, simple and logical and squared off many of the issues he had seen in his short time here, just enough to enjoy the farce for a little longer. A fine showing of Occam’s Razor.
Little did Sam know that in this instance, Occam’s Razor was poised to slit the throat of any chance he had to escape what was yet to come.
Atop the mantlepiece, a carriage clock struck 7PM, releasing a melodic chime to ring in the change of the hour that filled the room. The sky outside was still quite bright due to the height of summer, but evening had definitely come. Victoria listened to the sound of the clock until it had run its course before gently rolling her boyfriend’s head off her lap.
“I have to go get surprise number five ready,” she said, gently lifting herself to her feet and smoothing her dress.
Sam made to rise and follow, but Victoria playfully pushed him back into the sofa, causing him to look up at her in irritation. “I can’t get up if you keep pushing me down.”
“You’ve waited a few hours in my wonderful company; you can wait a few more minutes by yourself, Sam.” the blue-eyed aristocrat reasoned before indicating the door, “A maid will be along when dinner’s ready.”
There was an odd glint in her eye that he couldn’t place, but he didn’t resist when she kissed him on the cheek teasingly before vacating the drawing room, following the alluring sway of her hips as she went.
Sam remained in the well-lit room, splayed out over the comfortable sofa by himself and felt the first inklings of tiredness touch him. It had been a long and surprise-filled day, and he came to the conclusion that after dinner, he would simply ask to go to bed. Guilt stabbed at him, this was Victoria’s grand production after all, and he wanted to be there for the artful distraction she had crafted, but he didn’t want to fall asleep mid-way through whatever after-dinner festivities she had in the works. That would just be rude.
The carriage clock on the mantle had just struck 7:30 when a knock came at the door, two sharp raps that made him sit up. The door opened to reveal Diana, still the image of professionalism but now sporting a pair of white linen gloves. “Samuel,” she greeted, drawing a bead of sweat from his brow at how she had forgotten he preferred Sam, “Dinner is ready in the dining room, please follow me.”
Pushing himself up, Sam did as he was asked and went to the door, but as he passed it, he noticed something odd. Along the lining of the door was a gold patch of metal about half the length of his thumb in width and a foot in height, a trio of dark circles arrayed one atop the other. Deadbolts? What an oddity. He shook his head to ignore it, chalking it up as an eccentricity of the house or a holdover from yesteryear.
He did not stop to consider what truly made it strange. After all, who used Tungsten deadbolts for a door with no visible locks?
He was led by Diana through the halls that were now lit with warm yellow bulbs fashioned to look like old gas lamps hanging from sconces along the walls. It really changed the mood of the place compared to when it was just lit by natural light. A memory of Versailles swam across his mind, conjured from some half-forgotten movie that the fetters of over-the-top aristocratic life here reminded him of.
The trip was quick, the housekeeper gliding through the halls with her charge, any attempts at weak small talk he made guttering out in the face of her simply doing her duty. The Dining Room was located on the ground floor of the manor on the left wing of the building, held behind a pair of white doors with gold handles that Diana pushed open slowly, the bright light beyond pouring out onto Sam’s dazzled face.
The dining room was more accurately called a hall with polished teak flooring and a number of doors running along each side of the walls. It was dominated by a very long rectangular dining table stretching out across two-thirds of the space, covered in a pristine white tablecloth that looked so soft it could have been a liquid. Lit candelabras ran along its centre line with only two places set, one at either end of the table. Diana walked to the place nearest to them and pulled the seat back, gesturing for him to sit.
He walked as he was bayed, feeling weird as the green-eyed beauty pushed the high-backed chair forwards to meet him, letting out a placid ‘thank you’ as Diana found her way to the middle of the table. Scanning the place in front of him, Sam internally groaned. A perfectly folded napkin wrapped in a blue bow was set before him, surrounded by other eating paraphernalia. Three sets of cutlery radiated out from it, each one slightly different from the other, in addition to three glasses of differing size and shape off to the right, a similar arrangement at the other end of the table.
Cutlery . If Sam found an element of so-called ‘high society pomp’ beyond ridiculous, it was the overabundance of cutlery. For him, all you needed was a knife, fork and maybe a spoon. Then again, he was a very picky eater who could subsist happily on the most basic of meals, blissfully ignorant of the minefield that was table etiquette.
“Where’s Victoria?” he asked Diana, the head maid turning to look at him with a reserved smile.
“Our Mistress has a few things to prepare before dinner begins, she won’t be long,” she answered concisely.
Suddenly, one of the dining room’s side doors opened, and Sam was surprised to see a troupe of five maids walk in. At first, he didn’t recognise any of them, but all sported the same white linen gloves as Diana and silently arrayed themselves around the long table, three steps away from it. Two of them took up positions on either side of the far chair, another pair mirroring them behind Sam while the final maid stood opposite Diana at the centre of the table, making the whole formation symmetrical. Sam blinked before realising he did recognise one of the maids, Phoebe, who stood opposite Diana.
He attempted to wave at her, but she did not turn to look at him, instead keeping her eyes locked firmly on Diana. He thought it was a little rude at first before realising that Phoebe was basically staring down her boss.
“Can we offer you anything to drink while you wait? Water for the table or perhaps a glass of wine? We have a bottle of vintage 67 Boulinger if you want something sparkling.” Diana enquired, turning her head to look at Sam, the jewelled pin in her neck glinting in the light cast by the above chandelier.
“Could I get a beer, please?” Sam asked, his taste in drink just as basic as his taste in food.
Diana’s nose wrinkled imperceptibly, her half-moon glasses hiding the judging look from Sam. She snapped her fingers, and the maids sprung into action. Phoebe turned and made her way to a wooden box on an outlying table, opening it and causing chill vapour to rise before she pulled a large bottle of beer from within and a crystal pint glass from beside it and placed them on a silver platter. The guest blonde watched as the platter was handed to the two maids behind him, who opened and poured the bubbling amber lager between them before setting it down on a coaster.
Quietly thanking them as they returned to their places, Sam lifted the chill pint to his lips and took a slow swig, eyes flashing in enjoyment. It was a good beer, probably an import, and it had been poured perfectly, no head to speak of.
A loud knock came at the far door, causing all six maids to stand ramrod straight, which made Sam jolt more than the knock at the door. A beat passed before the far double doors were pushed open, and a new maid entered, unfamiliar, but the gold pin at her neck indicated her to be a Lady's Maid. She stood there momentarily before stepping to the side to admit Victoria.
Sam nearly dropped his drink, his eyes going wide and his mouth falling open.
Victoria was a far cry from the simple yet tasteful summer dress she had worn for most of the day. Now, she wore a lapis blue Victorian dinner dress made from silk that went all the way to the floor, only the white petticoats beneath peeking from under the bell-like line of its skirt. Her chest was wrapped in a tight-fitting bodice that hugged every curve of her torso, a ruffled detail covering her breasts and its high collar framing her swan-like neck. Her waist had quite clearly been cinched in by a hidden corset, presenting a perfect hourglass, while her arms were sheathed in tight sleeves with fluted black ruffled cuffs. Her long black hair had been gathered in a high ponytail, held in place by a dark blue ribbon and red floral hair clip. She had also touched up her makeup with eyeshadow and mascara that made her long lashes pop.
She looked like she had just stepped out of her namesake era; she was, in a word, gorgeous.
As one, the assembled servants curtseyed in greeting while the Lady's Maid left. Victoria turned to look at Sam, smirking in mirth as the maids pulled out her chair to let her sit. She kept his gaze as she unwrapped her napkin and placed it on her lap, enjoying how he continued to gorp at her.
“If you keep that look up any longer, love, I’m going to have to break out a canvas and start drawing.” she joked, snapping Sam out of his brain fart.
He opened his mouth to make a witty reply but found the words would not form, still captivated by the alien yet fitting look that his girlfriend now sported. In the time they had been together, she had never worn anything even remotely as extravagant! ‘I mean, sure, she occasionally wore designer brands, but I’m used to seeing her laze about in her pyjamas!!!’ he thought, his thoughts slowly getting back in order. “You look nice.” he eventually said awkwardly.
It looked more than nice, it suited her to a tee.
Victoria poured herself a glass of water from a pitcher one of her attache maids brought to her, “Sorry for the wait, blossom. Sometimes you can’t rush getting dressed, I’m sure you know that.” she said, watching him over the rim of her glass. “Do you like my toilette ?”
His brows knitted together in confusion at the strange word before realising she was referring to her dress. “You’re stunning,” he admitted honestly.
“Flatterer,” one of the maids filled a champagne flute for her mistress to drink from. “But honest compliments are the most sincere, even if this dress is something of a normality for me now I’ve brought you home.”
“This has to be surprise number five,” Sam ventured, alleviating the dryness in his mouth with another gulp of beer.
“Part of it, certainly. But not all of it. I want to show you all the joys of Victorian living, and what better mood setter before a decadently delicious meal than a silk appetiser?” she tittered, laughing behind the back of her hand as the maids began to wheel in food, each meal hidden under a silver cloche.
“You’ve succeeded in making me feel underdressed.” Sam retorted, a covered platter placed before him.
“Twice in one day, that’s a record that shan’t be beaten,” Victoria replied, one maid lifting the cloche to reveal a bowl of rich soup. “From here on out, you’ll never have to feel underdressed ever again.”
Dinner consisted of a three-course meal that Victoria had planned to perfection to be a combination of simple and elegant; the cooks in the kitchens had been all too happy to have it prepared to her every specification,
However, it ran into the immediate, finicky and insurmountable obstacle: Samuel Hays being a picky eater. Victoria’s gaze ensured he at least attempted to slurp down a few spoonfuls of his rich tomato soup, but not much more. Instead, he gorged himself on the offered bread to make up the difference, using the wrong knife to slice and butter the bread. More than once, one of the Parlor Maids opened their mouth to instruct him on the right utensil to use, but a subtle look from Diana was all it took to shut them up. It was not their place to correct their Mistress’s loved one on table etiquette.
Yet .
Once Victoria had finished her own starter, Sam’s still three-quarter filled bowl of soup was taken away and replaced with the main course, a prime cut ribeye steak with asparagus, coleslaw and a Caesar salad. His eyes lit up upon seeing the steak, much more up his culinary ally.
The meat of the meal was the meat itself, and he quickly dug in, relishing the medium rare beef that was so tender he could cut it with his fork despite his pitiable skill with the utensil. He moaned in culinary pleasure, it was juicy and savoury with the perfect amount of resistance as he chewed it, soft yet not soft enough to turn into mush. There was another flavour, too, amidst the cooling blood, a pleasant tang from whatever dressing it had been doused in when it had danced upon the grill.
“Someone’s enjoying themselves,” Victoria mused as she watched him push away the greens on his plate while she popped a sprig of asparagus into her mouth.
“It’s really bloody good.” he answered between munches of the meat and more beer, ‘Though I could do without a squad of people watching me like vultures. ’ he mentally commiserated as a black and white shape emerged from his peripheral vision to refill his empty pint glass. The Parlour Maids and Diana were like statues most of the time, smiling and watching over the progress of what should have been a private meal and acting before he could ask them to do anything compared to Victoria, who, in Sam’s opinion, somewhat rudely directed them with subtle hand gestures and snaps of her fingers.
“You’ll soon get used to food this good all the time, no more settling for whatever bargain bin droppings you can scrape out of a supermarket on the dregs of a loan.” Victoria sipped her champagne.
Snorting at his girlfriend, Sam replied, “I don’t think it will be a common thing, Victoria. To be frank, a meal this good would probably put me so far in debt my hair would turn red out of sympathy for my ledger.” he joked, expecting her to laugh.
“Why?”
Sam looked across the table at his partner, her face set in aloof curiosity that confused him.
“You know why.”
Silence fell over the table as each continued to eat their meals, swapping over to a sticky toffee pudding and ice cream for dessert.
Sam broke the silence, trying to remedy what he perceived as making his girlfriend unhappy. “Sorry, Victoria. I know you said you’ll take care of me, but it's just… I don’t want to be a burden to you.”
Victoria licked her soon clean of ice cream, “What’s wrong with a woman wanting to take care of her partner? It’s quite progressive if I do say so myself.”
Sam chuckled sardonically, “I think our current setting is a bit out of fashion for talking of being progressive.”
"It's funny you should bring up things from yesteryear being out of fashion, love, it should be much more common. Do you follow what goes on in the House of Lords?"
Sam snorted, picking at the greens around what was left of his steak, "Does anyone under the age of 50?" he queried.
Victoria tittered in amusement, tickled by the wit, "Don't be so aloof; plus, my father is a member, so I hear about the goings on more than most." she explained. Sam filed that new bit of information away for later before promptly obliterating it with a swig of his beer. "Two months ago, Lord Madison from Yorkshire made a speech about the employment crisis coming out of the pandemic and how to return the country to what it was before."
Sam raised an eyebrow, Victoria made him wait until she had finished chewing and chased it down with champagne, the gold contents of the flute refracting the image of the tight lapis bodice in miniature.
"Do you want to know what he said?" she asked rhetorically. "I am of the firm opinion that not only was this country at its most prosperous and stable during the latter half of the 19th century as a result of the system of patronage and servitude, but that it is the only route by which we may restore the glory of old England."
His eyes slowly widened over the course of the quote, incredulousness building at the back of his mind at the insanity of what the Lord had suggested. "He sounds like a bellend." he sputtered, drawing a rueful laugh from his girlfriend that they shared while a maid approached to refill their glasses.
"It certainly didn't engender support from our generation; apparently, people camped outside his manor in Yorkshire to protest, yet all but one called it quits by the end of the first night."
"Typical," Sam mused.
Victoria watched him intently, swirling her sparkling wine. "Honestly speaking? I think he's right."
Silence reigned. Sam blinked slowly, first once, then twice. “ What ?”
“Oh, I’m no nationalist. There’s enough French furniture in this room alone to douse such an idea.” Victoria headed off, not wanting to get her metaphors and analogies mixed up. Sam watched as she used her napkin to clear stray crumbs from her face whilst keeping her makeup intact. “But what I do agree on is that the latter half of the 19th century was the best time in history.”
“The smog, TB and literal poison in the wallpaper would refute that,” he sighed. His eyes, however, were curious and let Victoria speak, “Where are you going with all this?”
Victoria’s smile widened, bearing teeth. “Oh, it has its downsides, sure. I’m not going to defend that, but the bright sides are something that should be brought into the modern day, and that is what I intend for you, love.”
Sam listened with bated breath.
Victoria held up a finger, “There are two things which you need to know, the first is a reminder, and the second is something new for you. As you know, I love the Victorian era. I love its look, sound, aesthetic, trappings and dress.” she explained passionately. “My heart dwells in a time long past, but I’ve the ability, funds and opportunity to bring it to life here with none of its shortcomings.”
She held up the second finger, “The second is the ‘Florence Legacy.’”
Sam sat up in his seat. “And what is that?” he asked slowly. There was a hypnotic note to her words as she spoke, a glee shining out from behind her eyes.
Victoria rested her chin atop her hand. “You could call it a psychological tick that evolved in the family tradition. When a Florence meets someone who they want to become theirs, " Sam blushed, “We uplift them to the position we think is fitting for them. And that is what I offer Sam, a place here, at my side as my spouse.”
“Pft-hrk!” the dirty blonde spluttered, nearly spitting his drink and sucking some of it into his nose in an effort to stop. He coughed violently to clear his sinuses of the burning feeling of the beer as he tried to comprehend just what Victoria had just said to him.
The older woman at the end of the table watched him clean himself up with his napkin before fixing her with a confused and overwhelmed stare. Her face was pleased; she had always enjoyed it when he got flustered.
A million thoughts ran through his mind before he seized upon perhaps the dumbest of the lot.
“Does that make me the lord of the manor?” he joked, hoping humour would help deflect the reality of the situation.
“No, you will be its Lady.”
Huh?
Victoria grinned, a manic happiness radiating off her in waves. “That’s the sixth surprise. I have brought you here to become my wife. My corset wearing, tea drinking, bustle sporting, coquet attending, bonnet donning and very much Victorian wife.” she wrapped her hands on the desk enthusiastically; she had been waiting so long to speak these words aloud, it seemed. “You will be taught and enriched so your outward appearance and actions match your inner shine. A wife, MY wife. A prim and proper young lady that will grow up to be at my side from croquet in the garden to ravishing each other deep into the night in a silken boudoir.”
“...”
“...”
“...”
“...ha,” he let out a singular, solitary snicker that was joined by a second, growing into a small chuckle before transitioning to a genuine laugh.
“ah-hahahahahahahahahahahah-AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!”
As Sam guffawed with belly aching, body shaking peels of absurdist laughter, Victoria too began to laugh, though hers was a much haughtier tone. The room was full of smiles, with even Diana giving a sweet giggle.
“It would appear that your words have tickled her Ladyship, Mistress,” Diana said in amusement, causing Sam’s cackles to grow further still.
And why wouldn’t they? This was, without any shadow of a doubt, the funniest, most elaborate joke he had ever seen. ‘She spent all this time and money on all of this for the sake of an ‘I wear the pants in this relationship joke’? I have to respect the bit. ’ he wiped a mirthful tear from his eye.
“So it seems, Diana, I think she wants a few more sordid details. Sounds good for you, dear?” Victoria humorously asked Sam, who was only now just getting his breath back.
He decided that he would indulge the joke. “Only an artist could spend so much time preparing for a farce. So fuck it, why not? Spill the beans, Victoria. I want all the sordid details.”
“Not all the details, those are to come, and there’s no point spoiling that.” She waved a finger at him condescendingly, “But I can give a few keen examples if you’ll pardon the crassness of my words.”
“Aren’t I a little too tall to play the submissive wife tho?” he mused, perhaps the beer speaking through him, but he was reasonably sure if he stood up straight, he would tower over even Diana.
Victoria waved away the matter dismissively without missing a beat, deeming it a non-issue. “The wife’s submission is not something as simple as standing over her spouse. It's a matter of being graceful and demure, things you will learn and become second nature to you. But if it's too much of an issue, I could simply bend you over the table and have my way with you to reinforce your position for the staff to see." She tapped the table with a perfectly manicured nail.
Had Sam not been driven merry by the alcohol in his system or convinced this was just one big joke, he probably would have winced and asked her to knock it off, placidly wanting to hide from the gazes of the Maids who watched them still. Alas, all he could muster was a joking ‘ouch’ at the mental image she had drawn in his mind.
After dinner, coffee was promptly served, and the tall young man drank his preferred brown nectar. Victoria gestured across the table at his mug, “Of course, you’ll have to dial back on the coffee. A Lady’s drink of choice is tea, and I will see you drink it.”
“Now THERE’S something you would have to chain me down to avoid, Little Miss Marquis de Sade.” he barbed, downing the coffee, it was so very smooth and helped some sense back into him as the hilarity of the joke began to grow thin. He sighed, addressing his self-proclaimed ‘spouse’, “Well, this has been a wonderful little charade, Victoria, but I really need to go to bed. Do you mind?”
“Of course I don’t mind; if my wife needs her beauty sleep, then I shall be a loving spouse and provide. Besides, the last surprise will keep till the ‘morrow.” she said as she finished her own coffee and adjusted her cuffs. “Diana, show my wife to her bed chambers and make sure she gets to sleep.”
Diana nodded to her mistress at the order before approaching Sam. “Follow me, your Ladyship.”
Snickering again at the vestiges of the joke, Sam rose to his feet and followed the dress-adorned housekeeper through the door back into the halls of the manor, Victoria’s intense stare following him as he went. The walk back through the house was in pleasant silence in which he could come to terms with the encroaching tiredness that made his legs a curious mix of lead and jelly. Climbing back up the grand staircase to the first floor was tough, but once there, it was only a short walk to the bedroom that had been prepared for him.
Foggy as his full belly made his mind, such that his left eye felt a tad dim, Sam thought that ‘bedroom’ was an understatement. It was nearly as big as his and Victoria’s whole student flat! Self-contained as one room with cream walls and tasteful gold patterns running through the walls, the bedroom had more space available to it than most could ever dream of. There were numerous pieces of luxury furniture on one side of the room near what seemed to be a wall of walk-in closets held closed by wonderfully hewn wooden doors. There were three double windows that Diana was currently pulling the curtains over, shutting out the spectacular view of the grounds covered by the darkening sky.
His interest lingered on two items; the first was a writing desk with a small built-in set of empty bookshelves that was currently empty. His backpack rested on its surface, the first time he had seen it since his arrival this morning. It was a welcome sight. The second thing was the bed that he was pleased to see was a king-sized four-poster bed that looked very comfortable.
Diana moved past him and turned down the bed, making it ready for him to rest when he needed to. He sat down and she made her way to the door, curtseying to him, “Goodnight, your Ladyship. I hope you sleep well.” she said before turning to leave.
Sam raised an eyebrow and called out to Diana as she turned the bedroom door handle. “I know she’s your boss but you don’t have to keep up with the joke, Diana,” he said.
The housekeeper paused, handle halfway depressed, before slowly looking over her shoulder, her eyes deadly serious chips of jade behind half-moon glasses. What she said to him was something that would stay with him for the rest of his days.
“I do not joke about the truth, your Ladyship. Rest well, you have a big day tomorrow.”
And like that, she was gone, leaving Sam decidedly unsettled in his room.
Shaking his head, he decided that he had had just enough of today and he might as well go to sleep, pulling his bed clothes out of his bag and leaving them on one of the seats, he began to disrobe, messily throwing his t-shirt onto one of the sofas before tapping his jeans. He tapped again, feeling the bottom of his stomach fall away when he didn’t feel the comforting metal jangle. He rifled through his pockets before cursing under his breath. He had lost his fucking keys.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sam rationalised the situation. They must have slipped out of his pocket in one of the endless rooms sometime during the day. “One of the maids’ll probably find 'em,” he slurred, deciding that he’d just sleep in his pyjama bottoms tonight.
Climbing into the king-sized bed, he rested his head on the plush duck-down pillow and gently let sleep take him.
The night was calm and still, warm without being stifling as even without the flawless air conditioning pumped into every room through masterfully obfuscated ducts, there was a cool breeze to take the edge off the July heat. Should a person desire it, they could have quite comfortably lain naked beneath the sky, free to observe the stars unmolested by the harsh light pollution of the cities. The heavens were a canvas of deep black and the cosmos a smattering of twinkling jewels that winked down at the Florence’s second seat of power. Most of the maids slept calmly in their beds, food and drink medicated just so as to ensure peaceful, dreamless sleep as a reward for doing their duties as servants.
For Samuel Hays, however, the traipse through Morpheus’s domain was anything but restful. While sleep had taken him easy enough, he had soon been drawn into a vague nightmare that was vague on details and sharp on dread. He twisted and turned beneath his silk sheets, their slippery and light touch not registering in his sleeping mind, moaning and groaning in discontent. He muttered to himself, an inane babel that amounted to nothing more than a signifier that the sleep was fitful and without rest.
His dreamself found him walking through a bracken thick forest, the sky so grey it could have been black and large, heavy raindrops pelting down on him. He had to get back; he did not know where or to whom, but Sam had to return. He had strayed from the path and now found himself lost, but that did not scare him. It was the thunder. It crept from the blackness above like a stampede of umbral beasts, a wild hunt of wind and trembling that made his small form whimper, for he was once again small, young, and so very small as the thunder cracked in cerulean sky fire. He broke into a run, the memory of a path a distant glimmer, but the forest seemed to grow thicker and the sky angry. It boomed overhead now, forks of lightning reaching out to claw at the ground with ear-splitting drumfire until finally, with a flash so bright it left him dazed, it had found him. There was the scent of lighting and burnt wood, and he looked up before feeling the left side of his face explode into pain and-
And the dream dissolved, nebulously ending just as it had started, oblivious of the corporal surroundings.
Summer night was a fleeting thing; the eastern horizon soon began to brighten from inky black to wakening grey, and before anyone knew it, the mother of fire had birthed upon the land; dawn had come. Solar glory blessed the grounds with its coronal kiss, causing the birds to let out their morning song to welcome the day. A solitary lark perched atop Eden’s Rest’s central spire and declared for its stewards, a joyous sound, the preamble to something wonderful.
The gilded handle of Sam’s door slowly turned to swing inwards silently, and Victoria poked her head through the door. Even in the half-light of dawn, dulled by the white curtains drawn over the windows, she could make out his lump on the bed. She smiled, satisfied at what she saw before entering the room properly and closing the door behind her.
She wore a white, floor-length Victorian dressing gown in satin that clung to her regally and expanded out behind her with a slight train. The garment was formed of a trim-fitting bodice with a high button-down collar worn closed; its upper sleeves had a touch of ‘leg of mutton’ puffiness to them while the cuffs were wide, a comfort feature that maintained the air of high class. There was also the unmistakable silhouette of a slight bustle poking from the gown’s back that flared out to accent her hips and rear. The detailing was also of note, the waist belted close with embroidery over the bust and lace details at the collar and frilly hem.
Victoria strode into the room and made for her paramore’s sleeping form, carrying a cup of tea in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. She set the steaming white mug on the bedside table while her morning cup of ginseng tea was deposited beside it. The ravenette took a moment to look down at his face and spotted the creases on his brow, frowning that he must have had a poor night. Stroking the bridge of his nose with the back of a finger, she was pleased to watch the creases melt away, her presence giving him comfort.
Next, she made her way to the fireplace on the far side of the room and leant down to light it. A roaring fire soon cracked in the hearth before she opened the curtains. Her blue eyes settled on the clock, and she saw that it was now 5:25, an acceptable time frame. While she waited for the combination of light, sound, and smell to rouse Sam from his slumber, she took the time to look out over the grounds of her beloved home. The sun's radiance had vaporised the dew covering the meadows, and now a subtle mist rose lethargically into the air near the ground, lending a mystical feel to the sight.
An auspicious start.
A distant movement drew her attention and her smile grew to a grin as she spotted a black movers truck trundling down the long track from the perimeter wall. Kaarina and Soifa had probably left in the early hours of the morning to make it here for dawn. She made a mental note to give them a bonus. ‘ Or give them leave to partake of the Tantric Maids for a few days, whichever they prefer .’
“Uhhhhphhh.” Sam groaned, the scent of coffee burying its hook deep into his mind and dragging him into wakefulness. Victoria took one of the seats from the collection of furniture and moved it beside the bed. She settled in the chair and began to nurse her Ginseng, waiting for him to wake properly.
Sam blinked several times, opening his eyes slowly, eyelids gunked half closed by sleep before he could rub them clear. Looking above him, his first conscious thought, other than ‘I want to go back to sleep’, was that something was off. He blinked slowly, mental faculties caught in a figurative boot cycle as he tried to parse just what was wrong. The ceiling was wrong, unfamiliar. Instead of the abstract patterns created by the Artex that he was used to seeing in his student accommodation, he was presented with the light brown wood that formed the canopy of the four-poster bed, festooned with provocative carvings of women locked in…
‘The fuck?’ he thought groggily, surely his eyes had to be playing tricks on him. He turned his head and scanned the vast room before spotting Victoria. He jumped in surprise, sitting up slightly while she continued to watch him, finding his burst of shock endlessly amusing. “Victoria?” he asked, the word coming out slowly.
Victoria gently imbibed another draft of her herbal tea before resting it in its saucer with a clink; she rested her chin on the palm of her hand as she continued to study the dirty-blonde-haired boy’s awakening. “Come, blossom. We both know you have seen far worse than me in the morning. Now drink your coffee.” she said, the comment was more forceful than usual but not unkind, and he was dearly in need of something to wake him up. Sam reached for the mug before drinking deeply.
He hummed in pleasure at the flavour of the coffee, the rich and smooth bitterness was just the thing he needed to ward off the lingering spectres of sleep in his mind, being able to recall the circumstances of why he was currently in an unfamiliar bed. He also took in Victoria, she had cleaned her face of makeup and now wore her hair naturally, the curtain of silky black hair running down her white dressing gown.
The sight of the ornate clothing sent a wave of memories crashing down on him, and he remembered why he was here. His eyes seemed to brighten as he truly began to wake up, and he flashed a smile at the woman he loved. “Morning,” he greeted in a relaxed voice, shifting until he was sat up against the pillows.
“Good morning, I hope you slept well,” Victoria returned, Sam continuing to drain his cup.
He grimaced a little, the half-remembered nightmare souring his mood, “So-so, kinda sad you weren’t there with me.”
“Some traditions have to be observed, but the feeling is mutual,” she assured him, raising her teacup in mock toast. “I, on the other hand, slept wonderfully after such a fun evening. You should have seen your face. I really should have broken out the canvas and palette to capture it in detail. I think I would have hung it over the mantlepiece in the games room.”
“Hardy-har, har har,” he sarcastically pantomimed, but he could clearly take solace in the joke. He finished the coffee and set it down on the bedside table with a thump, going over the events of last night with a chuckle. “It was fun, though, you get an A+ for creativity and execution; I’m glad I was a part of it.”
She nodded in satisfaction, closing her eyes in contemplation. “Good, good. That’s the right mindset to have, I hope it holds up once we begin your education here.”
Sam scoffed ruefully, connecting the dots with her period-accurate attire, “Okay, you can cut the bit now. It was fun while it lasted, but I think you’re laying it on a bit too thick. Pushing a joke beyond its natural life is just sad.”
“Why joke about the truth? Take the compliment, Lady Florence.” Victoria replied.
“Drop it, Victoria, at least till after breakfast,” he grumbled incredulously, the early morning fraying his usually long temper. Victoria’s face snapped to look at him so quickly he could have sworn she had pulled something in her neck, but he was stopped dead in his mental track by her look.
In her eyes was a deadly seriousness and burning passion, chiding him more than any physical blow.
“Nothing about last night was a joke, Sam. I fully intend to follow through on what I have said. This is your home now, and you are my wife.” An all too human chill went down Sam’s spine, freezing him to the core. “I will do what is necessary to see you shaped and crafted into an elegant Victorian flower whether you like it or not.”
He stared at her, into her eyes and across her body, framed in that beautifully sinister attire that suited her like a butterfly’s wings, emerging from the cocoon of mundane happiness to show her true colours. There was passion, seriousness, annoyance, ironic enjoyment and, above all, love. That was what scared him, sent every sense and instinct screaming in warning that his care for her had deadened. She meant every word… and she loved it.
“You’re Mad.”
Two words. They carried with them a maelstrom of emotions from shock to disbelief and even the treacherous beginnings of understanding. And yet they did not sound right, the words were similar but had an otherness to them, was it the vowels were too long or some extra lisp of lingering morning dryness in his lips. But how could that be? His lips were still moist with coffee.
What Sam had actually said was, “Yur Madths.”
Something was wrong, “Whath? ‘he thuc!? Bictow Iysh-” he slurred, one side of his mouth going slack as his eyes filled with confusion. He sat up straight and made to pull off the covers but found his movements to be sluggish and uncoordinated, flopping uselessly against the sheets. The bedclothes may as well have been spun from neutron star matter for all the ability he had to lift them. ‘ Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! ’ he thought in panic, sending a plea to his girlfriend. “Ish dinc am ‘abing a stronk…stroooonk, elp me Bic.”
But she did not help him, Victoria remained sat in her chair, nursing her tea as his slurred pleas filled the room, watching with interest as the disarray in his body worsened until he could no longer hold himself up, flopping back into the pillows he wiggled impotently as his fine motor control was peeled away layer by layer. “Herrrrllllllllllll…” he finally gurgled, lying still, limp as a wet noodle.
She admired the view for a few more seconds, finishing her Ginseng before gracefully getting to her feet and approaching the bed to look over him. Sam’s face was an expressionless mask, all muscles having ceased contracting when the harrowing reached its apex. A trail of drool rolled down from one side of his mouth, and his tongue lolled out uselessly. Despite the fast-acting paraplegia, his eyes were very much still awake, hazel orbs having narrowed to pinpricks that darted around the room feverishly.
Lifting a finger, she brought it close to his face and saw how his gaze locked onto it, waving it slowly to the left and right and watching him follow it. He was still awake and cognizant.
Smiling at him pleasedly, she turned around and went to a distant chest of draws and retrieved a silken handkerchief, sauntering back to his side and beginning to dab the drool from his lips. “Relax, blossom. You aren’t having a stroke. I just need you to be a little more compliant for a bit.” Victoria said, finished with the spittle. She gently shifted his weight in the bed, setting his face to rights before adjusting his arms til both were free of the bedsheets.
The clock read 5:35, which pleased the Viscountess immensely, it meant she had time to talk before the appointed moment came and a captive audience to hear it. She walked around the bed to the window and began to speak again in a conversational tone. “Flowers are interesting, so fascinating. While they have their looks and smells, they also have much more nuanced mechanics to them, to keep them alive and protected, and I don’t mean things so basic as thorns.”
She turned, letting him follow her with his eyes. He was not in pain, nor was he even numb, but there was just a sheer otherness to his senses, his brain sending signals to working synapses that promptly ignored their commands.
“There’s a particularly interesting strain of orchid that grows in the mountains of Borneo that is utterly fascinating. Given that it's so high up, it means that it has to be very careful with how it spends its energy, requiring a precise ratio of pollination and reproduction; too little or too much and its limited nutrients will be squandered. But what’s to stop a would-be pollinator from being too greedy and drinking more than its needed share?” she asked, pointing to Sam as if she were a lecturer astride a lectern.
Sam was, obviously, silent.
Victoria snapped her fingers with a grin, “Correct, Lady Florence! It turns its disadvantage against them. It adds a chemical additive to its nectar that is quite undetectable and, on its own, totally benign. It’s a particularly ‘sticky’ enzyme that stays in the pollinator’s system for two days with no negative effects whatsoever.” she explained animatedly, nerding out over the mechanics of her beloved plants, “But if it comes back for a second drink within those two days, the orchid releases a second enzyme into the nectar that if imbibed will mix with the first. If both agents are in the pollinator simultaneously, death is quite instantaneous. Its body falling at the feet of the flower to put those stolen nutrients back into the soil.”
Ice-cold sweat beaded down Sam’s back, terror filling his eyes that threatened to pop from their orbits.
Seeing his distress, Victoria was quick to wave away his fear as she approached him. “Oh, there’s no need to worry. It could never kill anything bigger than a hummingbird. Well, that was before FMC got their hands on it. They cut it open stem to stern to see how it worked one cell at a time. And then they went about improving it as all Florence's do. They filtered it, distilled it and concentrated it until it fit our designs, a binary neurological sedative that is totally unknown to pharmacists and governmental organisations the world over.”
She sat on the side of the bed and began to walk her fingers up his stomach, circling his belly button before continuing the trek up, her face looming into his vision. “Of course, it didn’t come without a few changes; the first agent now has a slight taste; in fact, you probably know that it goes wonderful with a ribeye steak. It also creates a small period of… well, I wouldn’t call it suggestibility as opposed to merry euphoria. I’m sure you’ll be able to give Yui a testimonial.”
She had drugged him. His girlfriend had fucking drugged him!
“The window of it being viable also shrank from two days to 12 hours, but it's in the final result that we find the most fascinating change,” Victoria spoke, now directly in front of his face, the scent of her shampoo filling his nose as her soft lips danced. “If the second agent is imbibed within 12 hours of the first, particularly when bonded to caffeine, it catalyses into half an hour of total nervous disconnect while leaving the five senses intact, meaning I can do this-” She kissed him, slowly pressing her lips to his and begging a searing hot kiss.
Sam exploded to an atomic red, entire body flushing at the passion that Victoria poured into him that he was powerless to resist. They had kissed many times in the past, but there was something much more here, a will in the way she meshed her lips against his, working them open and running her tongue over his lips and as if tasting him, gently prizing his teeth open as her hand gripped the back of his hair, holding him exactly where she wanted. Her other hand was not idle either.
While she loudly made out with him, moaning indulgently as she tasted her wife’s unresisting mouth, Victoria traced his pectoral muscles, lost amidst a fantasy. The dominant woman could imagine the large teardrop-shaped breasts that would soon begin to grow there, how she would cup them, squeeze the supple flesh until capturing a hardened nipple between her teeth and biting. She squeezed his nipple, twisting it to send a sting of pain into the vacuum of his nervous system, feeling so much more real, the only evidence he had felt was the quickening of his heartbeat and the feel of his breath tickling her face. She eeked the reactions from him, then began to guide them, sculpting them to her desires. Her hand trailed south, slipping beneath the sheets and into his pyjama bottoms where she cupped his manhood, feeling it slowly harden in her hand as she manipulated it to its full length.
The kiss was now open-mouthed, her tongue plunging into Sam’s mouth in a fiery French kiss, pinning his tongue to the floor of his mouth in a show of dominance even though he was incapable of fighting back. She closed her eyes, intoxicated by her own power, before slowly, almost regretfully, she broke the kiss and pulled away.
“-And you’ll feel it.” she finished huskily, once again using a handkerchief to dab spittle away after she had closed his mouth. She left his stiff cock, just above average at full length, to slowly soften as she returned to her dictatorial position at the foot of the bed. “I’ve been waiting two whole years to do that, you little tease.”
The paralysed dirty blonde registered the words dimly, along with the fact that Victoria once again explored the bedroom in search of something. Sam was internally screaming, circling back to the fact that his girlfriend had drugged him again and again, underscored by a feeling of violation at how she manipulated his body with intoxicating ease.
“The Florence Legacy is so finicky, Blossom.” Victoria pushed on, “There are so many little rules and traditions you have to observe depending on what you want your partner to become. But you accepted it. Accepted it but never knew.” A finger was held up, her form silhouetted by the fireplace light, “A Karmic bond of significant strength, in this case, love.” she put up another finger. “A year of courting and serenading you with gifts, each and every one you accepted. Inviting you to my home, which you accepted. Listening to my decision and accepting food and board.”
She closed her hand, and Sam felt each finger lock around his soul, transfixed by his girlfriend and captor’s glowing blue eyes in the shifting shadows cast by the fire.
“In the eyes of the gods above and the garden below, you are my wife, love. Now I can teach you to be as you always should have been.” she finished before spotting something out of the corner of her eye. She crossed the room, aware of a mostness in her nethers but ignored it, continuing to speak.
“I have had to watch for years as the person I love was content to be drowned in humdrum banality and contented mediocrity. A soul and a mind that is the yang to yin. To that reality, I say no more.”
It was not that Victoria disdained the real world, far from it. She just had the perspective to realise just how valuable her place in life was.
Picking up the lank grey form of Sam’s discarded bed shirt with a finger, her nose wrinkled in disgust.
“I’ve always fucking hated this shirt,” she said with vitriol, turning it on the end of her finger as if she might catch a disease from it. “So… cheap . Undeserving of sheathing your wonder.”
Approaching the fireplace, she looked at Sam with a benevolent smile, like a goddess gracing a dumbstruck mortal. “No more rough cotton from a Primark bargain bin. No more male clothes. No more.” And just like that, she flicked the shirt into the fire, forcing him to watch as it began to smoulder and burn. “From now on, it's silk, lace, taffeta, muslin-” she advanced slowly, her cadence clear and happy, “and latex and PVC and leather and nothing at all. The dress shall suit the role, and you are the lady of the manor, my little sissy wife.”
The clock struck 5:45 and a knock came at the door. Victoria returned to her chair and grinned, they were right on time. The door opened to admit three figures, a trio of maids.
Strangely, they were different from any of the maids Sam had seen in his short time at the manor. They shared a commonality amongst them in that all three appeared to be of Asian descent with incredibly similar features and heights. The second was their uniforms. They were inverse of the usual maid’s attire with short white maid dresses, short pencil skirts and sheer white stockings tucked into white latex plimsolls. Their headbands were also different, flaring up into nurse caps bearing the Florence sigil and a black armband on their left arms marked with a red cross.
Two of them manoeuvred a stretcher into the room between them while the third held a small leather doctor's bag in her hands. They silently greeted Victoria before the Mistress nodded. The third of their number approached and laid her beg on the end of the bed, snapping it open and withdrawing several items. Her dark brown eyes met Sam’s pleading ones and offered no comfort, just a look of interested sympathy as she snapped on a pair of light blue latex medical gloves.
Picking up one of his limp arms, the maid ran a gloved finger down his arm before finding the vein and swabbed it with alcohol. She returned to her bag and got something that made Sam’s blood thunder in his ears: a syringe and a vial of clear liquid marked with medical stickers. Filling the syringe from the vial until it was full, the Asian nurse-maid pressed it until the first dribble of sedative beaded at the end of the sterile needle. Pressing it to the vein, Sam felt the sharp prick as the hypodermic breached skin and muscle to find its target, but to his surprise, the maid had not yet injected him.
His confusion was alleviated moments later as Victoria stood and replaced the maid, holding the syringe with her thumb upon the plunger, poised to send him back into the cold embrace of sleep.
She waited until he once again looked into her happy blue eyes, “Sleep now, blossom, and when you wake, we can begin.” Victoria crooned before depressing the plunger and injecting him with the strong, fast-acting sedative.
As the edges of his vision began to ring with darkness, dragging back into sleep, his rapidly fading mind latched onto a singular abstract thought.
If her designs at sunset had been the sixth surprise, then the fact she meant it in the cold light of dawn had been the seventh.
Notes:
Hey hey, you made it to the end. I hope it was a pleasant read. This story will be using 'fake science' here and there so take everything that is said with a grain of salt. If there is something particularly interesting discussed in any chapter then I will put a little treatise on it in here. Next chapter is scheduled for mid way through February. If you recognise the line at dinner that Victoria quoted then that's by design, its a direct quote from "To the Manor Bound" by Nikki258 over on Literotica, one of the major inspirations for Eden. I got in contact with Nikki and got their blessing to reference their story so hey, if you like sissy maids in manors, give their work a look.
Ciao Bella!
Chapter 3: Chapter 2: The Scope
Summary:
A prolonged session in medical leads Sam to a long overdue appointment with the stylist while Victoria prepares a little social event. The first of many.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The trio of Nurse Maids silently made their way through the halls of the first floor with a professional grace and silence, their latex plimsolls making barely any noise on the hardwood flooring despite the weight of the stretcher carried between two of them. The miraculously similar Asian duo walked along the long red runner that ran the length of the hallway while the third of their number walked astride them, watching over Sam’s unconscious form with the leather doctor’s bag merrily swinging at her side. While they were on a tight schedule, none felt any inclination that they should hurry, for not only did they know the layout of Eden’s Rest like the back of their hands, but they knew that it was their duty to make sure the Mistress’s wife made it to Dr Ito in as pleasant a trip as possible.
As early morning light streamed through a passing window, the distant sounds of movement began to dimly echo through the house as innumerable staff were roused to wakefulness for their chores. The Nurse Maids were no exception to this; if anything, their days began long before the sun rose and ended long after it had set, but it didn’t diminish the acknowledgement that Eden was waking from its rest.
Turning into a long corridor that was almost indistinguishable from the rest, the two menials carried the stretcher in front of an innocuous-looking door, waiting patiently for their third. The group's apparent leader passed the duo and knocked out the young man, withdrawing a small silver fob from inside her armband and tapping it to the light switch beside the door. There was a sharp click followed by the muted whir of gears from within the door, and they watched as its brass doorknob swivelled thrice before receding into the door, leaving it a perfectly flat stretch of wood. The door silently slid open, rolling on oiled bearings into the doorframe and revealing a pair of metal doors and a digital readout.
Another tap of the silver fob and the doors opened, revealing a spacious elevator beyond, a slow baroque arpeggio softly wafting through the speakers. Despite its elaborate reveal, the elevator was not entirely unique to the house; every floor had at least two hidden elevators to allow for speedy access to all floors for those who could not walk or needed to cut out the maddening meandering that the maze of corridors created. They quickly entered, and the leader ran her finger down the collection of buttons next to the door.
Eventually, she stopped at one near the bottom, ‘ Medical - Arrivals ’ written in an easily readable cursive. Pressing it, the metal doors slid shut, and the elevator began to descend through the floors at a sedate pace, its camouflaging wooden door sliding back into place, leaving no evidence that it hid anything out of the ordinary.
There were two reasons for such a paradoxically flashy showing of secrecy. Firstly, the elevator was not supposed to be seen by those who did not know or hadn’t earned the secrets of the house. The second was far more banal.
Victoria thought it was cool.
As the elevator rode downwards through the house silently, they passed into the underground regions that rarely saw the light of day. While the upper house was well and truly massive, it was matched by an equally expansive network of rooms and facilities that served the underbelly of the estate in ways that went beyond simple plumbing and foundation. The first basement level contained expansive storage rooms, but it could be broken down into two overarching sections: Yui’s medical facilities as well as the most sizable playroom and dungeon for when the residents were feeling particularly kinky.
The doors to the elevator opened to reveal the almond-shaped eyes of the resident Manor Physician, who maintained an excited air. “San, Go, Roku,” she greeted the Nurse Maids as they exited into the sterile whiteness of the medical arrivals area. “Annnnnnd,” she drew out, leaning down to grin at the half-dressed Sam on the stretcher, “The new Lady Florence. Okay, ladies, put him on the gurney, please.”
Yui gestured to a wheeled gurney in stainless steel that was upholstered in off-white rubber, and the Nurse Maids snapped off quick acknowledgements before lifting their stretcher over to the gurney. ‘San’ and ‘Roku’ held it steady while ‘Go’ handed her doctor's bag to Yui before rolling Sam’s sleeping form onto the gurney and making sure he was correctly settled. Once all was well, they rolled their patient towards the oncoming corridor that welcomed them to the Medical Wing, Yui at their head.
The Japanese doctor looked hardly any different from the day before, still sporting a pair of leather pants and black knee-high patent leather boots with block heels. The only two differences were she now wore a blue turtleneck and carried a tablet of some kind under her arm, beaming over her domain as she made her way through it bound for the examination room.
Compared to the perfectly preserved slice of a bygone era above, the medical facilities were starkly modern, rendered in blistering white with monochrome and medical-grade steel furnishings, that ever-present ‘absence’ of smell born of too much cleanliness soaking the air. But any illusions that this was simply the chipper doctor’s clinic alone were dashed by its scope. Yui passed numerous doors and windows that led off into a range of bleeding-edge infrastructure. One contained complex latacies of biology equipment that whirred and puffed amidst centrifuges, a mauve-coloured flower in varying stages of dissection being observed under a microscope by another Nurse Maid who bowed her head at Yui’s passage.
Yui sauntered past server rooms filled with monolithic banks of computers that hummed through the soundproofing, her breath briefly fogging at how cool it was. She even poked her head into a vaulted room where a fifth Nurse presided over a series of 3D printers, machining a complex piece of micro-scale equipment under a magnifying glass.
It was a thrill that she had never, nor would ever, get over, but Yui had learned to live with it. “Ideas into innovation,” she tittered to herself, her thick Kansai accent echoing off the walls. The echo made her purse her lips in thought, the squeak and creak of rubber drawing her eyes and ears to the latex plimsolls that her Nurse Maids wore. Usually, such footwear would be a health and safety issue on polished floors, but the little rubber sheaths were quite the inventive bit of innovation, able to be rendered either very grippy or as slippery as ice with a simple swab of a chemical.
It was one of her better ideas for the ergonomics of kink.
It didn’t change the fact that today was the start of something that would blow all her previous projects out of the water.
However, it begged the question, just who was Doctor Yui Ito?
Her position as Manor Physician went far deeper than simply being responsible for the residents' and staff's health and well-being. Yui was in charge of running clinical trials on the numerous drugs being produced by FMC, but in truth, her exploits expanded far beyond pharmaceutical R&D and into the fantastical and highly unethical. After all, almost every single member of the staff had been subject to the fruits of her labours to help them along to the positions that Victoria deemed appropriate. Ranging from chemical supplements in their food and drink to keep them healthy to the sub-dermal speakers implanted in the base of their ears so they could always hear the chime of a service bell and so much more.
The doors to the primary examination room slid open automatically at their approach and admitted them into a state-of-the-art operating theatre. It was a wide open space dominated by a large rubber and steel examination table in the dead centre of the room, surrounded by several small wheeled tables, IVs and monitoring equipment. A door was set into the far wall that was fitted with a large rectangular window, dividing an office and command centre from the clean space of the theatre. Looking up, Yui gazed upon the most curious object of all.
Suspended from the ceiling between the harsh white medical lamps was a round white and silver object mounted on the end of a telescopic rod. The object was a perfect, unbroken hemisphere of plastic, metal and ceramic with a spiral traced on its surface; eight cylinders of similar composition were affixed to its circumference.
Yui called it ‘Sukuna’s Hand’.
She had a hand in making almost everything in this room, including her lovely Nurse Maids. “San, Go, Roku,” the short woman said, instantly grabbing her subordinate’s attention, “Get sleeping beauty onto the examination table then get into your medical scrubs.”
Her candour was not something that one would usually expect in a medical environment, but the Nurse Maids treated the words as sacrosanct, bowing to their leader in acceptance of the order.
“Yes, Sensei,” they answered before setting to their task.
Yui had… particular tastes. She was simultaneously ambivalent of and proud of her Kyoto roots and the veritable infinite power that Victoria had given her as Manor Physician gave her carte blanche to make what she wanted of her staff. Of the nine Nurse Maids that were at her disposal, all of them had been modified to be extensions of her will for her use. Their names were replaced by the Japanese numbers one to nine and each had been given plastic surgery to bring them in line with what Yui had desired. Some had more notable features than others, but all bore that same oriental beauty that she was proud of. Whatever they had been before was gone, now they were hers.
Once Sam was seated on the examination table, the trio of women filed out of the room to change, leaving Yui alone with her patient for the first time.
Inspecting the quietly sleeping younger man, Yui took the time to take her measure of what she could see, taking notes on her tablet and snapping several high-quality photographs for the sake of posterity. Once satisfied, she perched herself on the table beside him and walked her fingers from his belly button up to his clavicle, testing the way his pectorals moved and how much resistance specific stretches of flesh gave to her poking and prodding. “Lady Florence is on the average side save for his height, though judging by his weight,” Yui looked over at one of the radial screens surrounding the table and saw a weight readout, mentally subtracting her own weight and that of his bedclothes. “He’s just barely keeping out of the underweight zone.”
Dozens of sensitive microphones were hidden about the room to pick up the eccentric doctor’s idle chit-chat for later archival in case she ever forgot something. She rarely ever did, but it was always better to be redundant when walking the bleeding edge of science. She flicked one of his nipples nonchalantly and watched as the little pink nub reddened a shade darker than the other. It would seem that Victoria had already made an initial assault on her beloved’s body a few minutes prior. She began to flick and twist the other nipple until it had assumed the same shade of teased flesh as the first and was pleased with the rate of reaction.
She quashed the notion that she simply did it to even out the colour out of some kind of sadistic aestheticism. “I’m sure you’d forgive me, Sam; after all, I’m your doctor now and seeing what your body can do is my responsibility whether you like it or not,” Yui commented, looking up with a pleased smirk as San, Go and Roku entered the examination room.
In place of their functional white maid attire, the trio were now each wrapped in a tight white latex sheath dress that only just touched the top of their thighs, the shiny material polished to a mirror shine under the harsh theatre lights and clinging to every alluring curve; a line of buttons running up the left side of their trim waists holding the short-sleeved uniforms shut. They wore matching latex stockings tucked into their plimsolls, and each still wore their maid come nurse caps.
These were their ‘medical scrubs’, rendered in only the highest quality rubber.
“Looking good, ladies,” Yui chirped, hopping off the table as the numerically named women took her place, snapping on medical gloves and picking items from the prepared trays. She sat in a rolling chair and positioned herself to oversee the work.
“Sensei?” Roku asked, looking at her superior with a pair of scissors held in hand.
“Let’s get our present unwrapped and washed,” Yui replied, the trio giving a ‘Hai’ in unison. She enjoyed it when her creations spoke her native tongue and had conditioned them to make use of it in non-intrusive ways whenever possible.
The trio began to cut away his pyjama bottoms quickly and methodically until he was fully naked, tossing the strips of cloth into the bin marked for disposal. San unhooked a length of clear tubing and began to spray a gentle stream of lukewarm sterile water over Sam, who shivered at the sensation even in his sleep.
Go sent an unsure look towards Yui, but she just waved off the concern, “Just a basic bodily reaction. He’ll be out for a few hours, so get him squeaky clean!”
The tacit approval of their leader and owner given, the Nurse Maids gave Sam an impromptu sponge bath, their dainty hands gently raking across his immobile form and washing away lingering dirt or sweat from the night before. The table was canted to one angle so the water ran towards its foot and safely away into the drains. The good doctor meanwhile was gently pushing herself in a slow orbit of the table on her office chair to get a better look at both Sam and her nurses at work.
‘Pale, but not to an unhealthy degree, evident in someone who lives a relatively sedentary lifestyle, no muscle toning in the legs or abdominals to speak of, and I’d wager size 11 shoes. ’ she rolled closer to inspect the soles of his feet, ‘ Some minor wear on the toes but that just means he walks enough to stay healthy.’
Over the next ten minutes the dirty blonde sleeping beauty was creamed and systematically shaved of his sparse body hair, everything south of his eyelashes was done away with at the hand of an expertly wielded safety razor, with special attention being paid to the curly threads that had sprouted from his legs. With each pass of the hose, more of Sam’s hair was washed down the drain, it was almost dull.
Almost.
But to Yui, there was a thrill to the act of shaving that spoke to her roots; for all the technology that could remould a body and mind, it was so fundamentally sexy to take up a razor and gently scrape away the symptoms of manhood, and it was one she would partake in here without a doubt.
By the time the shaving had been completed, Sam was smooth as a newborn, with the exception of a small tuft of blonde at his crotch. While initially someone might have thought it a glaring oversight, the meticulousness of the rest of the job showed that it had been quite intentional.
Yui rose from her chair and approached Sam, running a finger over his silky smooth legs and nodding in approval at the work. Go offered her a fresh white safety razor while San applied a liberal coating of the shaving cream to Sam’s pubic hair. “It’s a shame we’re only going to be able to do this with him once,” Yui mused, brushing past Roku and causing the Nurse Maid’s latex dress to creak against her form, dislodging drops of water to run down to her thighs.
“Yes, Sensei, but it is pragmatic,” Roku said demurely, earning a playful smack on the ass from the doctor. Yui smirked at her pet, enjoying the blush that crept up her cheeks at her ministrations, the latex perfectly framing each and every micro move that conveyed how she felt. Submissive, thankful and deeply aroused.
“Right you are, and it doesn’t mean I can’t keep the most enjoyable part for myself,” Yui explained before begging to shave off Sam’s pubic hair, her favourite part of any shaving, completing the image of an unblemished body not blighted by a single hair. “Keeping track of body hair is such a pain in the ass, so if you're going to shave it, do it once and once only.”
“Yes, Sensei.” they all replied.
Washing away the last of the cream-spattered hairs, the doctor began to gently fondle the blonde’s sack with one hand, learning its ins and outs and checking if the Nurses had done their job on the trickiest area to shave. They were all masters at this point, but the inspection always put them on edge, as shortcomings would result in a punishment. As she traced the seam from the perineum to the tip of his cock, Yui was satisfied that she had watched her maids squirm enough. She was about to pull her hand away when she felt Sam begin to react to her ministrations
As the young man's cock slowly came to life, Yui felt the subtle coil of his sack in the palm of her hand as it drew closer to his testicles and began to methodically manipulate the hardening member without missing a beat. Her fingertips glided up and down the length in a series of butterfly kisses and ghostly caresses, a catalyst for the actions that Sam’s anatomy performed by itself. Slowly bringing the mushroom-shaped head to emerge without anything so crude as a single pump. She tapped a thumb to the pinkened head, rubbing small circles into the ‘eye’ of the averagely-sized serpent her nimble dance had awakened while her pinky stayed nestled in his sack, feeling his innards twist and coil as she deftly conducted the song of his loins.
After a minute of gentle coaxing, the rod of faux muscle could grow no harder, bobbing periodically against the tip of Yui’s middle finger for each thump of his heart.
She scrutinised Sam’s cock curiously before turning to look at the latex-clad Nurse Maid to her left. “San,” she said simply, giving a come hither gesture to the altered woman with her free hand and waiting expectantly.
San crossed the short distance to stand beside her leader and offered no resistance when the doctor slowly trailed a hand up her inner thigh before slipping up into the confines of her ‘scrubs’. Yui maintained a serene expression as she searched for her prize, lips curling further up her cheeks as San tried vainly to school her features. The tight sheath of rubber enclosing her body held no secrets, and slowly but surely, a tent began to form in the stretchy material between her legs.
“You’ve got very good at tucking it for surgery, San, but it feels a little needy. Haven’t been playing with yourself in the off hours, have we?” Yui teased, drawing a light moan from San, her tightly packed bust rising and falling with steadying breaths.
“Of course not, Sensei, my hy-p-” she stuttered, the tent distending the rubber more, “hippocratic… oath… remains… unbroken!” she said breathily, unable to completely shut out her owner’s masterful technique.
Extending her thumb, Yui slowly drew her hand back and hooked the taught hem of the dress, drawing the stretchy garment back with agonising slowness until the underside of something began to peek from the exposed space. She left it there, wrinkles of rubber resting on the pronounced tent and drawing a mewl of embarrassed frustration from San.
“Nurse San,” the woman in question met Yui’s mirth-filled eyes, almond-shaped furnaces of brilliance that they were.
“Y-yes, Sensei?”
“You know my rules about creasing your uniforms,” she jabbed a finger at the creased rubber she had piled on the tip of San’s growing arousal.
San took a deep breath before flexing her pelvic muscles. The minor movement was all that was needed to dislodge the taught rubber, and as a result, her sex, at last, slipped free, the latex snapping back into place against her crotch and bearing her privates to the world.
Jutting from San’s crotch was a hairless, happily bobbing cock and tight scrotum, twitching to the beat of her thundering heart. A bead of precum sat resplendent at its very tip, testament to the fire Yui had lit in her loins. For yes, San was a Sissy.
Sam would not be the first man that Yui had ‘helped’ transition to the body and place of a sissy; he would be the latest in a long list that had started nearly a decade before the 27-year-old had taken her current position. Of the some 70 staff at Eden’s Rest, at least ten were sissies, San just happened to be the only one amongst the Nurse Maids.
Gently grabbing San’s cock in her free hand, the doctor looked between both averagely-sized cocks, squeezing them lightly and enjoying San’s more visible and verbal reactions. “Well, how about that, Nurse Sissy-San, 5.5 inches. You’re the same length as your Lady!” Yui informed jovially, giving the Nurse Maid’s sissy cock a congratulatory pump that caused San to bite out a thank you in Japanese.
‘ Pre-reduction therapy, of course, but every dog has their day, ’ she added in thought before letting go of both cocks. As the only sissy Nurse Maid, San was a common target for the immoral doctor’s flights of fancy, and thus, she had elected to keep her cock an average size because it made sense to have an average length on hand whenever it was needed. Outside of theatre, it was kept strictly chastised like many of the other Maids.
She collected the dollop of precum from the tip of the San’s member before lifting the glistening digit to the sissy, who leant forwards and licked the digit clean. She made a gesture, and San retucked her cock, the expanse of the white latex again left unspoiled, ‘Leaking precum in the workplace is fun, but we need to be somewhat sanitary here.’
Rolling backwards on her chair to a computer terminal, all of them grabbed a surgical mask and donned it, covering their lower faces in a hugging cloy. “Boring stuff first,” Yui said, drawing a bored groan from the three nurses; Yui sent them all a sympathetic eye smile. “It’s boring but necessary. I’ll handle the scans, start on prep for rudimentary invasive.” She tapped in a few commands on her keyboard and brought up an interface on the screen, a camera feed looking down on the unconscious Sam.
Above them, Sukuna’s Hand came to life, rotating once before descending smoothly from its mounting towards Sam. As it descended, the six cylinders extended from the rim and deployed prehensile manipulators and a variety of medical equipment. The hemisphere itself slowly rotated, sections of it gyrating and expanding from one another to reveal more equipment that looked to have been drawn from the mind of a mad scientist. It was, in fact, a state-of-the-art automated medical assembly capable of performing everything from X-rays to keyhole surgery in record time, all controlled by Yui’s hand.
The Nurse Maids mostly ignored the technological wonder in favour of their more mundane tasks. They took measurements for every inch of Sam’s body, from the tips of his toes to the ends of his hair. Electrodes were attached to his chest, limbs and head to establish baseline figures for his body’s nervous system and circulation. Blood was drawn from his arm along with a series of minuscule tissue samples being taken for study. Information scrolled past Yui’s screens, building up a comprehensive medical base from which they could work in addition to the pre-existing information that Victoria had ‘acquired’ through paying the right people at the right time.
While it was not Yui’s first rodeo in the realm of clinical scale feminisation, what was planned for Sam was an entirely different ballpark, utilising techniques on a scale that even Yui, for all her brilliance, had only ever touched on in theory. For the sake of Sam’s safety, they had to make sure everything was accounted for.
“Doctor Ito, we’re ready to begin the allergy test,” Roku informed Yui, who had just finished measuring unconscious reaction using a Taylor Hammer wielded by Sukuna’s Hand.
“Proceed,” Yui ordered, giving the go-ahead for her staff to begin one of the more critical tests. Roku extended Sam’s arm, and Go approached with a tray of steel implements, lifting a scalpel that she held steadily.
An allergy test was a simple test, really; a small section of the arm was selected, and shallow scratches were placed upon it by a sterile cutting implement. Then trace amounts of a given substance were introduced to the scratch, and how the body reacted to the stimulus would dictate if they had an innate allergy and how severe it was without risking more violent responses.
‘Given what I’m going to be filling him with to bring out his feminine features permanently, we don’t want all of this fucked over by an allergy.’ Never let it be said that she was not thorough with her charges.
While the Nurse Maids conducted the allergy patch test, Yui looked over Sam’s pre-existing medical notes, for while she trusted her own work implicitly, it was always to get an informed second opinion, even if it seemed that Sam’s prior doctors had been slapdash at best.
‘Let’s see here. Samuel Hayes, born 15th March 2000 to Jonathan Myres and Heather Byrne in Guildford, West Surrey. Blood Type: O- and….’ Yui frowned, the file was far thinner than she would have liked, ‘almost fuck all else til he was 10. Who doesn’t take their kid to the doctor's for nearly ten years? Please tell me he’s-’ her eyes alighted on his list of medications, ‘oh thank fuck he’s vaccinated. Nearly gave up all hope in the medical community there for a second.’
The minutes passed calmly in the examination room, the silence broken only by Yui’s rapid keystrokes and the quiet noting of results amidst the Nurse Maids.
San cleared her throat to catch Yui’s attention, leaning out from behind the screen. “Tests complete, Sensei.”
Nodding at the progress, Yui returned to her typing, keeping an eye on them through the camera on Sukuna’s Hand. “Spray the wound and erect the stirrups, I’ll be over in a second.”
San nodded and walked over to a glass cabinet on the wall and pulled out a plastic aerosol can filled with a light green, almost colourless liquid. The sissy nurse went back to the table and took a look at Sam’s arm; the patch of skin that had been used for the test was covered in several scratches, two of which were slightly puffy and blistered from how they had reacted to their agitants. Shaking the can twice, she pointed the nozzle at the patch of inflamed skin and pressed the plunger, sending a spray of cool vapour over the scratches.
Before their eyes, something remarkable occurred. Scant moments after the misty particles of spray had settled on the arm did the symptoms of allergic reaction begin to abate. The cracks and blisters receded into the pale skin, and the scratches themselves visibly closed themselves. After ten seconds, there was no evidence that Sam had ever been wounded, even if said wound had been tiny at best.
FMC had been extracting the secrets of flowers for a long time, and in that time, they had always maintained a small rule. The cream of the crop was kept firmly within the company, and the drugs that those decades of research had produced were truly miraculous, capable of feats and characteristics that toed the line between miraculous and mythical.
This ‘healing spray’ was one of these so termed miracle drugs, and the cavalier method of its use informed an audience of something. It was a compound that FMC had cracked well over 60 years ago; at this point, it was so typical in the eyes of the company that it may as well be for first aid. And if that was so, then what was in store for Sam in the year 2022 with a Doctor who pranced along the bleeding edge of science.
The answer was complicated and with many idiosyncrasies because there was no singular cure-all when it came to the science of feminisation, but an inkling of what lay in store for Sam could be gleaned in just what Yui’s true speciality was.
Doctor Yui Ito was a virologist. And it was from that study that Samuel Hayes would be metamorphosed into something entirely unique.
Back in the present, the Nurse Maids had deployed a pair of raised stirrups from the end of the table and delicately strapped his legs into the rubber-padded hollows. Yui hopped up from her seat and jauntily positioned herself between Sam’s legs, snapping on a fresh pair of blue latex gloves as the Nurse Maids raised the back section of the table so the captured graduate was in a ‘sitting’ position. “Jennings Gag.”
Obeying the order, one of the Nurse Maids retrieved the dental gag from a tray and gently slipped it into Sam’s mouth. Yui pressed a few buttons on her tablet, and Sukuna’s Hand descended and oriented a hard light to shine into his mouth as San and Go slowly began to ratchet the two strips of medical-grade steel open. While they surveyed the inside of his mouth, Yui lubed up her index finger and stared at her patient’s freshly shaved asshole.
“Cute little octopus,” she giggled to herself in Japanese, parting the lily-white cheeks and pressing her slippery digit against the nub. There was instant resistance from the unconscious muscles, but Yui simply kept her finger present, smiling as the clear lube slowly saturated the puckered hole, and its own resistance worked against it, slowly letting her slip inside the tight ring of muscles. The warmth enraptured her finger, and she began to gently explore his anal walls, searching for where she knew his prostate would likely be.
Her intrusion was also causing a number of expected reactions in her patient’s body, most notable in his cock that once more was beginning to harden. She went to grab it before frowning and pulling back. While she would have delighted in testing his elasticity with a speculum or milking him to his first dry orgasm, she was pretty sure Victoria would edge her for a month if she did. Hell, anything bigger than her finger or an enema hose stretched the limits on what left the soon-to-be sissy’s love canal virgin.
She soon found the bundle of nerves and settled on giving the ‘love button’ a firm poke, laughing at how it made the cock jump in response before pulling out her finger with a wet pop. “No bumps or lumps, and that’s the important thing.”
Roku made a surprised noise up by Sam’s mouth, manoeuvring a mouth mirror to get a better look at the back of his mouth. “He already has a crown, Sensei.”
Yui blinked, washing her hands and peeking inside the mouth where Roku tapped his bottom left molar. “‘Looks like luck exists in the leftovers after all. Pop the crown, and we’ll use its mounting for our replacement.”
Between the Nurse Maids and Sukuna’s Hand, the crown was unscrewed from its mounting, and San ferried it out of the room, bound for a fabricator room to produce its replacement. They had always intended on replacing one of Sam’s teeth, but him already having a crown in the perfect place was a stroke of serendipity. All members of the serving staff had, at one point or another, been chipped with a combination of an RFID and tracking chip so that should they ever get lost or, gods forbid, be kidnapped, then they could quickly be recovered.
San returned with the new crown sitting on a metal tray beside a large gauge syringe gun. It was indistinguishable from the one they had taken from Sam’s mouth, with even the staining of too much coffee replicated. You would never think it was packed with its small-scale tracking equipment, not that Sam would ever know about it. An application of the healing spray and the crown had been perfectly rethreaded to its proper place. Then she took up the syringe gun and pressed it to the small of his back. A dull ‘click’ and she withdrew it, having seated a redundant chip deep in the tissue of his lower back, because it paid to build in redundancies.
While San and Go prepared their patient to take receipt of an IV and enema respectively, Yui had Roku lift his eyelids, shining a pen torch in both to check for reaction and abnormalities and found herself biting her lip.
There was something odd about his left eye that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, and, trusting her gut, she brought Sukuna’s Hand closer to inspect it up close. Curiosity bloomed in her when it returned the result of light astigmatism in the left eye; it hadn’t been in his notes, which made it curious.
“Nothing I can’t fix. You’re a lucky young lady, Sam. You get a free round of laser eye surgery, and you won’t ever know it.”
Taking a seat at her computer, Yui took full control of Sukuna’s Hand and extricated the needed apparatus from its hemisphere and 15 minutes later, she was once again looking into those Hazel eyes now blessed with 20/20 vision. “Just one more service to bring my Lady closer to perfection~.”
Despite the maleffected medical miracles being performed far beneath their feet, the majority of the staff continued their morning rituals mostly oblivious to the happenings in Yui's domain. And for Lady’s Maids Chloe and Jeanne that currently consisted of standing very still and waiting until they were needed. The bathroom they found themselves in was a fitting testament to its purpose, rectangular in form and consisting of all the appointments one might need to wash and scrub themselves to face the day. Soft, simulated natural light wafted down from a series of faux skylights set into the ceiling, filling the room with a neutral air that mirrored the black and white tiled flooring. At the centre of the room was a perfectly circular wall of frosted glass, a figure shifting slowly amid the abstract gloom.
“Hmmm, hm, hm, hmmmm… da-da-da da-da-daaaaaa….”
Hidden within clouds of steam, Victoria hummed a nameless tune to herself happily, relishing the therapeutic wash of water that rained down on her from the wide shower head mounted several feet above her. The two Lady’s Maids watched on from outside the shower, their presence ignored despite her nakedness. After all, the Viscountess had far more engaging matters to ponder than putting on a show for her maids.
It had been just over two hours since she had left Sam in the care of the Nurse Maids, and content in knowing that Yui would do a fine job, Victoria had endeavoured to have a typical morning befitting her station. She had gone down to the parlour and enjoyed a hearty breakfast, sending her regards to the kitchens before catching up on any news. A lot of it had been letters and business analytics that she had skimmed through before passing the time with maintaining login streaks on her favourite games, as she would be miffed if she missed out on the full experience.
Ah, but in the end, an enjoyable distraction was still a distraction, something to keep her mind occupied so as to not slip into the childish desire to run downstairs and watch her Sam begin to take shape.
‘It’s not the first time you’ve seen a plaything transformed ,’ she said to herself internally, parting her cheeks to let the aromatic suds tickle her as they followed the flow of water, but her lips remained pinned back in a grin. ‘ Ohhh, I'm so excited though! I’m finally making my beloved my wife! ’
And my oh my, how that thought filled her body and soul with fire.
Running her fingers through her ebon tresses, the blue-eyed aristocrat’s smile thinned a modicum when she was once again brought back to a problem that had been bugging her. The question of Sam’s new name.
While technically Sam was a unisex name and could easily be taken and twisted into ‘Samantha’, Victoria wanted to adorn her with a brand new name altogether. After all, from a fundamental sense, the changing of one’s name was a deeply meaningful and poignant act.
Names had meanings, they had history and formed the basis of how someone was perceived. As an artist, Victoria believed that the new Lady Florence should bear a name that was emblematic, fitting and, above all else, picked by her. The bedrock upon which Sam could be guided to the position she had decided he would fill.
‘...and low and behold, I’m still drawing a blank. ’ she mentally grumbled, the thought that the simple act of picking a fitting new name for Sam had caused her so much trouble was galling, to say the least. She knew she had to come up with something, and as a woman of her word, she had until she had taken his virginity to pick one, but so far, there had been too much excitement to choose.
Shaking her head, Victoria turned off the shower, sure that seeing Sam again, having started on the path to maidenhood, would be all the spark she needed to pick a name she would enjoy crooning in the dark hours of the night.
Frosted glass sliding open with a plume of steam, she stepped out of the shower with water dripping from her lithe frame, her creamy skin healthily pinkened by the heat. Chloe and Jeanne needed no prompting and approached bearing a pair of fluffy white towels, beginning to gently and efficiently dry their Mistress off.
Sighing at the pleasant feeling of being attended to, she was soon dry and gestured for them to stop, making her way to the door. Maid Jeanne swept past her, her gait still measured and opened the door for her to exit, her dainty feet now padding on a plush cream carpet.
The bedroom matched the bathroom in terms of scope, but in actuality, it was little more than a secondary set of apartments compared to her much larger main bedroom, having only picked this room to be ready for the day due to it being the closest.
Uncaring of her nakedness, the ravenette crossed the expanse of the apartment with a flutter in her chest as she drew closer to a pair of tall double doors set into the wall. Placing her hands on the door handles, she took a moment to wait and let her excitement build before throwing the doors open with gusto, her bust bouncing lightly upon her chest at the movement.
Staring into the darkness beyond, Victoria waited a moment before warm lights began to click on one after another along the walls to reveal a large walk-in closet expanding before her.
The wardrobe was formed by two long walls of shelves separated by a hardwood walkway, lights running along each shelf to show off the contents. Racks of clothes of all sorts disappeared off into the distance, ranging from the most ordinary and conservative blouse to outfits that looked like they’d been fished from the pages of history. Beginning to walk along the shelves, she looked fondly at the endless array of garments and allowed herself a small spin, taking in the variety that she had been without for far too long.
The breadth was not contained to a single type of clothing, for there were entire armoires of jewellery and accessories, hundreds of different types of shoes and boots arrayed in neat lines and even a plethora of cosplay outfits. All custom made and of the highest quality. The smile threatened to split her face when a familiar high odour reached her nose. “Oh, how I have missed you.”
Latex. Nestled between a number of toys for bedroom fun was a shrine to the shimmering fruit of rubber, a massive collection of latex garments in every style imaginable and all of it hers. A secret grotto in this microcosm of fashionista paradise.
Victoria loved latex. Loved everything about it from its look and feel to its sound and smell. It touched all of the senses and left her quivering in happiness and was an itch that had been left mostly unscratched for years. Yet, as always, the hoard was in perfect condition, tended to daily by her dutiful staff, ensuring that when their Mistress returned, her raiment of any sort would be at her disposal.
She continued her walk to the end of the wardrobe, taking a complete mental inventory of every single object, blowing away the dust of memory and welcoming them back into the reality of her life. Tapping along a line of strapons to her nameless tune, Victoria came to a stop and picked up a garment sat neatly folded in its place. They were panties, high cut and rendered in high-quality latex with a mirrored finish but otherwise nondescript. She took them by their waistband and held them before her eyes, letting the stretch fabric roll against her fingers and marvelling as the thin black rubber deformed and waved with each micro movement,
“Glorious,” she said before lifting the lingerie to her face and inhaling deeply, letting the wonderful scent penetrate her nose as the cool rubber gilded against her cheeks. She luxuriated in the sound, conducting the symphony in ebonite until she was satisfied. Slipping them on and drawing them up her hairless legs, she purred in happiness as they came to hold her most private places, a shroud of liquid shadow seated between her legs.
And soon enough she would teach her new wife the joy of latex’s slippery embrace.
But for now? As her Lady’s Maids entered and grabbed the matching bra and corset, Victoria knew it was time to get dressed.
Back in the Examination Room, things remained mostly the same save for a few keen differences. Sam still lay in his medically induced slumber upon the padded table, naked for all to see as the San, Go and Roku milled about him, but now an IV had been hooked up to one arm, feeding a steady stream of clear liquid into his system. Like many pharmaceuticals, the substance was visibly indistinguishable from water, but there was an insidiousness to the simple movement of fluid.
Drop by drop, it leaked down the thin plastic tubing and into his arm, his steadily beating heart ensuring it would quickly be absorbed, wrapping himself in a blanket of irrevocable change. One of the Nurse Maids justled the IV bag lightly, checking it was flowing at the correct rate before continuing to run a plastic ‘hook’ over lengths of the young man’s body, emitting a muted flash of white light every time she pressed the button in its handle.
Her fellows mirrored the process on other reaches of his body, clinically manipulating his arms and legs to make sure that there was no stretch of skin that didn’t get a thorough treatment.
Sequestered in her office beside the examination room, Yui drummed her fingers on her desk while looking between the three screens arranged before her. For the last hour, she had been arranging her patients’ new medical files and fitting in the new data gathered from their testing to the notes. Like any good scientist, she had repeated several of the tests to establish control groups and averages to better understand what to expect, as well as confirm that both the molar tracker and backup were transmitting.
While in an ideal world, they would never need them, it was best to make sure your equipment was working. And my oh my, what equipment it was. Looking over her monitor and through the window into the examination room, Yui watched as Roku removed the thin nozzle of a flexible rubber tube from Sam’s anus, pleased to see that the enema fluid ran out crystal clear. When the doctor had taken the time to play administrator in her office, she had left the Nurse Maids to take care of ‘tidying up.’
Sam had been given a thorough enema to clean his insides while ensuring his hair would never grow back. Aesthetic aside, it was less work for the future if less time had to be given over to something as repetitive as shaving or waxing. So, like all members of the staff, the young man had been defoliated. Luckily for Sam he would not have to suffer being lathered in defoliating creams, they were too clumsy in Yui’s opinion, they were slow, painful and there was no guarantee they would get every follicle.
Therefore, the only tenable permanent solution was electrolysis removal. Usually, it would have to be done in several stages, with a wire sending an electrical current into each individual hair follicle to permanently destroy the hair’s root. But Yui Ito had been modifying people to be more aesthetically pleasing for a long time, and with a perpetual blank cheque at her beck and call, she had the time to produce innumerable tools for her unethical trade.
Like the electrolysis wands that San, Go and Roku were currently using to make Sam’s hairless state permanent.
It emitted a bright light through the inside of its hook that, upon passing through tissue, degraded into the electromagnetic spectrum, meaning scores of follicles could be rendered stopped in every pass.
The doors to the room’s office opened quietly to admit Victoria, the click of her heels cutting through the otherwise silent space. Yui looked over her shoulder and greeted her friend with a smile, nodding appreciatively at her outfit. Victoria wore a purple and black dress with a bunched train gathered behind her, her waist cinched in to show off her hips while the sleeveless bodice left her neck and the start of her bust tastefully exposed. Her hair had been braided into a pair of pigtails that trailed down to her shoulders, touching the lace detailing that was left to overhang her biceps.
“Good morning, Yui, sleep well?” Victoria greeted brightly, standing beside the jumper-wearing doctor and looking keenly into the examination room. Her blue eyes glittered upon seeing Sam, he looked so perfect laying there, unaware of the wonders he was subject to.
Yui rolled her eyes, “Morning, Victoria. And I slept about as well as anyone that had to start work at 5am. Had no time to get a proper breakfast in because someone wanted me to start as soon as possible.”
Victoria tutted goodnaturedly at the barb, there was no heat to it. Sending the shorter woman a sideways glance, she made a noncommittal gesture before speaking. “We both wanted to start as soon as possible. I’m sure you’ve already got a ring binder worth of notes to comb over in the off hours.”
“You’ve got me there,” Yui spared a glance for the screens in front of her, eyeing the rapidly growing word count. “I like to think I’m the best I am at what I do.”
‘And what I do isn’t very nice!’ the purple-clad Viscountess mentally added, thoughts of a certain short and hairy Canadian mutant dancing across her mind before returning to the tall, smooth-shaven and very much British Sam through the window. “Still, you work fast, I was sitting on my hands at breakfast wondering how far you got in such a short time,” she said cooly, her shower and dressing had served to calm her nerves considerably.
Yui nodded in appreciation of the compliment, “Boring stuff is out of the way; everything below the eyelashes is gone and won’t be coming back; sad to say you missed his first enema.”
“Shit,” Victoria exclaimed under her breath, she had been hoping to at least catch that much.
“Don’t blow a gasket,” the other woman comforted, jutting her chin at the ceiling, “Sukuna’s Hand caught the birdseye view on film, I’ll forward the footage to your email if you’re so set on watching your wife’s innards getting irrigated.”
Pouting at the course language, Victoria crossed her arms under her bust, making them stand out a little more firmly. “An email from Sukuna? I’ll get cursed for sure.”
Facepalming at the comment, Yui gritted her teeth and poked the aristocrat in the side forcefully, hard enough to draw a bleat of annoyed surprise from Victoria. “You’re such a freaking weeb, it's not that Sukuna.”
“...huh?”
“Oh, how troublesome,” Yui quietly said in her native tongue before holding up her hands to illustrate the point. “I called it Sukuna’s Hand after Sukunabikona, the god of medicine. Not the damn Kaisen character, you otaku!”
Narrowing her eyes at her friend, Victoria turned to face her fully, “Well then, maybe you should have either used the full name or called it something like his scalpel... or something!”
“Sukunabikona doesn’t roll off the tongue as easily as just Sukuna; you should know this given you’re an artist, or maybe your currently incumbent wife got all the writing brains.”
“Put a sock in it, you short waste of a doctorate!” Victoria shot back.
“Inbred Princess!”
“Gion District Oiran!”
“Flower-themed harlot!”
“Leather panted strumpet!”
“Sapphicly artistic aristocrat!”
Within the examination room, the Nurse Maids exchanged unsure looks with one another as they watched their Mistress and immediate superior argue. While the office was soundproofed, it was impossible to miss the steadily building movement between the two as they bickered, Yui having gotten to her feet and making a series of rude hand gestures while Victoria was a viper, reared back imperiously and hurled insults with her station's grace. The pair came to a lull in their argument, glaring daggers at one another before, at some unsaid signal, they dropped the act and began to laugh raucously. It confused the Nurse Maids, but they decided to simply count their blessings and stand to the side of their now-completed job.
Shaking her head wryly, Victoria let the amusement wash over her as she and Yui laughed. Despite the seemingly harsh words, they both came from a place of warmth. There were only a few people whom Victoria would stand to insult her without reprisal, and Yui, as her best friend, was one of them. “Feeling better after getting that out of your system?” she asked, daintily sitting on one of the plush leather office chairs beside Yui.
“Much,” she nodded, a similar expression on her face before they both turned to observe the sleeping Sam.
He was perfect, well, nowhere near perfect just yet, but he was finally the canvas upon which they could add colour to bring him to life. Raking her eyes over him head to toe, she focused on the IV in his arm and looked up at the clear plastic drip of chemicals slowly making their way into him. “What’s in the drip? The usual or something a little more exotic?”
At Victoria’s prompting, Yui hit a few keystrokes on her keyboard, and a window flashed up on one of the screens, revealing a complicated chemical formula diagram. “Just a standard ‘Maiden’s Bouquet’ to get the ball rolling, had to be a bit more liberal on the dosage than usual.”
A ‘Maiden’s Bouquet’ was Yui’s name for a mix of a substance tailored to push the boat out on any prospective sissy. It was a mix of high-strength female hormones, testosterone blockers and anti-androgynes, as well as catalysts that would naturally speed up the body’s acceptance and adaptation to them. It would start the intricate minutia of biological, chemical and hormonal changes that would see Sam pull away from his existence as a man and coddle the burgeoning realities of being a woman.
Quirking an eyebrow at that, Victoria gave voice to her concern, “More than a usual dose? Have you changed the makeup of it that much since last time?”
She shook her head, “Not in any way that's worth mentioning. I’m always improving it, but we are still well within the parameters of the Cornelius Strain; just had to add more for the simple reason that your wife is so damn tall.” Yui explained, causing a bead of sweat to roll down the back of Victoria’s neck, otherwise masterfully hiding her embarrassment.
Yui had many methods, resources and concoctions to aid in the art of feminisation and gender transition, but as was the nature of any pharmaceutical company, they won't be the only ones working on the issue. The Maiden’s Bouquet, in its current iteration, had started out as a chemical trial from roughly a decade earlier, where an American endocrinologist by the name of Cornelius had proposed a new method and mixture of drugs to assist in gender transition. The FDA had not approved it, but FMC had been quick to pick up the research and refine it into the Maiden’s Bouquet after Dr Cornelius had dropped off the grid in 2013.
“No shame in worrying about your wife, Victoria, not every doctor is as good as me.” Yui glowed smugly. “I’ve given him… well, I guess we should start using ‘her’ now, as big a dosage as I can without adverse side effects. Anything more, and she’d wake up tomorrow with a bad case of stomach cramps.”
Victoria nodded in assent at that, content knowing that her loved one would be in good hands. Sam’s feminisation would be a long and arduous process, albeit one Victoria would enjoy, but when it came to the biological side of the transformation, Sam was in Yui’s hands to shape and mould. She was the best possible candidate as her techniques and drugs, whilst highly unethical, would bring out the bride’s feminine features exceedingly quickly.
They descended into a detail-heavy discourse then, Victoria asking for a condensed version of all the information that Yui had been able to eke out of her tests and what Victoria had already been able to acquire.
“To summarise, she’s perfectly average in other than a few minor areas. Clean bill of health with nothing untoward that I could find. Cock length is 5.5 inches when fully turgid-”
Victoria fixed her with a mock glare.
“But you were right with her bladder probably being on the smaller side, 50ml smaller than a man of her age and height should be. I’m sure you’ll have a lot of fun with that bit of info. We confirmed the listed allergy to dog hair but also discovered he has a minor one for banana, of all things.”
“Really?” the dress-wearing woman asked, a note of concern in her voice, “how severe?”
Yui assuaged her concern with a noncommittal shrug, “Barely there at all, at worst, she’ll get a stomach ache or tingling lips, nothing more.” she said before bringing up an x-ray of Sam’s skull. “No, the real surprise was more mechanical, it seems Sam had a crown and astigmatism in his left eye.”
That caught Victoria’s attention, sliding closer to the monitor to look over the images and details. “He never said anything like that.”
“His medical documents were surprisingly scant on the matter, but based on what is there, I can make an educated guess as to what happened. ‘Something’ hit his face when he was on a school trip when he was 12, knocked out his bottom left molar and probably gave him astigmatism. Fixed both, by the way.”
Humming in thought, Victoria wondered for a moment what had happened to her beloved. It was a rare instance where she regretted their lack of talking about their home lives. The irony that she was worried about something in the past while currently irrevocably changing his bodily autonomy in the here and now was lost on her.
Minutes passed before Victoria began to grow visibly giddy, and soon enough, she could no longer contain her curiosity. “So how long?” she asked at last.
“How long’s his dick? I told you, 5.5 inches when hard, but I'm sure that will drop. Or are you asking about the soft length, or maybe how long a piece of string is? I can give a number of answers for that one, each more unsatisfying than the last.” she tittered coyly, enjoying the grumble of annoyance that simmered in her best friend’s eyes. “I’m a doctor, Victoria, you’re going to have to give me a straight question if you want a straight answer.”
Listening to her friend's banter, Victoria giggled behind her palm, indulging the doctor’s joke before finally cutting to the chase. “How long before Sam is ready to begin Viral Therapy?”
Once again, Dr Yui Ito’s specialty area of expertise was that of virology. Microbes and plants went hand in hand far more than any would give credit. A lot of the more unique plants in FMC’s care exhibited their unique traits due to the processes of the three kinds of microbial life even from long before they had known that the microbes were even there.
In point of fact, you could say that while the Florence’s owed their life to flowers, the FMC owed its existence to the microbes that some of them carried. It had been in 1851 when the at the time Earl Erasmus B. Florence and his half-sister and wife, Countess Alexis Florence, had been on an expedition to the Congo and stumbled upon a hidden grove of flowers they had never seen before. Known locally as Arebati’s Garden , the flowers, fungus and other fauna had all displayed miraculous traits and medicinal abilities, the research performed there had laid the groundwork for Florence Medical Concern , which had eventually grown into Florence Multidiscipline Conglomerate or simply FMC.
Of the wide variety of fauna in the secret grove, the most miraculous of all had been Khonvoum’s Arrow .
‘It was said that when ground up and imbibed, those who consumed the plant were blessed with enhanced vitality and other miscellaneous abilities. ’ Victoria thought, recalling when Diana had told her of the family history in her youth. ‘We researched it for over 100 years until the early 1960s when we discovered the mechanism by which it worked. A retrovirus.’
In layman’s terms, the vacuo of the plant contained a retrovirus that bonded to the biology of the consumer and selectively enhanced particular parts of their anatomy and general physicality by making minor tweaks at the genetic level. ‘ But Yui was the one to truly make the arrow fly.’
Since she had begun on it, the Asian virologist had refined the virus into something that could ‘edit’ the genome of a given subject, allowing the change of things as small as hair colour to physical traits of certain tissue. But for Sam? He would be Yui’s magnum opus, a complete genetic rewrite to irrevocably transition him in the most intimate way conceivable.
Yui hummed to herself in thought, running the numbers in her head. It was more of a show given that she was correcting based on the initial hypothesis but wanted to give her friend and benefactor as accurate an answer as possible. “For it to go off as smoothly as possible, then there is a general amount of preparation and conditioning that Sam’s body is going to have to undergo before being subjected to complete body saturation. Hormone and biochemistry modifications, dietary control and physical conditioning can be sped up, but it can’t be rushed. So if he takes to the changes within the tolerances, I have foreseen…then between three and four months before VT.”
“Excellent,” Victoria nodded in approval. She had been dreading that she would be told half a year, but three to four months was a pleasant surprise. “That’s more than enough time to enjoy crafting her into the woman I want her to be, moulding what is already there to my liking and adding on what befits her station.” She was also satisfied that it had not been too quick, there was a certain ‘cop-out’ in your projects being resolved and finished instantaneously.
“'Fucken arts majors,” Yui muttered amusedly under her breath. “It will be a month and a half before the bouquet bears any fruit, but we have some other things to take care of in the meantime. Three things in fact.”
“Oh?” the taller woman wondered as the doctor grabbed the mouse and highlighted a trio of fields on Sam’s notes, turning sheepish when she saw them for what they were.
Name:
Hair Colour:
Eye Colour:
Put on the spot like this by her best friend, she drew a complete blank. She had hoped that maybe she could delay it by another day at least, but her pride would be shattered if she couldn’t provide an answer here and now. Silently pushing herself to her feet, Victoria moved over to the window and looked out at Sam’s sleeping form, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he slept.
Her silent vigil passed uninterrupted for nearly a minute before Yui broke the silence, chin perched atop her fist. “If you can’t come up with something, then I’m just gonna put ‘Kaguya’ in the notes as a working title.”
The reaction was instantaneous, Victoria rounding on the doctor with a look of incredulous ire. It was a sting at her interests as well as a literary joke that made her seeth. “You’ve some cheek to accuse me of being an Otaku after coming up with that one!”
Holding her hands up in surrender, Yui tittered, “Hey, I could just be referring to another Moon Rabbit from my homeland, and I know you like an exotic name.”
“Dropping Kaguya in anti-climatically with no build-up, I know exactly what you’re trying to say, and as an artist, I find the notion offensive.” she retorted, placing her hands on her wide hips in defiance. Yui just tapped the screen expectantly, an open challenge to refute her by actually providing a name and features.
“Okay, okay, right, thinking bonnet on,” Victoria replied before turning back to look out the window at Sam, but despite that, she couldn’t stop herself from realising that Sam probably would have gotten even more annoyed by the joke than she. He would rant about white-haired demonesses. “You know I was in half a mind to invite you to my graduation, you and her would have got on like a house on fire.”
“Couldn’t be helped. What did you even do the night after if you couldn’t bury a strapon in her ass and make her scream your name?” Yui questioned with a banal cadence, clearly an average act for the bob-haired Kyoto native.
Memories of the pleasant post-graduation celebrations fluttered past her vision, the simple joy of curling up against her younger boyfriend and watching Dracula togeth-
A figurative lightbulb popped into existence atop Victoria’s head, her eyes glowing at the thought. She stroked her chin, mulling the genesis of an idea over in her mind until a pleased smile glowed in her visage.
She leant forward to look at Yui with a grin, her mind made up. “Carmilla, white hair, red eyes.”
The words washed over Yui, who took a moment to process them before blinking slowly, a beat passed before the edges of her mouth quirked up in amusement. “Yeah, that tracks,” she said simply before inputting the name into the files.
“No snide wit about my choice of name, Yui? I admire your restraint. But yes, Carmilla will be my wife’s name.” Victoria said, growing more sure of herself with each passing word.
The doctor shook her head slowly, the bangs of her haircut jostling about her face. “Not at all, Victoria, it just fits your tastes. Lady Carmilla Florence,” she spoke, testing the sound of the syllables on her tongue and found herself looking strangely pleased. “It does have a nice ring to it, I’ll give you that.”
Hitting enter on the keyboard, she sent a mass email informing the leading members of staff of the Mistress's decision before getting to her feet with a stretch. “To be honest, I’m happy you picked white because that’s far easier of a permanent choice than you would think.”
Flicking a switch on her keyboard, Yui spoke into a microphone, and her voice rang over the PA system in the operating theatre, drawing the attention of the Nurse Maids, who had been standing at attention for some time.
“San, Go, go get my needles and 5 cc of WTHDTW-003-35. Roku, go mix up a batch of hair dye; start with Diana’s strain as a base, but knock the rating up to 12.2.” her voice came out clearly over the speakers. The trio of Asian nurses all bowed their heads and gave a professional ‘Yes, Sensei’ before setting about their task.
Once they were gone, the dominant duo entered the theatre and approached the sleeping Sam… well, the sleeping Carmilla in their mind. The purple-clad aristocrat smiled down at him, running her fingers along the smooth inside of his thigh and enjoying the way the supple flesh dimpled to her touch.
“I’d have thought that you’d complain about white hair as a choice.” Victoria mused, her question obvious if left unsaid.
Sitting down in a theatre chair and rolling it to the top of the table, Yui gently parted Sam’s hair until the scalp was exposed. “What colour is hair naturally, Victoria, before our body adds pigment to it?”
The Victorian-themed woman considered the question, taking a moment to think back on high school biology from what felt like an eternity ago. Her eyes widened in realisation when she recalled, “White.”
“Technically speaking, it's clear, but I’m not marking your test submissions; it's essentially white.” Yui offered as the first two Nurse Maids returned with the vial of the requested drug and a set of small disposable syringes. “Changing hair colour at the root is a slow process most of the time, and anything other than white, I’d have to whip up a localised viral batch based on his biology to edit that particular gene. But white? I just need to give it a nudge to do it on its own.”
As she spoke, Victoria watched the two latex-clad Nurse Maids draw small amounts of the greyish liquid into the syringes and lay them on a blue piece of cloth for Yui to use. Absently she approached Go from behind and slipped her arms around the Asian woman’s body, offering no resistance as the aristocrat ran her hands along the gleaming surface of her rubber wrapping, her cheeks dusting pink at the feelings transmitted through the stretchy material.
Yui watched the display and rolled her eyes, then inspected the first syringe; when she was satisfied, she held it diagonally to the crown of Sam’s head and gently breached the skin of his scalp. “I’m introducing a chemical to his remaining hair production centres to induce a localised low-level allergic reaction.”
“Is that dangerous?” Victoria asked, squeezing Go’s breast and kissing her on the neck domineeringly.
Yui shook her head, looking up over the edge of her facemask, “About as dangerous as forcing an Orgasm. So perfectly safe if you know what you’re doing.” She repeated the process with his eyebrows and eyelids before disposing of the spent needles. “There, in about an hour's time, the reaction will run its course and bring the pigments in his hair low enough to be white without losing any of their health.”
“So the hair will always grow back white,” Victoria concluded, immensely pleased at the progress.
“The rest is just hair dye, but like his shaving, we’re only gonna have to do this once.” Doctor Ito confirmed as Roku returned with the harsh-smelling hair dye and black latex gloves, ready to apply it as soon as possible. “Can’t do anything lasting about the eyes 'til we start her on VT, plus it's not safe to wear contact lenses for any more than 24 hours at a time.”
“It’s an acceptable change; I just can’t wait to watch those hazel eyes bleed to sanguine red,” Victoria answered in an impassioned voice, finishing her teasing of Go with a sharp smack to her ass, relishing the snap of latex that edged the sound as the altered woman tottered away.
Settling down, she contented herself with stroking Sam’s bare stomach fondly, watching his peacefully sleeping features as the thick white solution began to be brushed into his hair. With each pass of the brush, his features were changed irrevocably, bringing her blossom closer to the lily white she desired.
‘Oh, you'll soon be pure as a lily, my blossom and ripe to be despoiled.’
It was nearing half ten in the morning when Sam was finally deemed ready enough to be transported to be awoken, and Victoria couldn’t be any happier. The young man was sitting naked in a retro stylist's chair, knocking out the last few ZZZs with his head nestled gently against the raised headrest. The maids had been very gentle with him, even if he wouldn’t awaken until the sedatives had cleared his system; they had given him a gentle but thorough massage to make sure he would wake up without the aches and pains that came with being operated on for several hours.
It did not mean there weren’t contingencies in case his awakening was, as it would most likely be, violent. His wrists and ankles were secured to the sturdy stylist's chair by chrome steel cuffs with black rubber padding for comfort. More study leather straps were hidden within the chair in case he thrashed, but they remained out of sight for now. Even if in such a minimalistic way, the bondage suited him. There was a symmetry there to see both arms and legs secured as he rested, bound to Victoria’s image for him even as he slept.
But in her humble and pertinent opinion, what fitted him more was his new hair, matching his pale, smooth skin. She had captured a fantastical wraith and bound it in place.
Leaning against the tall vanity mirror in front of her captive wife, Victoria fished a pocket watch from her pocket and counted down the seconds until Yui had said the drugs would wear off, her excitement growing with each step towards the appointed time.
Five, four, three, two, one.
Sam began to stir, his mind slowly pulling itself from its deep fugue of unresponsiveness, shifting minutely in his chair. The plush leather of the furniture creaked and squeaked at his movements, but he had been sitting in it so long that the quilted hide was warm against his skin, yet it clung to him in ways that simple fabric could not. It was the first thing that tipped him off to a simple reality before his memories and cognisance were returned to him.
Something was off.
With that tactile impetus all his frazzled mind had to go on he lethargically totted up all the oddities he felt, ‘I’m…sitting?’ he thought sluggishly, head moving from one side to the other as his eyelids began to flutter. ‘ Did I fall asleep at the desk? ’ It wouldn’t be the first time it had happened, he could count on two hands how many times he had worked into the early hours of the morning to make sure he submitted his work on time, pepped up with enough stimulants to tweak out an elephant.
The coolness of the air against his skin alerted him to something else that was amiss; he was naked, and that was… “Wha?” he croaked, coughing at an excess of saliva in his mouth. He made to wipe the spittle from his lips, but alarmingly, he couldn’t move either of his arms. His numb fumbling turned into alarmed flailing when he found that both his wrists and ankles were held fast to something.
Adrenaline answered his panic, accelerating him into wakefulness like a cannonball.
Hazel eyes snapping open, he looked frantically around him without taking in any actual details other than the fact he was indeed nude and cuffed to a chair.
“Welcome back,” Victoria said, savouring the sporadic movements of her beloved wife, his eyes locking onto her the moment the words left her lips.
He looked at her with eyes full of confusion, Sam hadn’t even noticed that she was all but standing in front of him both due to his agitated state as well as her opulent dress, its ruffles and floor-length silhouette not initially registering as a person, more an abstract force that despite its pleasant air was obviously above his normal ken.
Something caught in his mind at that, the dress sparked memories of yesterday’s dinner and Victoria’s practical joke, a joke that had been rendered a reality the following morning. His eyes darted from her beautiful face to his cuffed hands and back, mind going a mile a minute. It all came to a head when he finally caught himself in the vanity mirror, his willowy form exposed and cuffed to an antique stylist's chair.
Moreover, there was something off about his reflection, it took a second before he realised why his eyes were currently stumbling over the uncanny valley. It was his hair. Where once his nape-length dirty blonde locks had metamorphosed, they were now as white as driven snow with a silvery lustre in the room’s light.
Sent reeling by the sight, he began to thrash angrily against his restraints, rebelling against the reality he had been thrust into as Victoria watched on. Her imposing presence was his only lifeline amidst the storm of confusion, a life preserver of focus on the rocky ocean that he directed the entirety of his being into action, lest he suffer a conniption. Shouting loudly at the Florence heir, he turned the air of the room blue as he raged, his usually placid nature coming to a boil and all but shrieking at his girlfriend in betrayal. She had drugged him! Take advantage of him! Changed him as he had slept and intended a score more in her perverted idea of courting.
Sam’s shoulders shook violently, anger joined by the disgusted feeling of violation as he recalled how she had played with him in bed, her intent laid bare. His face was an ugly rictus now, his newly whitened hair whipping about his face as he conjured every single possible insult from the righteous fury that was his word pool. Who knew you could whip out antidisestablishmentarianism and disambiguation in the same sentence while still partially doped?
For all the fire he was able to conjure with his words, it was but sound and fury, signifying and meaning nothing before Victoria, who weathered it like an oak rooted firmly in the ground. Her face did not change, still regarding him pleasingly like he was one of her beloved plants having started to bud rarely seen emotion. She had expected the anger and welcomed it, savoured it, his body was her meat and his exquisite mind her wine to luxuriate beneath.
Pragmatically speaking, it was also a matter of letting her sub have a chance to come off the boil. Sam was, while special, the latest in a long line of subs that Victoria had taken for her own ends and found that when it came to freshly turned subs, it was best to let them expend all their anger as soon as possible before their own nature cowed them back into silence. ‘Yet it's never nice to have your wife shout at you for doing the right thing, that’s a lesson she’ll learn.’ she commiserated, genuine sadness tinging her thoughts as those hazel eyes blazed with anger. They would be full of love soon enough.
However, what she could do without was the excessive volume with which her blossom was shouting at her, it was too early in the morning for that. As he began the tirade anew, incensed by her apparently ignoring him, Victoria nonchalantly leant over the vanity table and picked up a pair of items, the first being a steampunk-styled remote. Waiting until Sam was at the zenith of his anger before she struck, she pressed a button on the remote. In the base of the seat, a hard ridge quickly rose with a stretching rumble of supple leather, parting Sam’s cheeks and resting against his ass.
Bzzt! The ridge vibrated suddenly, suffocating the words that had been coming from Sam’s mouth into a surprised “Eyyyoop!?”
She was upon him in a flash, lifting a medium sized black ball gag from the table and popping it into his mouth while it was still open in surprise. “Owwugh!?” he cried in confusion, but Victoria had managed to expertly lock it behind his teeth and was already lifting his shock of dyed white hair to buckle it tight. His angry bleats began anew, but this time, they were utterly unintelligible and orders of magnitude quieter. Sam fought valiantly against his bonds and attempted to loosen the nub of hard black rubber from his mouth, only succeeding in causing a trail of drool to start to run from his parted lips.
Reaching past him and being sure to brush against his hairless body, the blue-eyed aristocrat picked up a hairbrush from the table and returned to her position behind Sam. Gently lifting his ashen locks, Victoria began to slowly brush Sam’s hair, even as he attempted to pull away from her. Paying his gagged misgivings no mind, she single-mindedly and delicately repeated the simple act of brushing Sam’s hair, the repetitive action slowly serving to take the edge of the young man’s temper. Slowly but surely, he appeared to calm down, the fire receding from his eyes, going from a raging conflagration to a smouldering coal. Still there but manageable.
The combination of the soothing act and encroaching emotional exhaustion was adding dashes of water to the pot, each gentle pull down of the brush seeming to chisel away another strata of the former blonde’s ire away. It was not a surprise, it was simply that Victoria knew her boyfriend and now wife. Running her hands through his hair had been a simple intimacy that had always succeeded in calming Sam down in the past, and it was a prep work she enjoyed, seeing the waviness of the locks conform to a uniform straightness.
Thoughts of the past set Sam’s mind on a retrospective path, his inability to move forward forcing him to look back and reexamine their time together in a new light. ‘ How long has she had this in the works? Since the day we met? Was any of it real!?’ he asked, looking at Victoria and himself in the vanity. She had hidden so much of herself from him, and her intentions were insane, utterly unhinged.
An ache built in his chest, crestfallen eyes dropping to stare at his body and shivering in revulsion at their bear, uncanny nature. It hurt, the betrayal and violation of his livelihood that a woman he thought he loved had fawned over like he was some kind of object, not a person.
‘No ,’ he thought, the inquisitiveness of his ever-active mind driving him to try and understand, to grasp what he had yet to see and make the pieces fit together. He looked back into the mirror, his now pleading hazel meeting Victoria’s interested blue. It was still Victoria; she still touched him fondly and with care, but now he was seeing the whole picture even if he didn’t know what it meant. ‘ You say you love all that I am but want to turn me into something different…why?’ his shoulders slumped with the thoughts.
When she was sure that he was calm enough, Victoria began to speak again in a happy but gentle tone. “The reality of what is going on is not going to change, you are my wife now, the Lady of the Manor and with that comes changes for you.”
Sam couldn’t comment on the oxymoron.
“But as I’ve said, it's more bringing you closer to what I have always known you capable of. As such, I’ve decided to give you a new name, one that I believe truly resonates with the incredible person you are. All that makes you ‘you’ will remain, but it will be fettled, raised, educated and refined into a woman that all will look at with jealousy. Who takes the very flame imperishable of your role and makes it your own. You are the Lady Carmilla Florence, my beloved wife and Lady of Eden’s Rest.”
Sam baulked, but Victoria pressed on.
“Would you like to speak, Carmilla?” she asked, cocking her head to one side as she brushed his hair, forcing him to see himself in the mirror. Despite himself, he nodded, but Victoria held up a cautionary finger. “I will only take your gag out if you promise me you won’t work yourself up into hysterics again. Understood?”
Glaring at her weakly, Sam offered as much heat as he could, quixotically hoping that he could will her into taking it back with a stern look alone. He would have had more success in punching the sun from its orbit.
Finally did his placid and submissive nature asserted itself, giving a small nod, weak glare still in place. Victoria unlatched the buckle at the back of Sam’s head and removed the gag, cleaning it with a handkerchief as the young man flexed his jaw.
“Now that’s much better. While you make very cute noises with your mouth stuffed, I know that the first time anyone wears a ballgag is not a fun experience, Carmilla.” Victoria commented, noting a muscle jump in Sam’s neck, chafing under his new name.
Looking up at the nonchalant aristocrat, he was powerless to stop his interrogation of the situation from turning inwards, parsing the appraisal in his girlfriend’s look for what he knew she honestly thought. “...Was,” he swallowed thickly, a phantom lump in his throat, giving his gaze a pitiful look, “was any of it real?”
Did Victoria genuinely love him as a person or simply as a canvas upon which to paint her perverse tapestry of kinks and fetishes? The question burned his insides, stabbing at his heart with more ache than a million ball gags could ever impose.
Coming before him and resting her hands atop Sam’s shackled wrists, Victoria leaned down until she was eye to eye with her so-called wife, pushing her face forward towards his pale features. Sam pulled away as much as he could, but for every inch he went back, the Viscountess came forward until he felt his head press against the padded headrest. “There are not enough lexicons on this plane of reality to capture how much I love you, blossom. And I do mean ‘You’.” she said, tilting her head to one side while cupping one of his cheeks.
She was so perilously close to him that he could feel her breath tickle against his face, the scent of her shampoo causing goosebumps to rise along his back.
“Buuut,” Victoria drew out with a sultry smirk, “While our little nerd tinted tetatet will be maintained, there are many aspects of it that are going to be tuned to my liking. The position you now sit in is quite jam-packed with fetishes in both senses of the word, and we’re going to have a regular soiree once you’ve got them all down to pat.” she finished, tapping his nose cutely, then straightening up. “You will be educated in etiquette, responsibilities and family history, as well as the many facets of what it is to be the Lady of the Manor. Routine, knowledge base, diet, exercise regime, expectations and responsibilities. You’ll learn new hobbies while others will be forbidden to you, much like ANY reality where you’ll wear anything so drab as a pair of trousers again.”
Sam could do nothing but sit there, shackled to the stylist's chair as the love of his life listed off a cavalcade of insanity that, for whatever reason, was spoken in the cadence of someone discussing the weather.
“You’ll become intimately familiar with our family’s history and appreciate the Florence legacy; your form will be moulded to my desires and the skills required to see the both of us happy. We’re going to cultivate you into a madonna of sin. You’ll recite poetry to me in French as I fuck you over my desk, you’ll be able to know white wine I have been drinking as you feast upon my snatch and understand the beautiful construct of sub space as we take carriage rides into town, contemplating if the plug rumbling in your rear is ribbed or smooth.”
At those words, Sam’s hazel eyes widened to biblical proportions, something that Victoria noted and filed away to her ever-growing pile of mental notes that was gauging his reaction.
Face turning slightly serious, Victoria continued. “I’ll be frank on this, Carmilla, it will not be easy. You’ve a thousand things to learn and master and if you can’t make up the slack you will be dragged kicking and screaming up the mountain that is the learning curve. To be my wife is a hard position, one I know you will rise to fulfil.”
He shook his head, denying the reality she was placing before him. “No, no. I won’t.”
“You will, Carmilla.”
“That’s not my name!” he growled, hands balling into fists, “I’m not Carmilla, I’m not your wife or a girl. I’m Sam!” he bleated angrily. Victoria tutted at this before grabbing him by the jaw and squeezing, gripping his jaw tightly. The ashen-haired sissy tried to pull away, but the hold on him was too strong for that, not enough to cause pain but enough to completely arrest any movement.
Slowly tipping his chin up so he was forced to stare her in her strong blue eyes, Victoria’s voice brokered no argument. “Carmilla. The matter is settled. You are my wife, in the eyes of every single person on this estate you are the Lady of the Manor and part of this household. While any wedding ceremony where I put a ring on your finger is a long way off, it doesn’t change the reality of things. At Eden’s Rest, the position of the wife is someone who is in the total power of their spouse, at their side yet beneath them, and if you defy me or what I want,” he grip tightened to a painful degree, “then you will be punished accordingly.”
Worry filled Sam’s body, the seriousness with which the words had been delivered was like a lance to his cortex, an asuredness that it would be carried out. He let out a meek squeak, getting across that he did not want that to happen, even if he didn’t agree with any of this.
Victoria’s orbs softened at that, even if they maintained their dominant edge that was a constant, her grip softened, and she began to caress his cheeks. “But, if you do as you are told and behave as a good little girl, jumping on the balls of her feet for a proper education, then you will be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams. You will bloom, blossom, bloom into your role and come to adore this place as much as I do, wanting for nothing and without any care in the world.”
Sam simmered at the words; the kneejerk's reaction was to reject the proposal out of hand to preserve what was left of his pride. Victoria remained in the totality of his view, unable to look away from her as she guided his face to always look into hers, fastidiously combing over every detail. A primal fear settled over him, the primaeval part of his brain telling him that he was in the grip of a predator that would rip him to shreds if he gave in. If he gave an inch, she would take a mile and his sense of self along with it…
And yet…
‘I need to know why, what makes you like this, Victoria?’ he thought, desperately wishing the caustic touch of his own love for this tormentor would abate. In the face of such existential dread, he backed down and submissively conceded a resigned nod.
It was not enough for Victoria, though, who drummed her fingers on her hips, “I need to hear you say it, Carmilla.” Sam grimaced at her honeyed words, he hated that name already. “I need you to admit to me what you are.”
He took a deep breath before speaking in a whisper, “I’m your wife, Victoria.”
The room was punctuated with the sound of Victoria clapping softly, pleased that she had been able to pry the admittance out of her now self-proclaimed wife. She scanned the desk before spotting the object of her desire, a silver service bell that she picked up and rang, its chime ill-fittingly bright given the situation at hand. The door opened, and Sam watched as a pair of maids sauntered into the room in the mirror, his attempt to cover himself pointless and causing him to be enveloped in a full-body blush.
Victoria swivelled the white-haired sissy’s stylist's chair to face the pair of women who now stood before them, hands clasped in front of them at the maid’s equivalent of a parade rest. Each wore the standard attire of an Eden’s Rest House Maid, so it was in their physical appearance that you could tell them apart. One was a pretty young woman in her mid 20s with mocha coloured skin and bright onyx coloured eyes set into her pointed face. “Maid Delilah, your ladyship.” she introduced herself with a curtsey.
The other Maid matched it; she was a few years younger than Delilah and had a petite build with fair skin, sky-blue eyes and a tightly wound bun of brilliant red hair. “Maid Lily, your ladyship.” the now-named Lily introduced, rising from her curtsey.
A full five seconds passed before Sam realised that they were speaking to him, making it clear that his newly promoted status had been drummed into every single maid.
“After consulting with Diana, I’ve selected Delilah and Lily to be your Lady’s Maids, much like how I have Jeanne and Chloe,” Victoria explained genially, the two servant’s serene glow brightening at the affirmation. Both inclined their heads to the white-haired sissy, not yet given the sanction to speak freely while there was still a procedure to address. “They will be responsible for attending to your personal needs and the mundane realities of being pampered. Washing, both intimate and clerical, arranging and dressing you for the day and being at your beck and call for whatever your need.”
“I need to get out of here,” he remarked flatly, causing the two maids to share a sideways glance. Victoria let the comment slide, appreciating the dryness of its delivery.
“All in due time, but first, we have to get you ready for the day, and that can’t start until these two are sworn in.” Taking a step back, Victoria allowed the two Maids to slip past her before each dropped to a knee in front of Sam and gently took hold of one of his hands.
Onyx and blue eyes stared up into fleeting hazel with determination and fervour before, as one, they began to intone, “We who are Maids of Eden’s Rest do emphatically affirm our pledge. To the house, to the land and its residents, we are at your disposal. To our Lady, fresh and new, we bow our heads in supplication and swear that from this day to our last that your burdens are ours, your pleasure is ours to give and our pleasure yours to take. Admonish us, as we cherish you. Plunder our bodies, for they belong to you. We are your Lady’s Maids, and it is our honour to see you soar.”
As the two women spoke their long practised words, Sam didn’t know what to do. His mind feebly attempted to reconcile one possibility with another. If this was a tradition, then it was heinous, but they spoke it with such reverence that it must have been their tacit truth. They were… excited. Chomping at the bit to add another link to the chains that bound them irrevocably to this Jacobethan madhouse.
Leaning forwards, their grip on his hands turned professionally firm, causing Sam to clench his hands on reflex that made the hold all the more comprehensive. Lily and Delilah turned each hand over before each placed a gentle kiss on his ring finger.
“Maid Lily, forever at your service, my Lady Florence.” Lily softly voiced, her soft and plump pink lips glossy with the moisture of the kiss.
Delilah mimicked the gesture, her kiss was warm yet chaste, her experience showing. “Maid Delilah, forever at your service, my Lady Florence,” she said.
The sensual act of dedication and its long-term undertones made Sam deeply uncomfortable, looking away from his newly sworn-in attendants. Thusly, he was unaware of the echo of unsureness and shadow of hurt that appeared in their eyes at this seeming rejection.
Seeing this, Victoria let out a small sigh before retrieving a small wooden box from a nearby dresser; the sight of the witch caused the two maids to perk up immediately and rise from their kneeling position as the Mistress of the house approached. “Pay no mind to my wife’s apathy, your Lady is simply overwhelmed by your commitment to your jobs. It’s an artefact of her upbringing that your tender love and care will soon iron out.” she consoled the two before opening the box, revealing a pair of brushed silver slide pins. Victoria removed each before sliding them into the bows at each maid’s collar. “Your marks of office. Welcome to a select circle, maids, be sure to spit-shine one another's cunts to celebrate when you get the chance.”
Sam’s eyes bugged out.
Lily beamed at the order while the older Delilah gave a gracious nod to the Mistress, a promise that the two Lady’s Maids would be enjoying a sapphic escapade when time allowed.
Giving the pair a few more seconds to preen over the look of their new neck jewellery, Victoria made a chopping motion that made the duo snap back to parade rest. “And now for the first orders of the day. Give your lady support.”
The stylist's chair was rotated back to face the mirror, and Victoria disappeared from Sam’s view; the black and white forms of his two maids blocked his view when he craned his neck to try and follow. Each had a sympathetic look on their pretty face and laid comforting hands on his shoulders and back, confusing the white-haired young man. Delilah patted him on the shoulder while Lily rubbed soothing circles into his back, which only served to set him even more on edge.
Victoria came back into view with a small silver platter balanced on her plam that she set down on the vanity with a sharp clack, giving Sam a chance to take in what was on it while she snapped on a pair of black latex gloves. Sat on the silver platter on a small square of blue linen was a small clear plastic tube with a ring on one end, a slit opening at the end and an eyehole bolt where both met.
It was the unmistakable silhouette of a cock cage, a CB3000 to be precise, and beside it, a generous ice pack.
“No, fuck! Victoria NOOOOOO!” Sam thrashed against his unyielding bonds in a vain attempt to escape the innocent-looking arrangement. He was further impeded when his maids' hands clamped firmly down on his shoulders, holding him tight to the chair.
Checking to make sure her gloves had no wrinkles, Victoria picked up the cage and twirled it on its ring. “I think it's safe to say from your reaction that you know what this is?” she asked rhetorically, then smirked, “dirty girl, looking up naughty things in her spare time, hmm?” she hummed before removing the tube from its base ring, separating it into two parts. “I’m not sure if I should slap you for being a tart or give you a pat on the head for already knowing a part of your new position.”
Getting between his legs, the black-haired beauty stilled the thrashing thighs with a firm hand before cupping his balls, drawing a strangled gulp from him. Manipulating the semi-turgid length with gloved fingers, she teased the vein and felt him begin to react to her, his sack tight against the cool palm of her hand. “The wife is chaste. That has a lot of connotations and contradictions to it. After all, I expect you to be selectively salacious when the time calls for it, but there are reasons to lock this little clitty away beyond just keeping you from touching yourself.”
She slowly worked the ring over his cock and scrotum until it was seated snugly against his pelvic bone, jostling it from left to right to make sure it was simultaneously secure and comfortable.
At least in a relative sense.
“While the esoterica can wait till you start your lessons, I can boil it down to three overarching principles,” Victoria said conversationally before surprisingly pulling away. “The wife is one who is female, thus her sex is sealed.” Sam groaned at the tight hold of the plastic ring while Victoria took up the ice pack. “The wife is a bastion of purity, her walls shall only admit that which her spouse has sanctioned.”
“Please don’t,” Sam begged weakly as Victoria flexed the transparent bag of ice and chemical gels.
“You may want to take a deep breath, Carmilla,” Victoria smirked evilly, lifting the ice pack before slowly pressing it against Sam’s cock. “The wife has no bodily autonomy of her own; thus, in chastity, your body belongs to me.”
Sam let out a pained scream as his world was doused in icy fire, his manhood shrivelling at the strangling hold of the ice pack that was unerringly held against every centimetre of exposed flesh. And Victoria was there to eat up every tremor and facial expression as if they were a delicacy not to be squandered.
Both Maids reacted instantly, moving to the sides of the stylist's chair; each took one of Sam’s spasming hands and held it tenderly in support, whispering words of encouragement to their Lady. Nostrils flared as he too a series of sharp and shallow breaths through gritted teeth to try and get over the initial shock that was begging to bleed away. A throbbing ache took its place as the thump of his heart carried blood into shrinking flesh until Victoria was satisfied with the work.
‘Satisfied, huh?’ she thought, a spectre of platonic form taunting her from the ether, ‘ It could always be better.’
While the aristocrat was positively magnanimous that she could cause such visceral physical reactions in her wife, there was a small part of her that lamented having to rely on something so tonally different as an off-the-shelf chastity cage. She removed the ice pack and began to dry off the shrunken clitty, she didn’t want him catching a cold. ‘I’d have much rather Yui be able to machine me a custom job from steel but mundane realities and all that.’ To make such an intimate article of chastity would require measurements that they didn’t have til the examination this morning. ‘ Have you ever tried whipping out a ruler and asking to measure your boyfriend’s cock length? Total mood killer. ’
As she slid the hard plastic tube up his now flaccid cock and into its mounting in its ring, totally sealing away his sex, Victoria took solace in knowing that eventually, she could enjoy the sound of her nails wrapping on the faceplate of a bespoke chastity belt.
Sam looked down at himself, shivering as he saw the sheath of hard, clear plastic that caged in what made him a man. He tried to tear his eyes away, but he couldn’t; it was morbidly mesmerising. Victoria slipped a hand into a masterfully hidden pocket in her dress and removed a rectangular block of hinged perspex, a small silver key spearing through one end.
Gently she lifted his chastised cock, admiring its controlled ‘glow’ before slipping the block of plastic into the matching hole in the top of the cage and holding the key fast. But then, she stopped. Victoria slowly inclined her head to look Sam in the eye, keeping his caged cock between them so he could not look at one without the other.
“Look me in the eye, Carmilla.” she whispered, slowly turning the key in its lock, “Look into the eyes of your spouse and listen to the sound of you once more becoming mine.”
There was a muted snap-click of the lock fitting into place, all but deafening.
Sam lowered his head and rested his chin against his chest in resigned defeat, he couldn’t even tell where the lock even was in the clear plastic. Victoria held the key up to the light to inspect it, enjoying the way it twirled on the end of its small chain before pocketing it as the two Lady’s Maids consoled their Lady. She tipped his chin up and planted a butterfly kiss on his lips, a ‘well done’ before moving over to the side of the room and gracefully sitting in a high-backed chair.
“And with that out of the way, we can get ready for the rest of the day. Begin,” she instructed the Lady’s Maids, who launched into a flurry of movement.
Lily and Delilah were quick to towel him down and remove any remnants of his drool or the cold water from his body before dividing up jobs, ignoring the white-haired sissy’s bruised pride. They started with his hair, Lily brushing it free of the knots his tussling had caused while Delilah looked through a number of trunks on the side of the stylist's room.
“I adore your new hair colour, Carmilla. It really suits you.” Victoria said, overseeing the entire production with rapt attention.
“Sucked all the life out of it, and you name me Carmilla.” he barbed halfheartedly while Lily retrieved a pair of proper straighteners.
Victoria giggled at the comment, it seemed that Sam was still in there, if cowed. “Well, you’ve always been a head above the rest of the class, but you need the length to match, and what lies between your legs is hardly anything to write home about.” Sam winced at that, “But let's add it somewhere else, shall we?”
Delilah approached with an armful of high-quality and perfectly matching white hair extensions that both Maids quickly began to weave into his hair. Each one was a master at their job, and to Sam’s untrained eye, it looked as if the long white hair was tapped against his existing nape-length hair, and it was magically melded as if it had always been there. As the minutes ticked by, his hair was lengthened, layered and styled to the unerring hands of his two selected attendants, who remained silent as the grave.
‘This… can’t be happening,’ Sam’s mind scrambled to make sense of it, there was just too much. From a sheer logistical standpoint, they COULD NOT be willing to dedicate this much pomp and circumstance to something so seemingly banal as hair. Perhaps that was because he had never exactly given a shit about his hair, but more likely that he was looking for any mental avenue that he could rationalise as this as a joke or one-off. Ignorance was, after all, bliss.
Ignorance that it was Victoria’s right to give or withhold.
Victoria looked around the room as she waited. “You’ll find that the vanity appointments in your room are far more homey than this tertiary stylist's room. We’re only in here because I had it prepared beforehand, it will be less scary when you are naked in your own bedroom,” she explained with a sigh, seemingly annoyed at something.
Seizing on this anomaly, Sam found himself calming down as he settled into the bulwark of denial. Tertiary stylist's room? What utter bollocks! It was just a one-off method of trying to scare him into compliance! And if that was the case, then he would simply weather it til his girlfriend eased off… right?
He lost track of time while in the bosom of his denial, even dimly aware of the pleasant and satisfying clip and snap of hair being trimmed that he recalled from going to the barbers what seemed an eternity ago. He perked up when both of his Maids took a step away from him, leaving him to look at himself in the mirror and his new haircut.
The hazel eyed twenty two year old now sported a curtain of starkly white hair that trailed to just below his shoulders in lightly curled bangs that framed either side of his face, his priorly exposed forehead covered by a layered square cut fringe that stopped just above his eyebrows.
Ah, Carmilla, the irony was not lost on him.
Victoria was euphoric, rising from her chair and sweeping in behind Sam to look at the pair of them in the mirror. The Maids had outdone themselves, and she was positively salivating at the wondrous contrast in each of their long monochromatic locks. He was beautiful, but her eyes were full of a different emotion entirely. Vindication. “I knew it. There’s always been a beautiful woman hidden in that body, and it just needed a little fettling to bring her out, Carmilla.”
She ran her fingers through his long hair and Sam was weirded out at the feeling of hanging weight that moved about him, not unpleasant, simply unfamiliar. Meanwhile, The Viscountess also evaluated the feeling of the hair extensions, which were high-quality synthetic ones and would work wonders in this probationary period, but she longed for the day when she could pull her wife’s hair in bed while screaming her name.
“Spectacular, maids. Now, nails.” Victoria instructed the two young women who selected nail files and toe separators. Sam bridled, pulling his head out of Victoria’s grip but still held in place by the cuffs and shackles. Victoria pouted at him, “Don’t be such a baby, Mrs Florence. Just enjoy the manicure and pedicure that most in London would kill for.”
True to the older woman’s words, the manicure and pedicure that followed were of the highest standard, with each Maid handling a different area. Though he futility attempted to pull his shackled limbs away, Delilah and Lily shaped and trimmed his nails to perfect dimensions with no discernible sharpness anywhere.
While they were doing that, Victoria retrieved the steampunk remote from before and pointed it at the vanity mirror, pressing a button and causing the entire mirror to shift from perfect reflection to matte black, causing Sam to whip his head around in curiosity. It wasn’t a mirror?
“And now comes the actual fun part, getting dressed!” Victoria beamed, the two maids parting once their job was done to let the Mistress look over her wife. “It’s going to seem like a bit of a faff, but trust me on this, love, it's going to be far better for you if you go along with what we say because if you make a fuss, we will dress you while still cuffed to that chair. And I will be frank in saying that it will be exceedingly uncomfortable and humiliating. And we don’t want that.”
Sam shook his head.
“I need to hear you say it, Carmilla.” the beautiful aristocrat crossed her arms as she waited for his contrition.
Sam sighed, “...Okay.”
His Lady’s Maids unlocked the cuffs and helped rub some life back into his sore limbs before helping him to his feet, towering a full foot over Lily. He looked around the room for a door, but before he had a chance to acclimatise, he was led by both hands to a Victorian changing screen that he was ushered behind. As he walked, her was made aware of the alien ‘dullness’ of his caged cock and had to resist the urge to look down at it. That soon proved to be a blessing as it meant he got front-row seats to what lay in store for him behind the screen.
The space was filled with a number of desks, couches, and plush stools that had a truly astonishing number of garments arrayed as individual articles of shapes and sizes that he couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Surely they couldn’t all be for him? Victoria moved past him and took centre stage, smiling happily and effecting a conductorial voice that she had used when she had drugged his coffee.
“Contrary to how it may initially appear, a ‘Victorian dress’ is a misnomer. Up until the mid Edwardian period, a dress was the sum of its parts which were all separate and fit together into a single cohesive outfit.” she explained, picking up a pair of simple white silk panites. “Compared with the two stages of modern prep, your average bustle dress from 1885 could take up to eight separate stages to put on in full.”
“Eight!?” Sam baulked.
“Eight, more if it was particularly elaborate,” she confirmed before holding up her hands in placation. “But you aren’t always going to have to endure all eight. While I adore my era, I can see its flaws, and many of our outfits have been tweaked for the sake of ergonomics, so some days you might get away with just a tan skirt and a blouse if I’m feeling particularly Edwardian.” She admitted. Victoria tossed the pair of panties to Sam, who caught them and looked at them like they were from outer space. “We’re perfecting the era, much like how I’m perfecting you. But, given that today will be your first time in a silk love affair, you’ll be getting a full service.”
They began with lingerie. Sam took a look at the panties and saw that they were made of a fine silk with lace detailing at the waistband before the maids gathered up a matching bra and stockings.
“For aristocrats, which is what you are now, love, the servants do the work for us. That includes dressing. While you might be taught how to do some of the work, your Lady’s Maids will handle most of your daily preparation. It's simply quicker that way.” Victoria chipped in.
Delilah approached with her arms full of the rest of his lingerie and looked at him expectantly, her meaning easily grasped. Gulping thickly and intimidated by the dark-skinned woman’s gaze, Sam gave the panties one more look before pulling them open and stepping into each of the leg holes. Drawing the silky garment up his hairless legs, Sam shivered at the odd mix of too much and too little sensation. His skin was so much more responsive than he remembered, the material like running water wherever it touched, but the ‘sound’ in his senses was a lone tenor, the prior choir of tactile information provided by his body hair deadened and mute. Reaching the top of his legs, the crotch slipped between his hairless cheeks, drawing a squawk from him at the alien presence. These were nothing like boxers at all.
Lily scrutinised the front of the panties intently, particularly the harsh edges of the caged cock that stood out from the fine fabric, before she gently took hold of his crotch and poked and prodded the stiff acrylic cage til it was pointed between the Lady’s legs. It was still apparent that there was something there, but the Maid was satisfied that she had reduced its profile while Sam floundered at being manipulated so intimately by someone he had known for less than an hour.
Taking the matching bra from Delilah’s arm, Lily unhooked the lacy article and held it open that in no time at all was being latched shut across his back while they coaxed him to put his arm through the holes.
Next, he was all but shoved down onto the padded stool with a grunt, and each of his attendants bore a three-quarters rolled pair of crisp white silk stockings that they slipped onto his feet before steadily rolling them up his hairless legs. Once that was done, he was made to stand and found himself shifting his weight from one foot to another, unused to his tactile senses being so thoroughly played with, the lace tops of each stocking tickling his thighs.
With the basic three undergarments done, Sam had assumed that they would move on to whatever laborious stages the staff had conjured from the annals of history, but Victoria’s smile turned truly ecstatic then. It was time for the corset. “Let’s get you laced up, girl,” Victoria said, lifting the iconic body-shaping garment from its place on the desk. It was a stiffly boned panelled corset, an underbust one judging by its proportions, each panel lightly Jacquarded with Damask patterns that glinted with a pearlescent sheen. Slipping a finger along the sternum line, the beautiful aristocrat revealed the break in the corset and opened it, exposing its interior.
Working as a team, the two Lady’s Maids corralled Sam over to the desk, where Victoria handed the corset off to one of them, quickly encircling Sam’s waist in a band of ivory-coloured steel. He tried to back away, but the duo were well coordinated; Delilah held him fast from behind and held the two sides of the corset together while Lily took up a long and thin silver rod the length of a drumstick with a small hook on the end. She inserted the rod through the steel catches and used it to hook and draw the buttons of the corset closed, a pressure settling around Sam’s waist.
It was…not as bad as he had initially assumed.
Sure, there was a pressure that pushed in on him from all sides, but it felt closer to a particularly tight pair of socks rather than the bone-crushing beast that all media tended to portray it as. The sentiment lasted for that ephemeral moment between Lily smoothing the buttons out of view and Delilah flapping open the back panels to expose the endless crisp white laces.
“What are you- OH SWEET FUCK GPHHHHH!” Sam yelped, Delilah offered a quiet apology as she began to pull the long laces tight, dragging in the sides of the corset and compressing Sam’s waist one step at a time. The white-haired Sissy bent forwards in an attempt to get away from the monochromatic witches but only succeeded in drawing the corset ever tighter, forced to support himself by placing his hands on the desk in front of him. It was such a simple and insidious sound, the muted brush of laces being drawn tight. He had heard it a thousand times whenever he had done up his shoes, but now it heralded pain.
True to its purpose, the garment pinched in on the young man from all sides, his priorly flat and average build teased into a growing feminine hourglass. He took it back; this thing wasn’t a beast, it was a monster. A monster that now gnawed at his stomach and hips, biting into him with unrelenting steel jaws that robbed him of his masculinity, his dignity and soon enough his breath.
“Deep breath, my lady, this will get worse before it gets better,” Maid Delilah instructed, steadily drawing out more sections of the laces in a sequence from top to bottom.
Victoria watched the show from beside her, crooning in appreciation as Lily joined the fray to work on the lower laces, having made sure the top perfectly married up to the padded bra. “I know you’re a fan of extraneous factoids, blossom, so you might find it interesting that back in the 1800s, you'd have had to wear a chemise under your corset. Think of it like a slip that was supposed to protect the wearer from the full bite of the corset and the corset from the sweat of the woman it was wrapped around,” she explained, shaking her head at the absurdity of it. “Why would you ever not want to feel a corset’s embrace? You can feel it now, wrapping you in a tight hug and helping you to fit the image of my wife.”
All Sam could do at the moment was brace himself against the table and get as much air from his rapidly dwindling breath capacity. Perspiration began to gather at his forehead from the effort it was taking to not buckle under the assault, but as the lances grew tighter and tighter, he found that his body moved without his consent, the arch of his back conforming to the shape of the corset it's the steel bones were unforgiving in shaping his waist.
Despite the fact that the young sissy was clearly not enjoying himself, there was something almost hypnotic about the display. With something as simple as some hair extensions, some flattering lingerie and a well-made corset, Sam’s average male form was being tweaked towards that of a woman. ‘ And a mighty fine one at that ,’ Victoria thought.
Lily worked at the bottom half of the laces, the tip of her tongue poking for lips in concentration.
Victoria’s good mood dipped when it became apparent that the two Lady’s Maids had run into a snag, they fiddled with and tugged at the white strings without much continued movement. She made a mental note to tell Diana to organise remedial corset handling for the two when she realised what the issue was. The corset was brand new, ergo its laces and bones were stiff and uncooperative, the two were attempting to get the last pull in without hurting their Lady.
“The last pull needs a firm hand, and you’re lucky that I wanted to be the one to do it,” Victoria said, shooing the two Maids away before grabbing hold of the laces. She raised her leg and rested her knee against Sam’s panty-covered rear before heaving with all her might.
Sam’s eyes widened at the sudden change, the corset compressed as far as it could, and Victoria’s knee forced him to stand up straight, both banks of eyelets finally kissing. His attendant maids retook the reins and quickly braided them, wanting to make up for their apparent blunder. Once the corset had been tied off, they retrieved a rectangular lace hider and slid it over the cross cross, hiding it from view. The Lady Florence was now shackled in silk, a band of ivory-coloured steel gripping his waist like a possessive lover.
“The first time is always painful, Carmilla. Though I would be fascinated if you could find a carnal vice that wasn’t.” Victoria said, stalking around the woozy-looking Sam and the barest hint of aroused huskiness in her voice as she looked at the forcefully imposed hourglass figure. “Alcohol? Tastes horrid on the first sip. Smoking, recreational drugs and even sex. That first time you are inducted into the mysteries of the senses, pain is always the price of admission. But the pain will fade, and pleasure will take its place.”
Sam looked at Victoria with a deadpan expression, his eyes fogged as if not quite there, “I’d rather it didn’t happen at all.” he said weakly, completely ignoring as a chemisette was affixed to his neck, the half blouse-esque garment continuing the slowly assembling jigsaw puzzle of the outfit. “Are we done now?”
“No, your ladyship, that was merely the first stage,” Delilah informed him, causing the pit in his stomach to grow unfathomably large. Were it not for the slight bulge in his panties, there was barely any way to tell he was a man at a glance.
It was at this precise moment in space and time that Samuel Hayes mentally checked out of the whole debacle, allowing himself to be manoeuvred around like a piece on a chess board while his Lady’s Maids dressed him up like a doll.
Stage two consisted of some extra figure and shaping enhancement, a ring of frilly white waist padding was hooked to the base of the corset to help flare out his hips before Lily approached with the bustle. It was a series of light weight metal loops stacked atop one another in the a peach shape connected to a belt which was buckled securely around his waist. When they indicated for him to sit on the stool again, he was worried that the bustle would make it hard but discovered that the metal hoops were quite articulate and could fold up to allow one to sit. They approached him with a white garter belt and hooked it around his waist, lifting the waistband of his panties and threaded the straps underneath to connect up to his stockings.
“Shouldn’t they go over the panties…” Sam murmured, confused at the extra step, surely they wear easier to remove with the panties under?
Victoria pinched the bridge of her nose and offered him a wan smile, like an upperclassman who had just heard an upstart ask an elementary question. “If the garter straps went over the panties, then you’d never be able to take them off without unlatching your stockings. Aesthetically pleasing as it might be, I want you to be functional in your role, Carmilla.”
As he sat on the stool, he was presented with, surprisingly, a pair of shoes. A pair of calf-length black and white ‘spat’ boots with one-inch flared heels and a quilted texture on their shaft. He looked up at Victoria, who nodded genially, all too happy to answer the unsaid question caused by his despondency.
“Given all the layers you will be dressed in, sometimes it is better to put on your shoes before we tackle the dress itself,” she explained before the Maids slipped his feet into the boots and helped him stand, they were a perfect fit, tailored to perfection as the slippers had been the day before, but he still stumbled slightly from the elevation of the flared heels. It was a small change, but it had him off balance.
Two layers of ruffled petticoats were lifted over his head and dropped onto his waist, the fine material tickling his stocking-clad legs before a heavier outer skirt was added as well. Lastly came the matching white bodice with lace detailing that he was buttoned into, its tight fit accenting his form and revealing the faux bust created by the bra and corset.
It was a bizarre feeling for the white-haired sissy; it felt as if he was being held from all angles and each in a different way. Each component had its place and separate feel, but when brought all together, it was simply…a dress ... .one he was being forced to wear.
A click of low heels echoed in his ears, and Sam watched as Victoria entered his field of view, framed by his new bangs that he was very quickly growing to dislike.
Looking at Sam with sultry appreciation, Victoria was begging to grow deeply aroused at the sight of him. The combination of bodice and bustle produced a pronounced flair of the hips that she had to resist the urge to hold while the skirt and petticoats, each as crisp white as his hair, covered him to the floor with only the smallest black tip of his spat calf boots glinting from the shadow it cast. Paired with his wonderfully styled hair and naturally pale complexion, ‘ Alas, muse, I have captured a ghost and made her a goddess, one that will follow my chain .’
“Now you fit the role, blossom.” Victoria sidled up to him and brushed a hand against the delicate fabric of his bodice, feeling him flinch away from her. It was an expected reaction, but he appeared to be pliant enough to do as he was told for now. She expected that he would flare up again, but that crease in the fabric of the day would be ironed out when they got to it.
Sam was led back into the heart of the stylist's room on unsteady feet, the combination of the small heels and cumbersome nature of the dress throwing off his sense of motion just enough to be annoying but not enough to result in falling head over heels. It was the subtleties that rankled him, the paradoxes in sensation. His legs were surrounded on all sides by layers of heavy silks, yet the very nature of a dress meant he was bereft of the usual closeness of trousers. He had an infinite amount of freedom of movement within the set parameters of the ensemble, and that ensemble was unforgiving in what it would allow.
So it was with a strange relief that he allowed himself to be sat down in the stylist's chair once again, this time happily bereft of cuffs and shackles. The layers of skirt, petticoats and bustle bunched up behind him and formed an impromptu pillow for his lower back, which was needed given the corset forced him to keep his posture ramrod straight.
A semblance of his fire returned when his Lady’s Maids opened a series of boxes on the still-darkened vanity to reveal a collection of makeup and brushes. “No, can we just not…” he grumbled, earning him a pat on the back from Victoria who was full of mirth.
“Nothing extravagant yet, just some tasteful appointment.” she consoled him with a smirk. The comment nearly drove Sam into a conniption. How in the hell was all of this ‘nothing extravagant!?
As the tiny coal of fire at his core began to once again glow with life, the two maids flitted about him with a professionalism that befitted their station. His manicured nails were given a simple clear coat of nail polish to give them a glossy look before they asked him to pout his lips. Lily approached with a tube of lipstick and set to work outlining his pouting lips before gently painting them with a coat of the matte red lipstick while Delilah was gentle in her application of some dark eyeliner.
Job done, the Maids retreated to stand at either side of him and bowed their heads, their lobs completed, leaving Sam to stare into the black screen that had once been the vanity mirror that showed nothing but a matte black void. He mentally joked that Victoria was laying on the Vampire aesthetic a little too thickly by denying his reflection, but just as the thoughts came to him, he felt a weight settle on his shoulder, the painted tips of Victoria’s fingers kneading at the tough silk of his white bodice.
Victoria leant down next to her wife and whispered into his ear, “Now let's gaze through the mirror darkly, my Lady Florence.” She pointed the remote at the vanity mirror, and in a flash, it snapped back to its crystal-clear reflection.
Sam gasped, the thing in the mirror’s lips forming into a surprised ‘o’ while familiar hazel eyes raked up and down. The uncanny valley yawned open before him, and a white spectre stared him down with a sultry, smirking raven perched at its shoulder.
His face had been appointed in a simple and exceedingly tasteful arrangement of makeup, the dark eyeliner and matte red lipstick drew all attention as the only splash of colour on the entire body. It was still very clearly him, his mental self image said as much and could point out each individual aspect of his face but there was an… otherness to his reflection. The context of his visage had changed.
While Sam had never been especially feminine, he hadn’t been archetypically masculine either, dancing on the knife edge of averageness. But Victoria the artist had changed that.
With his hair, she had changed his profile and given him something to make him stand out, shattering his defence of generic appearance. With the dress she had dissolved his form as a man and rebound it into a shape that could not be accepted as anything other than feminine and with the touch of makeup he had officially slipped from the summit of average and into the slope of androgynous.
Regarding her wife and creation with a loving stare, Victoria gently pulled back the curtain of layered white hair and kissed Sam on his neck. “You’re stunning, Carmilla, properly dressed in your virgin whites. You’ve earned a proof of my favour,” she explained before snapping her fingers.
As the senior of the two Lady’s Maids, Maid Delilah responded to the request, retrieved a flat rectangular jewellery box from the vanity desk, and brought it to her Mistress. It was a simple thing, covered in black velvet with the Florence family sigil highlighted in gold and lapis.
“Open it,” Victoria ordered, and Delilah opened the box to reveal its contents to Sam. Sat on a small velvet pillow was a thick band of black silk, fastened shut with a small silver catch at its back. Victoria reached in and drew out the choker and dangled it in front of the white-haired sissy’s face.
She silently opened the item of tastefully simple jewellery and slipped it around Sam’s neck, it was chilling to the touch, feeling as if it had been cast from woven shadow rather than cloth.
“There is Raiment, and then there is uniform. The clothes you wear, the styles in your hair and the jewellery in and on your body: those are Raiment, that which you wear as befitting your station and the moment.” Victoria closed the silk band with a ‘click’ from the catch, the choker holding Sam’s neck snuggly. “Then there is uniform, which, as my wife, is what defines to those who look upon you that you are me. But it's nothing so drôle as the uniform of the servants, no, your uniform is your chastity and your choker. The only constants you will ever wear.”
His hair was brushed back into his hair, and Sam realised what the choker really was. It was a declaration of ownership, a collar by any other name.
No, NO! He denied the ringing feeling of doom as Vicotira pulled away, leaving him alone with his own aristocratic reflection. This was not final, he was not here forever, he would deal with this until he could convince her otherwise or slip away, nothing more.
“Now that that’s all done, why don’t we go for a walk? It’s past time I introduced you to a few more important people in your life.” Victoria said after a moment, offering Sam a hand to stand.
After what felt like an eternity, he raised his head from its despondent slump and reluctantly took it.
When it comes to the endless tiny elements that together constitute what we perceive as routine, it is, surprisingly, the smallest changes that trip us up the most. Sure, being drugged, feminised and chastised by your now self-proclaimed spouse was the equivalent of being punched in the gut, but it did not niggle at the senses like a tiny change, large enough to be noticed but not significant enough to be a genuine issue. In point of fact, the best analogy for such a change was getting a rock stuck in your shoe.
It did not debilitate you, nor did it do anything more than annoy, but its persistent pestering kept it at the front of your mind for each foot you put in front of the other. A punch to the gut, while traumatic, was a singular event that would fade into a wall of apathy with time. A rock in the shoe, though? That would rankle until you either got used to it or removed it from your shoe.
‘Click’
‘Grrrrrrrr .’ Sam smouldered as his short flared heels caught on the floor for the sixth time.
They were once again astride the labyrinthine halls of Eden’s Rest in one of the many corridors that a visitor would be hard-pressed to tell apart. It was approaching one in the afternoon, according to an imposing grandfather clock that stood between a pair of matching shields bearing a simple black cross, each one with a pair of decorative longswords crossed behind them. As they made their way to their destination, an errant House Maid crossed their path, a stiff scrubbing brush in her hands that she used to work away at the hardwood floor that wasn't covered by the rich carpet.
Upon seeing their approach, she backpedalled to the wall and offered a curtsy to the Mistress and Lady as they passed, not daring to look at either. Partially because the general rule was to not interrupt their betters but also because, on this day, the housemaids had been given explicit orders not to look directly at the Lady until she had been officially presented.
Her head lowered, she was only able to get the meanest look at the four as they passed, the rich purple hem of Victoria's dress before the swirl of white and black of the new Lady’s frilly petticoats and her Maids' black uniforms. Once they had turned the corner and were firmly out of sight, she swept off in the direction of the dormitories, ready to gush that she had nearly seen their new Lady in her newly clothed glory.
With the quartet, Victoria took the lead, striding forward with an upbeat happiness that gave her a glow as she silently admired the marble bust of a storied ancestor that they passed. Her dress glided over the carpet, and her footsteps were dull, but she held a restrained animatedness to her. Instead of talking to her wife, she left him to his silence as they navigated.
‘Click’
Sam was once again reintroduced to the metaphorical ‘rock’ in his shoe. While his entire lower body was concealed by the billowing confines of his skirts, the look of consternation on his face was palpable. Walking in heels for the first time was proving to be a unique kind of hell because of how simply annoying it was. Two-inch heels were nothing especially demanding when compared to the four-inch heels that Victoria currently wore, but the slight elevation in height and distribution in weight meant he was as physically off-kilter as he was emotionally.
He would never know that Yui had been the one to argue for short heels for his first set of women’s footwear, being able to argue down Victoria’s vision of six-inch heels from the get-go.
“Unless you want your wife to be sporting a cast on one leg as her first act as Lady, you’re gonna drop the heel size to two inches, max. Just because she’ll eventually totter around in six inches doesn’t mean I want to be setting a bone from a broken leg when she inevitably falls over!” the Kyoto doctor had argued.
Even though he unknowingly benefited from his physician’s pragmatism winning out, Sam still felt uneasy in the footwear and dress. The flared heels kicked his already impressive height of 6’2” up to 6’4”, towering over his two Lady’s Maids that followed from behind.
When he had first got out of the stylist's room and into the well-lit corridors, Sam had wondered if he could risk making a run for it, but the triangle formation of the three women blocked his exits, and he knew that he was going to topple over in all these layers if he went anything past a brisk walk.
“It's intoxicating, the hold of a corset,” Victoria commented, pausing to watch her statuesque wife approach and nodding appreciatively at the artificial waistline. “The embrace is an acquired taste but one that leaves lasting hallmarks on its devotees.”
Sam didn’t respond, instead gritting his teeth and giving Victoria the best glare he could offer. It only made the Viscountess chuckle before they reached a different corridor.
Maid Lily increased her pace and brushed past her Lady to open a door for the both of them, Delilah was there to usher both of them into the parlour.
The parlour was located on the first floor, much like the drawing rooms and bedroom that Sam had slept in last night, and as would be expected, it was equally grandiose. It was a large rectangular room with hardwood floors and cream coloured wallpaper, a mantle and fireplace set into one wall that was flanked by a pair of dark wood display cases. A number of couches and chairs had been set up around the room, each angled to look at some of the artwork that was hung on the walls. One object of note was the full-sized grand piano that waited by the far wall, its lid propped open to expose its internal strings and hammers. However, where it differed was its aura.
The drawing room had, despite its ostentatious content, held a homey feeling to it. While the couches were so soft you could drown in them, there was always a stack of newspapers or other reading material within arm's reach. Some of the sparse modern effects had also been present, it was a place to relax in comfort.
However, the parlour was a decidedly more serious affair. It was a place to receive guests and serve as a prelude for events. While it had the capability of being a pleasant environment, and to the untrained eye, it was, it was more a staging area for the agenda of the day.
A spacious round table sat at the room's heart set for three people, a tea set on a crenulated silver platter. The seats were arranged clockwise at positions 12, 3 and 6, with position 3 being filled by Trisha. She wore her navy blue velvet maxi dress-come-frock coat with a slim brown belt around her waist. Looking around, Trisha snapped closed the small leather journal she had been reading and rested it on the table’s surface before getting to her feet.
“Mistress Victoria,” she greeted, inclining her head before her bespectacled eyes locked onto Sam, sweeping up and down his dress, then into his eyes with a penetrating stare. “And the Lady Carmilla Florence, I have long looked forward to this meeting.”
Sam regarded the shorter woman in front of him. She had a pleasant demeanour with an underlying steel that reminded him of a former project supervisor he had once had at college. She definitely fit the house's aesthetic in her own streamlined way, but whatever first impressions her reserved and professional smile put out, it was tossed to the side when he saw what was attached to her right hip.
Trisha’s old, worn but well-maintained riding crop, hooked to her thin brown belt.
She counted five whole seconds, waiting for Sam to respond to her greeting before her eyes crinkled in an eye smile. ‘Strike One ,’ she thought, committing the social faux pas to memory.
“Forgive my wife’s rudeness, Trisha. Her first dressing was an animated experience, and she hasn’t gotten her breath back yet.” Lily pulled out Victoria’s chair and let her sit down, resting her fist on her chin as Sam was made to sit opposite her.
Once Trisha was again seated to Sam’s right, the two maids went about the tried and true expectation of making tea, the sound of a boiling kettle filling the parlour.
Letting the virgin white sissy dangle on the edge of his seat for just a little while longer, Victoria eventually began to speak. “Carmilla, this is Trisha Moore, she is being employed by me to serve as your Governess.”
“Charmed,” Trisha chipped in while Sam’s eyebrows furrowed at the word.
“Governess?” he finally spoke, voice full of confusion.
Victoria gave Trisha the floor to give a proper introduction. She pushed her glasses up her nose til they glinted in the light before beginning. “Indeed. I have been hired by the Florence family to oversee and contribute to your education and development as a young woman. I will be in charge of your tutoring in matters befitting both your identity as a woman of Victorian aristocracy as well as your position as Lady of the House and wifely responsibilities. For the foreseeable future, I will be at your side as your companion and role model, so I believe that it is best we get off on the right foot.”
“Trisha is a very gifted teacher and logistician, she had more academic degrees to her name by the age of 20 than most scholars earn in 50 years. She’s very much the apple of my mother's eye.” Victoria contributed, enjoying the searching look on her wife’s face as he tried to fit all the pieces together.
The governess chuckled in deference, “Countess Beatrice is someone to whom I am forever indebted, and I make it my mission to help raise your wife to be as good a woman as she was to me.”
“Be sure to keep my blossom’s tongue silver on all matters, Trisha, from the house history to the bedroom.”
“Of course, these are the responsibilities of the Lady.” Trisha agreed, the sound of boiling water rising to a height and Sam’s Maids bringing it over to the table.
Responsibilities? Were… were they fucking insane? The question came up again and again within Sam’s mind, echoing off the walls of this sham of a form he had been twisted into. With each echo did his small fire of resistance grow. A responsibility was something you chose for yourself, but now they were talking as if he had some kind of obligation to excel in something he clearly did not want.
“You can’t be serious,” he finally said, causing both women to pause their conversation.
‘Silly girl.’ Trisha thought, templing her fingers in front of her. “While I enjoy a jest when warranted, I make it a point of pride to never joke about my work, Lady Carmilla.”
“We have all gone through a lot of time and effort to get to this day, blossom, you’re obligated to honour the effort we have put in,” Victoria explained.
“Fuck that!” Sam replied, the flame growing stronger.
‘Strike two.’ Trisha counted internally. “It’s a simple calculus, my dear. If you do as you’re told, then you will be rewarded. If you don’t, then you will be punished.”
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, and unbidden, a sentence passed from his lips. An innocuous and innocent series of words that were spoken with no ill intent, just simple exasperation. Unknowing of the reaction they would engender.
“I need a cup of coffee.”
His Governess teeth snapped together with an audible click, her eyes narrowing, ‘ and that’s three.’
Trisha smiled an all-too-sweet smile. The temperature in the room seemed to plunge, and Sam knew that he had somehow blundered as she slowly turned to Victoria, who looked almost disappointed in him. Giving a subtle nod, the blue eyes glittered in newfound excitement when her auburn-haired employee spoke, “We may as well nip this in the bud now and leave an example that sticks.” she sighed before snapping her fingers. “Seize her.”
Before Sam had even had the chance to form a coherent thought, he saw a pair of shadows emerge from either side of him and grabbed his arms. His head snapped to one side, long white hair tossed over the shoulder and saw his Lady’s Maids looking at him apologetically as they manhandled his arms. “Get away from me!” he shouted at them and committed the totality of his strength to try and get free.
While the Lady of the house tried and failed to get free of her attendant’s hold, Trisha slowly got to her feet, being sure to tuck her chair back under the table as she went. Victoria found the sight humorous; her employee made being pedantic an art form, even on minor details like a sequence of tasks.
After a brief struggle the two Lady’s Maids had claimed a victory, using Sam’s height and inhibited mobility against him and pressed both of his arms flat against the table where they were held fast. He fidgeted impotently, an attempt to stand waylaid by rolling back on his own heels. Movement ceased as he watched Trisha unhook the riding crop at her waist and hold it at her side.
Trisha rolled the crop between her fingers. “I have been led to believe from what I have read and what your spouse has told me that you are an intelligent person, so I do not feel the need to spell things out more than is necessary,” she said slowly, her voice serene with a scolding edge. “I am your governess. I am in charge of your education, welfare, training and, in the absence of Mistress Victoria, your discipline as well. Lady and companion is a simple archetype to fall into, yet you have succeeded in expanding my patience for sloppiness and margin for offence exceedingly quickly. Three strikes against your character in less than three minutes. Ergo, a demonstration of punishment is in order.”
Fear seized at the restrained sissy, pouring a frigid cascade of water over him that doused the rekindling fire. He shook his head, stuttering out a garble of apology and beg for clemency while Trisha raised the riding crop.
Victoria watched the scene progress implicitly and just when she spotted the twitches of muscle in the velvet of Trisha’s forearm, the indication of imminent movement, did she act. “Hold a moment.”
Freezing in place, Trisha looked to Victoria, her actions entirely stopped by the simple words.
Sam felt his breath hitch in his throat, there was a power in his girlfriend, something that pressed down from all angles, an authority that conveyed from every syllable. And when she addressed him, he found himself mute.
She smirked, “This isn’t mercy, Carmilla, just a matter of neatness.” Her focus moved back to Trisha, “Owing to the fact that the presentation is in less than an hour, you know that no mark can be visible.”
A beat passed before Trisha assented to the request, bowing to her employer’s right and logic. “Turn her palm face up.”
Any hope he had of escaping his punishment was dashed on the rocks at that, the Maids twisting his arm and flattening his fingers til the pale parm of his right hand faced the ceiling.
“Your hands will be clasped for the presentation so the palm can wear the three lashes without breaching tradition.” Trisha reasoned, drawing an approving nod from Victoria, appreciating the creative manipulation of the rules. She valued Trisha’s creativity as much as Yui’s.
All pretence of dignity fell away from Sam then, begging Victoria to not let this happen, that he would do what they would say, just don’t hurt him.
His plea just earned him a slowly wagging finger from the purple-clad aristocrat. “Be a big girl, Carmilla, show Miss Trisha you can take your punishment with dignity.”
Trisha held the end of her crop’s ‘slapper’ by the tips of her fingers, the leather rod bending slightly as the tension built. “The first lash is for failing to greet your Governess when she greeted you!” she said before finally striking.
The crop slashed down, swishing loudly as it cut through the air before the full surface of the slapper struck Sam’s palm with a sharp crack.
“Ahhh!” Sam squeaked in pain, though it was more shock at the hit than any pain. He shook his head, begging it to stop as Trisha reset.
“The second lash is for use of profanity in the parlour, that kind of talk is reserved for the drawing room or bedroom unless sanctioned!” she whipped his palm again, drawing a pained bleat as Victoria watched on.
Gritting his teeth, the ashen-haired sissy felt the true sting of pain from this hit, his nervous system having a chance to catch up to the first blow.
“And the third lash is for asking for an unfitting drink. A Lady’s daytime hot beverages are tea, we will break you of that vile habit, Lady Carmilla.” she finished before striking the third time.
Despite her raised voice, her hits had been exceedingly neat and delivered with half strength, a caution as opposed to a true lashing that would have been delivered by cane or whip.
As the third crack echoed through the room, Lily and Delilah released their Lady and allowed him to recoil into his chair, clutching his hand that smarted with pain. Sam looked at the limb, tracing the perfect outline that the crop had left in the slowly reading flesh. It stung his pride far more than it did his skin, but still, it hurt.
Returning her crop to its place on her belt, Trisha sat back down to Sam’s immediate right and watched him as he meekly rubbed the mark of shame. After a time, she spoke, her tone a breath more tender than it had been before. “Has that left an impression on you?”
“...yes,” he gasped out, cowed by the display. It had been exactly what he needed for now.
“Do you want me to do it again?”
“No,” Sam said submissively, shaking his head.
Trisha nodded and extended her right hand in a handshake. “Then let's try this again. It’s a pleasure to meet you, your Ladyship. I’m Trisha Moore, and I will be your governess for the indefinite future. In formal settings, you will call me Miss Trisha, but outside of that, I am simply Trisha. I look forward to seeing you shine.”
Sam squinted at the hand as if it was some foul beast before he reluctantly shook it, wincing when the woman’s firm handshake made his throbbing palm ache. And it was the last bit of impetus needed to make him speak. “...it's nice to meet you…Miss Trisha… I’m Carmilla.”
The older woman held the handshake for a second too long, looking deeply into Sam’s eyes and nodded in satisfaction when she saw the submissiveness in there. “Good. Now, with regard to matters of note, you have a presentation in less than an hour, so let's get you watered and explain what is expected of you.”
Sam didn’t reply, but he nodded in resignation, it was another thing he would have to deal with until he could convince Victoria to see sense. After all, it was just two women…
A teacup was placed before him on a saucer, and he found himself staring into it as one of the maids poured a liberal serving of German Breakfast Tea into it, mesmerised as the sparkling white insides vanished into steaming brown.
Over the course of the next hour, Eden’s Rest was abuzz with activity that extended from both within the large manor house to the greater ground that rolled away into the forests and hills. It was an event, one exceedingly simple but long expected by those who lived there.
Diana walked along a long line of her housemaids in the antechamber of their dormitories, giving each one a scrutinising once over to make sure not a singular hair was out of place. All wore their pristine full-length uniform with a pair of black patent leather Mary Jane flats, the required attire for events where they were not strictly working. Every maid wore a professional smile, looking directly ahead as the grey-haired Housekeeper made her inspection of them to make sure everything was perfect. The younger and newer members of the staff did their best to obscure any jitters they felt those jade-green orbs bore into them, digging through their very souls and promising retribution if they found something wanting.
She paused mid-step as she crossed one of them, a pretty but nondescript member of the number and raised her hand to touch the bow tied at the younger woman’s collar, testing the tightness of the knot. Lightly pulling down on the loops, Diana evaluated the amount of resistance she felt from the central knot before nodding in satisfaction, amused at the tiny rise and fall she witnessed in the Maid’s throat, gulping thickly.
Her inspection complete, Diana took up a place facing them all to address them. “Ladies, I expect as much of you today as I do any other day. No job left undone and no frill out of place. We must show our lady that we are there for her, infallible and uniform in our devotion to the family of this house and the lives that our beloved Mistress and her family have graced us with.” she said, causing the assembly to stand all the straighter.
The Housekeeper smirked, pushing her half-moon glasses up the bridge of her nose before calling upon the maxim of their little sisterhood. “Where does the house reside?”
As one, the Maids responded, “Within the garden of Eden, where its denizens may rest.”
“And what are we, who wear the uniform of their servants?” Diana asked as her subordinates repeated a mantra that had been drummed into them since they had first donned their uniforms.
“We are the maids of the Florence Family, an extension of our Mistress’s will who alleviate her burdens and enliven her life.”
She addressed them all, not looking at any of them in particular yet somehow penetrating them all. “And when does our service end?”
Their reply held a sonorous quality; many voices joined in choir with no singular voice standing out, a gestalt answering their superior’s question. “Never. Once the uniform is donned it cannot be removed, time holds no sway over Eden’s Rest or its servants, we are forever somewhere between 1850 and now.”
Clapping twice, Diana was satisfied with the observed tradition and left the antechamber bound for the entry hall, a train of monochromatically attired underlings following at her heels.
It was not an isolated incident, for elsewhere on the Ground Floor, a door shifted aside to reveal a set of brass-coloured doors that slid open to admit Yui and her Nurse Maids, attired in their inverted uniform. Compared to Diana’s rigid adherence to decorum, Yui was far more lackadaisical as she walked, hands in her pockets and tapping a wordless tune onto the stretchy black leather pants. Her Nurse Maids were comparatively reserved as they followed, walking three abreast as they followed their diminutive leader.
As they walked, Yui spotted a sparkle of rubber out of the corner of her eye and smirked. It was definitely a change to see them allowed up out of the basement during the day, but she knew that they were still staff and thus had to attend. She did wonder if Victoria had wanted them chained as well, but that would make it hard for them to curtsey.
Indeed, the whole manor was coming alive with movement, people inadvertently drawn to the main hall.
Far distant, down at the gatehouse, the Hämäläinen sisters were attired in their Sunday best. Each of the Finnish valets wore an upper-class riding uniform composed of a high-necked white shirt with a matching tie, tight white riding breeches that complimented their toned legs and supple bottoms tucked into knee-high black riding boots. Over it, each wore a red crushed velvet hunt coat that was held closed with gold buttons, the Florence sigil sewn into its breast.
Johanna, flanked by her two sisters, nodded in recognition of the small and smartly attired group in front of her and accepted the small slip of card the leader handed her. Looking down, the head valet read the embossed gold letters that were written on it.
“The Viscountess Florence cordially invites you to the presentation of her new wife and the Lady of Eden’s Rest. Present yourself at the gatehouse to be permitted entry.”
Satisfied, Johanna returned the invitation to the head of the group in front of her and held up a hand to gesture in the direction of the main house in the distance. “Thank you, sir. Now if you would care to follow my sisters and I, we will escort your family to the main house,” she said before the small group began to crunch their way up the gravel track that led up to the manor.
Back in the Parlor, Sam was oblivious to all of this save the simple particulars of what he had been asked to do. He sat glibly on one of the couches with Trisha seated next to him and Victoria in an armchair opposite him. In layman’s terms, he was to be presented in an official capacity to the staff of the house in his new capacity as the Lady of Eden’s Rest and wife of Victoria. What he had to do had been very easy to understand, and even though his head was still swimming with a collage of emotions at today’s revelations, he could grip onto the simplicity of Trisha and Victoria’s instructions as much as he abhorred them.
After that, the hour had passed in almost normal civility, were it not for the location or outfits as the pain slowly faded from his hand. Victoria broached subjects of conversation that Sam had been forced to meekly answer under the watchful gaze of Trisha and her riding crop. She was an odd case. Despite being nearly a foot shorter than him, his freshly appointed governess was someone who existed in two parts that didn’t seem to align with what he understood. Outside of her explaining what was expected of him, she appeared to be an animated and emphatic woman who was the image of ‘classical education’, reserved and polite but willing to engage and explain if something caught her eye and it became apparent that Sam was lost.
She chipped in on his and Victoria’s conversations and gave genuine responses when prompted by her employer, but despite that, there was this… aura to her. That every action he took was being examined and logged and if he put even a toe out of line then she would tan his hide. Something she knew. Something that she capitalised on to keep the submissive look in Sam’s eyes consistent, all the while giving that affable address that she was a companion to his suffering yet willingly enabled it.
He picked up his teacup and choked down another mouthful with a grimace, the flavour too tepid for him but he did not finish the cup, every time he did then his Lady’s Maids would just swoop in and refill it.
The monotony of high-class oppression was broken when Trisha checked her watch near the appointed time and gave an order for the two to leave, which they did, excusing themselves with a curtsey.
“Where are they going?” Sam asked, unsure as to if their absence was an omen of something good or bad.
“To their mark, it's time to begin,” Victoria answered. Five minutes later she rose to her feet and smoothed down her dress and made for the door, holding it open for Sam and Trisha to pass through.
They made their way through the halls in silence, Victoria having once again taken the lead while Sam followed behind her at a distance of five paces, the speed mercifully slow and letting him avoid the pitfalls of his dodgy footwear.
Trisha followed behind Sam by one step back and one to the right, a bespectacled Navy Blue shadow filling the attendant position in the absence of Lily and Delilah.
Recognition washed over Sam as they entered familiar corridors bound for the entrance hall’s first floor landing from which the main ‘nexus’ of the house could be found. But as they drew closer, he began to hear the subtle burble of people getting louder, sporadic and indistinct conversation sandwiched between the rustle of clothes that came about from any gathering.
The furtive hope for pleading for his escape came apart before it had any chance to even rise. ‘It’s the staff, all the maids, all sycophants hanging off Victoria’s words like she’s a goddess…’ he thought glumly, his painted lips drooping to a frown. The feeling of Trisha’s eyes on his back forced him to shift it back to a neutral façade lest he become reacquainted with her riding crop.
The facts of the matter remained the same, he would endure this for now until he could either understand and convince Victoria to let him go, or, quixotically, slip away.
Victoria came to a stop in the archway that separated the corridor from the landing and waited for Sam to catch up with her, favouring him with a satisfied and pleased smile. No words passed between them, but the way he shifted his weight from one foot to another told a story all of its own. She turned on her heel and strode purposefully out onto the landing, the sight of her causing a hush to fall over the entry hall, the assembled staff quieting to ascertain the sight of their Mistress.
She did not turn to look at them until she came to the exact middle of the grand staircase’s topmost step, looking over them all for a moment, keen blue eyes picking out specific individuals amongst the throng.
Taking a deep breath, the black-haired Viscountess began to speak.
“Good day to you, Eden’s Rest. My staff, my employees, my household. I have asked you to assemble here today to mark an important time in my life as well as that of this house. I have been the Mistress of this, my family’s second seat of power, for eight years. In that time I have had much joy within these walls, even in the time spent away from it. You have welcomed me home, and thus, I acknowledge your toil in my absence.”
Her speech was delivered in a clear voice that carried to all corners of the entry hall and held all the velvet-tinged imperiousness that her position in the peerage demanded. Victoria leant into her role and basked in its warmth like returning to an old pair of slippers, a comforting and normal way to lighten the day.
Painted lips parted in a self-indulgent and ecstatic smile as she continued. “But in this return, I have not come empty-handed. I spent years amongst the common rabble to understand just how privileged it is to be who I am. I did my work and returned home with an award of mark and something else held in my hand.” Sam’s heart thumped loudly in his chest, feeling Victoria’s attention on him, “I fell in love out there, and I have brought that love home to fill the position that this house has long needed.”
She slowly looked over her shoulder and raised a hand in his direction, “It is my right and pleasure to present to you my beloved wife, Lady Carmilla Florence, Lady of the house.”
That was his cue.
Sam gulped before gingerly stepping forwards, hands clasped in front of him as Trisha had instructed him. His statuesque and entirely white form drew a small verbal reaction from the hall below and, on impulse, turned to look. It was not an infraction of what he had been told, but in retrospect, he really shouldn’t have.
He nearly tripped over his low-flared heels.
There were… so many.
So very many.
As Trisha silently brushed past him and descended the right side of the stairs, Samuel Hayes took in the totality of Eden’s Rest’s staff and found himself well and truly speechless.
It was one thing to be told that over 70 staff members were at the house, but seeing it simultaneously was believing and caused him to baulk in disbelief.
The entry hall was totally full from the bottom of the stairs to the double doors, rows upon rows of maids and other staff arranged in lines and blocks according to their station and role in the pecking order of the house.
At the head of the throng were three figures, all of whom Sam recognised. Dr Yui Ito on the left, Housekeeper Diana Thomas in the middle and, taking up her position on the right, Governess Trisha Moore. Each stood at the head of a ‘block’ of servant staff and looked up at him with different expressions. Yui wore an amused and impressed smirk, while Diana had a small smile of appreciation. Trisha’s gaze was expectant, watching him like a hawk for errors.
Immediately behind each of the three leading staff were their immediate underlings. Sam was initially drawn to the Nurse Maids behind Yui with their inverted white and black uniforms. There were nine of them arranged in three rows of three, with all sporting similar Asian features like their leader, though he was surprised that at least three of them had wild hair colours like hot pink and green.
Diana was backed by the five Parlour Maids, marked by their white linen gloves, before being followed by a block of fifteen housemaids arranged in three rows of five, all of whom looked up at him in wonderment, his whiteness reflected in their eyes. Trisha was flanked by the two pairs of Lady’s Maids, their precious metal pins glinting in the light from the above chandelier and behind them were the three Hämäläinen sisters.
But there was so much more…
Tearing his eyes away from the other more eccentric staff members, Sam returned his focus to Victoria, who watched him approach with her hand out. He slowly took his captor’s hand and laid a small kiss upon the ring finger of her left hand, Victoria enjoying how soft and pleasantly slippery his painted lips were. Her hands fell to her sides, and Sam began to descend the steps of the staircase until he was halfway down and forced to look out at the horrifying expanse once again.
Scanning from left to right, his hazel eyes zoned in on the ‘block’ of six behind the Nurse Maids, where the first man that Sam had seen in days stood. The block was made up of two rows of three, with the front row being a trio of chefs wearing crisp white linens, the man in the middle wearing a small pin that marked him as the head chef while his two female Sous-chefs stood on either side and a trio of kitchen maids, evident by their aprons and modified headbands, stood behind them.
There was an assembly of four stablehands behind the large block of housemaids, two men and two women wearing white shirts, dark blue waistcoats and red neckerchiefs. To their left, and thus Sam’s right, was an eclectic group led by an older gentleman in his late 40s. He had a broad and stocky build but was otherwise healthy with a goatee and close-cropped salt and pepper hair. He wore a tweed three-piece suit and looked thrilled to be there, looking up at Sam with a broad smile. He was joined by his reasonably attractive wife, who wore a tasteful yellow summer dress, and their three daughters, all of whom notably had toned arms.
That was Rupert, the Groundskeeper, leading the delegation of his small family as well as five more female FMC gardeners who all wore trendy black summer dresses. All looked at Sam with expressions that ranged from shock to glee but it was not them that Sam found his attention paradoxically attracted to. No, that was who stood in front of them.
Sam’s focus was inexorably drawn to the five women who stood between the garden party and the valet trio. They were maids but a far cry from the prim, proper and modest attire of the other staff.
Each woman wore a scandalously short French maid’s uniform made of shiny latex that had been polished to a mirror sheen. It clung to their upper bodies like a second skin, hinting at everything while revealing nothing. They all wore a pair of elbow-length latex opera gloves and matching stockings that were adorned in six-inch stilettos. A shimmer of silver sparkled from each foot, and to Sam’s Horror, he realised that the poor women had been locked into their footwear with additional steel and leather cuffs at their wrists. All five had been outfitted with a tall and broad black and white posture collar with a large O ring mounting at the front, cutting off almost all movement. All five had been outfitted with a skintight open-faced latex hood with a rubberised maid headband fused to the forehead, exposing their beautiful faces that fluted their long eyelashes and pouted their collagen-enhanced lips. Finally, each woman had a thick steel nose ring pierced through their septum, dangling and jostling a little with each breath.
And in their eyes, Sam was chilled to see arousal. Deep, carnal and submissive. They saw the world through a haze of reality that was beyond his ken, a world where all was but sex and service.
Despite their scandalous attire, no one seemed to mind their presence, the quintet were simply other members of staff, here to greet their new lady.
Movement clocked at the back of the hall, and Sam felt the pit in his stomach open wide to swallow him up, even more people, but these were just… off. He could not say if they were men or women, he did not know what they were for all they wore was a floor length hooded mantle with the Florence family sigil at the peaks. He had initially taken them for shadows caused by the glare of light from the windows, but now he saw that whatever or whoever they were, they belonged to this house of horrors as well.
Disbelief and despair filled his heart, an all too human reality settling over him as his feeble plan was kicked into the dirt by weight of numbers.
The three Leading Staff took a step forward, “Servants of Eden’s Rest, welcome your Lady!” they called in triplicate, the multitude snapping off a wave of perfectly timed curtseys and bows.
“Three cheers for Lady Carmilla!” Diana ordered, her green eyes twinkling happily. “Hip Hip!”
“Hurrah!”
Sam slowly bowed his head, both as he had been instructed and at the feeling of the world pressing down on him.
“Hip Hip!” Yui added, thoroughly amused as she saw Victoria watching over everything with a smirk.
“Hurrah!”
Sam did all he could do to deny the reality around him, retreating into a little ball of introspective submissiveness. But with each cheer, he was reminded.
“Hip Hip!” Trisha finished, content in her charge’s contrition.
“Hurrah!”
With his jailors below him and his ‘spouse’ behind, the Lady Carmilla Florence could for the first time see the scope of what was arrayed against him, even as he closed his eyes and refused to look.
Time had become somewhat moot for Sam after that, withdrawing into himself and doing as he had been told without complaint, he had experienced an odd instance of mental checkout as his catatonic self reeled with the specifics, completely ignoring his surroundings as he mentally recuperated. The image of the legion of maids and other staff arrayed before him loomed from his recent memory like a spectre and made him have to confront the reality that this was a madhouse where the concept of normality was entirely subjective… no. It wasn’t subjective. It was more that the objective was subject to the whims of one Victoria Florence. Who could quite easily have a frilly phalanx up front with rubbery reserves on the side, being simply ‘just another part of your life.’
Sam was in luck that after the initial presentation there had not been any real need to stand on ceremony or mix with the scant few ‘guests’ that had come. A blessing really, given that he didn’t want to get within a country mile of the ones in cloaks, but in days to come, he would chastise himself for not breaking down into tears and showing the family, who he had been told that they were the groundskeepers, that something was deeply wrong here.
He had been reunited with his Lady’s Maids and Trisha and been left to relax as the staff returned to their work, and guests had been left in Victoria’s decidedly more conversational hands. By the time the Viscountess had seen Rupert, his family and the rest of her FMC employees off, things had been approaching the evening, and she was craving her wife’s presence again. Her wife. Ahh, how being able to say it aloud was a clean high that she could not get enough of.
“...-Are you listening to me, Carmilla?” Trisha asked with a note of exasperation in her voice, frowning at Sam’s blank face.
He blinked, coming out of his fugue and returning to the present. Shaking his head, he looked down apologetically. “Sorry, Miss Trisha, I was a million miles away.”
The older woman shifted, mirth filling her as she replied, “Honorific is only necessary at formal occasions, and supper is not a formal meal unless non-familial guests are present.”
“Right…” Sam nodded, pretending he understood the difference when, in reality, he really didn’t. What even was supper anyway?
Taking the words for what they truly were, Trisha repeated what she had said before, unintentionally answering her charge’s curiosity. “I was explaining the difference between dinner and supper. While dinner is a formal meal consisting of between three to seven courses, a supper is a light and informal evening meal, usually held when there is to be evening festivities.”
Sam nodded before his mind caught up to what she had said and looked at her, dumbfounded. Had she been able to pick up on his curiosity from nothing more than his subtle facial cues? His reply was quiet but genuinely curious, his face brightening at the prospect of some new information, even if it was pointless. “Are there any… festivities planned tonight?” he asked, uncomfortable at the prospect of what Victoria considered to be a festivity.
“Not tonight, I think it's simply that your spouse feels that after last night’s welcome dinner and the presentation that you would take better to a light and palatable snack,” Trisha explained, reaching the door that they had been looking for. “Now, please, Carmilla, do try to pay attention in future; sloppy attentiveness at the dinner table is the death of any aristocrat.”
They found themselves being sat down in a tertiary dining room on the ground floor, one far smaller than the one he had eaten in last night and for now, appointed with a singular round table set for four people. Several people were already in the room, with Diana and two Parlour Maids presiding over the table and the spaces occupied by Victoria and Yui.
As he crossed the threshold and the Parlour Maids pulled out seats for him and his governess, the two old friends looked at him with bright expressions and much as he would deny it, he felt the green tinge of envy looking at Yui. The good doctor was much the same as she had been at the presentation save for the lack of her Doctor’s coat, her mundane attire a palatable alternative to his endless array of layers.
“Oh hey, Carmilla. Big day, huh?” she asked nonchalantly, the rhetorical question moot given that all knew the answer.
“Yes,” he answered simply, making no effort to conceal his dissatisfaction with the day and honestly wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed and never leave it.
“Nice!” Yui said, her eyes mischievously looking him up and down. “Gotta say, though, you are rocking that dress better than queen corset over there,” she jabbed a thumb at Victoria, who shot her best friend an annoyed look. “You’re really nailing the whole onryo look, could have probably pulled off a Kayako Cosplay if Victoria had asked me to make your hair black.”
His eyes narrowed, “You did this to me?” he asked, his hackles rising at the short Japanese woman who looked unrepentant at the accusatory tone.
“Well, that’s not technically true.” Yui pointed out, her smirk quite sarcastic, “I didn’t dye your hair,”
Sam sighed in annoyance, but Yui’s chuckle served to aggravate him back into paying attention.
“But I diiiiiid order my nurses to do it, and I think they did a stellar job, not a single blonde root left untouched,” she said in a self-congratulatory voice that was entirely affected for the sake of supper entertainment. She looked at Diana, “I used your blend as a base, Diana, then knocked it up by a few factors to snow white with just a dash of silver.”
“Most resourceful, Yui, your talents are always valued.” the steel-haired housekeeper said, taking the reveal that she dyed her hair its current colour in stride before saying to Sam, “Supper will be here shortly, Lady Carmilla. We will be having Seared Scallops With Brown Butter and Lemon Pan Sauce.”
It sounded nice, even if he didn’t really know what a scallop was beyond something that cooking shows used to sound fancy, his focus entirely on Yui, who preened under his annoyance. He gritted his teeth and growled slowly, anger filling his eyes in a sight that made Victoria inwardly coo, he looked like a very annoyed kitten.
“Don’t tease my wife too harshly, Yui, she’s had a lot to learn in one day and I want this to be taking a short break, I am a caring spouse after all.” Yui was right about the former, even if the jury was still out on the latter. There had been a lot of explanation on the hierarchy of staff in the last few hours that frankly still made his head spin but as the cloche covered platters were wheeled into the dining room he found himself recalling it.
The staff at Eden’s Rest could be broken down into two overarching brackets: serving and leading staff. The maids all came under serving staff, with the three arms being headed under Yui, Trisha and Diana, with the Housekeeper being the overall head of staff. Their ‘rank’ was still lower than that of residents, with Victoria as the Mistress and head of house while Sam now occupied the position of Lady of the Manor.
While this may initially seem like he had the power to simply order the staff to let him go, it had been explained that during this ‘probationary period, ’ his rights as the Lady were moot and would always be superseded by those of Victoria and the leading staff.
The food platter was set before him, and the cloche pulled away, revealing the perfectly cooked light meal. Loathed as he was to admit it given that it was covered in vegetables that make his boring picky eater self retch, it did smell good. He began to eat the food using the thankfully singular pair of cutlery he had been provided, unsure what he would have done if there was more. Seared Scallops proved to be a surprisingly tasty meal; they were salty with a sweet buttery aftertaste that the garnish of lemon sauce brought out sharply; he just had to stamp down on his urge to spit it out at the unusual texture and chewiness of the mollusc meat.
He made no attempt to touch the salad; he would not eat what he did not like.
Supper was a pleasantly silent affair, with all four quietly enjoying their food with the occasional short conversation cropping up and dying away. Victoria had just finished polishing her plate when she began to talk to Sam, placing her spent cutlery horizontally over the empty plate. “Carmilla, I’m sure that Trisha has told you, but your lessons with her will be starting tomorrow; while I will always pop my head in to see how well you’re doing, I won’t be as present as you might like. You might say I’m going to be reaping the fruit of yours and Trisha’s labour.” she said, amused.
Had this been said to him a week ago, it would have made Sam snark a joke in response, now he just pushed the lettuce around on his plate.
“Finish your plate, Carmilla,” Trisha said to Sam, not taking kindly to him not eating his greens.
Surprisingly, Sam ignored her and reached for a water pitcher that one of the Parlour Maids moved to fill his glass until Yui piped up.
“Try the wine, Carmilla. A good white goes well with most seafood.” her almond-shaped eyes fluttered, raising her own glass of wine in a mock toast.
Sam grudgingly did as the Manor Physician suggested, and the Parlor Maid was quick to fill his bowl glass that he picked up and brought to his lips for a sip. He grimaced at the harsh and unfamiliar taste, a far cry from his preferred beer, but it was better than the uneaten greens on his plate. Trisha and Yui finished their own meals and arranged their cutlery across the plate as Victoria had, who raised an eyebrow at Sam’s plate.
“Not eating everything you are given without indicating that you’re not hungry is quite the insult, Carmilla,” Victoria said, templing her fingers as she observed her quickly angering wife. “Were the scallops not to your taste? ” she said, tapping her ring fingers together.
Diana’s eyes shifted imperceptibly behind her glasses, and unseen by Sam, she made a subtle claw motion around one of her wrists to his Lady’s Maids, who understood the meaning and moved out of view.
Sam gulped at the enmity put into those last few words, and his grip on the wine glass slackened, nearly falling from his fingers only for Trisha’s hand to surge forward and grab it by its stalk.
She shook her head in rebuke of his near accident. “Do not spill wine at the table, you could have stained your dress!” Trisha cautioned, raising a finger to point at the young sissy.
He wasn’t sure what it was about the words, but they caused a visceral reaction in him, “Well, maybe if you were worried about me staining the dress, you shouldn’t have made it white!”
Lily and Delilah made it to a small desk at the side of the room and slid open one of the drawers, each pulling out an item before silently advancing on their Lady from behind.
Trisha stilled. Wrath and scolding filled her face at the blatant talking back from her charge, and already she made ready to deliver the neophyte aristocrat the dressing down of her life, her right hand inching towards her riding crop.
But Victoria beat her to the punch. “White has its purpose beyond simply suiting your better physical traits. Art unilaterally depicts white as a symbol of virtue, and its vestal qualities are seen all over the world, both for the purpose of being a canvas that can become anything and… well…” she gave him a sultry smirk, “I think I gave a clue as to the other reason this morning.”
Sam stopped, his anger stalling as her words snagged on something in his memory. Casting his mind back over the memories, he did his best to tune out the intense emotions that came with them. Finally, he alighted on the phantom of an identical face caught in the same sultry smirk.
“You’re stunning, Carmilla, properly dressed in your virgin whites.”
Virgin Whites… Virgin.
His mind reeled away from the connection it had quickly made.
Quick as a flash, his Lady’s Maids struck, Delilah snatched Sam’s wrists from behind and slipped a pair of padded steel cuffs around each one. Before Sam even had time to register it as anything more than a whirl of black and white cloth, Lily had connected a thin but durable length of chain through a pair of thick D-rings bolted to the underside of the table, dragging Sam’s immobilised hands down into his lap.
The young man erupted in a smorgasbord of nonverbal complaint and began to yank at the chain with all his weight, but two pairs of hands on his shoulder kept him firmly rooted to his seat as the chain rattled.
Yui looked over the edge of her wine glass, enjoying the suppertime entertainment. No matter how many times she had witnessed and participated in the breaking and conditioning of a sub, the initial reactions were just so darn entertaining.
“I suggest you calm down, Carmilla. Almost every room in this house has access to some means of restraint, and unless you want me to introduce you to a plug gag and feeding tube prematurely, you’ll sit there quietly and listen to what I have to say.” Victoria purred.
He attempted to yank at the chain a few more times before slowly his attempts petered off and he hung his head, staring at the cuffs and their swirling patterns set into the metal. ‘ She even had art put onto her damn bondage kit…’
Victoria saw the supplication and sighed, this time she wanted to see that pretty face. “Look at me, Carmilla.”
Slowly, Sam met the dominant stare of his so-called spouse; it hit him that this was a far cry from yesterday's dinner, but he just wanted things to go back to normal. “Please don’t…”
“Don’t what? Fuck you? Oh, I hate to say this blossom, but there’s no reality where you don’t spend the rest of your life languishing beneath me, crying out my name.” Victoria snorted, the mental images she conjured were of a brighter shade than the nightmares in Sam’s head. “It’s my right as your spouse to claim you in every way, and while we’ve started on your outsides and Yui on your insides, I’ve yet to make you a woman in the deepest physical sense.”
The white-haired sissy cringed at her juxtaposition of blunt wording and curated artistic speech.
“I’ll breed colour into your clothes soon enough, but for tonight, at least, your garb will be white, ripe and pure.” She eyed Trisha and the still unfinished plate of greens and made a decision. “Seeing as you can’t be trusted with your hands yet, Trisha will be feeding you by hand for the rest of supper.”
“Of course, Mistress.” Trisha accepted her task, seeing the logic and picking up Sam’s discarded fork that she used to quickly skewer a healthy serving of the lettuce and soak it in the dressing. She lifted the fork towards Sam’s lips and gave him a look of warning that told him that the talk of plug gags and feeding tubes was not off the table. He slowly opened his mouth and let his governess put the disgusting mix of greens into his mouth, new strata of his ego being smashed for every bite.
The embarrassing hand-feeding continued until his plate had been cleared, and Sam grimaced at the mix of textures and flavours that had been forced upon him. Trisha ignored his complaints and simply arranged his cutlery on the clean plate, knife crossed over fork.
Victoria tapped her wine glass twice, drawing attention to her with its hollow chime as the Parlour Maids cleared the table. “Well, I think we can all agree that that was a pleasant and tasty supper. My compliments to the chef for the meal, and I think a round of applause to my new wife is in order,” she said, causing Sam to look at her in bewilderment. “For providing- pffft, heehehe,” she giggled behind her wrist, “-superb mealtime entertainment, hahahahahaha!”
Yui snorted before joining her friend in a mocking round of laughter and applause that made Sam’s face flush with atomic embarrassment. The maids joined in on the clapping, and surprisingly, Trisha gave a half-hearted clap, clearly not agreeing with the sentiment.
He pulled on the chain that attached him to the table, the sound of each chain link reminding him that he could not run away from the feelings of humiliation they heaped on him in earnest. “Stop it, please just, stop clapping.”
“You’ll grow to remember I can be quite a tease, blossom, but I concede that it has been a very long day for you, and you could do with some rest.” Victoria said before addressing Lily and Delilah, “My wife will be retiring to her boudoir for the evening, draw her a bath and see her made ready for bed.”
There was a genuine glimmer of empathy in her blue eyes, but as always, it was through the lens of an aristocrat deciding to pamper a pet that had been out in the cold rather than a girlfriend suggesting a wash.
Sam stayed seated as Trisha unlatched his cuffed hands from their mounting chain only to attach a chain leash that she used to drag the tall young man from the room, his attache maids close at hand. They led him back upstairs to one of the bathrooms and ushered him inside, he did not have time to take in its grand artifice before the two maids began to run the bath and strip him of the many layers of his ensemble, leaving him shivering and naked in nothing save for the clear plastic chastity cage and his silk choker.
The corset came off with a crack of tension so sudden that it caused him to stumble, groaning at the aches from his waist being released from its confines. Phantom pain aside, it felt good to be able to take a full breath again.
The bath was suitably fancy; a concave basin of porcelain that gently sloped towards each end sat upon a set of four golden lion feet made of brass at each corner. It was long, wide and proportioned just so that one could sit up properly at one end and even allow another to comfortably bathe at the other. But as with all seemingly ordinary items in this place, it had been tuned to allow for kink. A set of two granite posts styled after Egyptian obelisks sat on either side of the bath’s head with a heavy O ring mounting bolted to it.
Trisha attached Sam’s leashed cuffs to the post to make sure he could not run away as the maids began to draw the bath, filling it with numerous fragrant soaps that brought forth a tide of thick bubbles.
Despite his complaints and feeble resistance, Sam was seated, and the two Maids proceeded to scrub at his body in the most invasive ways possible.
“AHH!” He cried in surprise when Lily circled the crest of his rosebud with a flannel, carving out any sweat that had been hiding there.
“Try your best to relax, Lady Carmilla; this is going to be a daily occurrence from now on,” Trisha said, yanking the chain and forcing Sam to lean over the edge of the bath, giving the maids full access to his back that they gently lathered in medicated lotions. Trisha reached into her coat and withdrew her small leather journal, and opened it before reading its contents. “Your hygiene routine is a most comprehensive one; Dr Ito gave you a deep penetrating enema to clean out your insides this morning, so there is no need to repeat internal hygiene until tomorrow.”
“A fucking enema!?” he gasped, his feeling of violation growing all the deeper.
His governess gave him a sideways look. “Indeed. Your spouse wishes to eliminate that aspect of your life altogether; given that your anus is your only true maidenhood at this point, it will be kept in the peak of health and cleanliness.” she turned a page, reminding herself of the details. “Every morning, you will receive a shower and enema to remove any built-up waste while your meals and drinks are scheduled in such a way as to dictate when you will feel the call of nature. If the good doctor’s maths is correct, you will never need to do your ablutions ever again.”
Once his Lady’s Maids were satisfied that they had given him a proper washing, Sam feeling like if they scrubbed any harder, he would bleed; he was let out of the bath and finally freed of his cuffs. His pale skin had a healthy pinkness from the hot water that he was loathed to admit he had liked. The freedom was short but appreciated, and much to his chagrin, he found himself leaning into the two women when they dried him with large and fluffy white towels.
A groan left him when he was once again presented with a bundle of white cloth, but a glare from Trisha cowed whatever fight was left in him. One of his maids held open a pair of silk panties that he grudgingly stepped into, shivering as she quickly drew them up his waist.
Next came the main course of the nightly attire, a floor-length, long-sleeved Victorian nightgown with a high collar. Trisha indicated for him to hold his hands above his head, and the duo of maids lifted it up over his tall form, pushing his head through the elasticated collar before he felt the long, silky garment drop against his body.
“Chasteness does not just mean denial of your sex, Lady Carmilla. You are a woman of the Victorian era now, you are expected to be modest in bed unless your spouse thinks otherwise.” Trisha explained while providing a pair of mercifully comfortable slippers.
Sam’s fight was all but gone out of him, at least in the physical sense. He still wanted to leave, but right now, he needed to rest and gather his scattered faculties, so as the governess and maids led him back to his boudoir from the previous night, he did not complain.
He was surprised to find that the room had changed a little since he had seen it last night but could not rule out he simply hadn’t noticed some of the more feminine elements; he had, after all, been somewhat inebriated. Victoria sat in a plush armchair reading a book as he entered and looked up at him with a smile.
“Ah, that’s a suitable wrapper for a quiet night in.” Victoria mused as the maids turned down the bed.
Sam looked at his girlfriend, wife… no, he remembered, he was the wife, and she was his spouse, silently watching her as she watched him in turn and began to notice something though he was not sure what. There was something that rang odd about the sight before him, and it took almost a minute before he realised what it was. It was her clothes, she was still fully dressed for the rest of the evening compared to his nightdress. And that… meant something.
But what? He was sure that there was something there, given that this place was a land of decorum and procedure. “You’re… not sleeping here,” he concluded, face alight with realisation.
Victoria’s smile turned bittersweet at that, she was happy that he was still sharp enough to notice subtleties but sad that she was bound by certain conventions. Pushing herself up out of the armchair, she laid down the book and came to stand before Sam, her heels making her stand even with his much greater natural height. “I would love to, Carmilla, but there are certain traditions that must be followed. During this probationary period before we truly wed, wife and spouse are to sleep in separate rooms.”
Sam face faulted at the forlorn words, “All of this, and you can’t break your own rules? Some Viscountess you turned out to be." The words were bitter and caused all to look at him. She was well within her rights to punish him for such a blatant insult.
However, Victoria took the comment on the chin and gently ran her hand along Sam’s waist. “If I couldn’t stick to my own rules and traditions, then how could you ever come to love them as much as I do, my sweet Lady and wife?” she said sincerely before leading him over to the bed and pushing him down onto it. “There will be plenty of time for me to ravish you in my bed and in yours, but until we are wed, we can pine for one another’s embrace.”
Sam was about to ask a question then but was cut off when Trisha cleared her throat, “Mistress, there is one other matter to attend to before bed.”
“Right you are, Trisha!” Victoria chirped and watched on as the auburn-haired governess withdrew a padded cuff and length of chain from the trunk at the end of the bed and looped it around a heavy D-ring set into one of the bed’s posts.
“Wh-a no, don't!” Sam backpedalled away from the women and soon hit the headboard.
The Lady’s Maids each grabbed one of his kicking legs and dragged him back down towards Trisha, who went about securing the padded cuff around his left ankle, affixing it with two padlocks in addition to the internal mechanism. “Until you prove you can be trusted in bed, you will be subject to varying levels of bed bondage,” Trisha explained, twisting the key in the lock and pocketing it when it clicked satisfyingly closed. “What you are experiencing now is the lowest form, a single ankle cuffed with a long enough chain that it does not inhibit your movement within the bed. If you misbehave or the Mistress finds it arousing, then we will scale up to and including total immobilisation and sensory deprivation in a sleep sack.”
Sam looked at his chained ankle before he slowly withdrew it under his night dress, the sliver of silver chain snaking up to follow it before the maids covered him down in his sheets.
Trisha looked him over and nodded to herself, “Lessons begin tomorrow with immediate effect. I will be here at no later than fifteen minutes past dawn tomorrow to see you unlocked from bed and washed while explaining the day’s schedule. Do try to get a good night’s rest, Lady Carmilla. You have a long day tomorrow.” she said before snapping off a crisp bow to Victoria and left the room, the curtseying maids excusing themselves with their smiles.
Once again, Sam and Victoria were alone in the room, in a vastly different situation then the one he had found himself in this morning and this time he was at a loss for words. He thought frantically, trying to find something to say.
Victoria approached him and placed a sweet kiss on his lips, embracing him closely. “Goodnight, my love,” she said before turning to leave the room.
“Wait!” Sam finally said, arresting her movement and causing her to look over her shoulder at him curiously. He said the first thing that came to his mind. “If I’m chained to the bed… what if I need to use the toilet?”
It was… actually a relatively pertinent question. For all its size and lavish appointments, the boudoir was a self-contained bedroom with no given en suite toilet. While the cycle of enemas meant he wouldn’t have to worry about number twos, his small bladder was a perpetual ticking time bomb overnight.
She looked at him, face blank, before she began to giggle wildly and then a full-blown belly laugh. Getting her laughter under control, she smoothed down her dress and made to answer. “I… actually forgot to tell you about that. You have my most profound apology, Carmilla. But your darling spouse has a solution in mind.”
She crossed back over to his large bed and Sam was confused when she flipped up the side of the covers and reached under the bed for something. Victoria made a sound of triumph and pulled an object from under the bed that she set down on the sheets. “Something fitting for the era, love.”
It was a white ‘bowl’ made of porcelain with a pair of handles and a hinged top that she popped open with a hiss, revealing it was vacuum sealed. And within was… nothing, just the inner surface of the bowl.
Sam stared at it and knew what it was, his mind supplying the words he could not bring himself to speak.
A chamber pot. An advanced and modernised and indeed very pretty one, but still, a chamber pot.
Closing it and replacing it under the bed, Victoria gave her wife a happy wave and wished her good night, closing the door behind her. The sound of three long and heavy tungsten bolts rolling into place from the outside hit Sam like a sledgehammer. Alone in the quiet room, Sam sank into the pillows and stared glassy-eyed at the canopy of the four-poster bed, finally remembering what he had spotted on it that morning before Victoria had drugged him. A fresco of two women locked in a sapphic embrace, dining on one another’s womanhoods had been expertly carved into the wood, and at the bottom right was Victoria’s signature.
With no one around and his privacy regained for the first time, Sam did something he had wanted to do all day.
He turned his head into the pillow and began to scream.
Notes:
Wooo! What a rush! It was an uphill battle but one I fought with the grace of a sugar high chipmunk. To all you lovely people who bookmarked, left Kudos or comments you have my eternal thanks!
Chapter 3 is due for the end of March but may run over into April.
This chapter required a wonderful delving into the minefield of cutlery placement etiquette: Victoria, Trisha and Yui's 'placed across horizontally' means 'the meal is complete and it was satisfactory' while Trisha placing Sam's cutlery crossed means "the meal was not satisfactory."
Also fun tidbit of info, German Breakfast Tea is routinely given to people to ween them off coffee.
I'm on Bluesky now btw, so feel free to hit me up there if you wanna chat! The dream of fan art will live one day I'm sure.
Chapter 4: Chapter 3: A Comprehensive Education
Summary:
Sam awakens to a fully packed schedule and a teasing task mistress.
Notes:
(Pokes head out waving a white flag)
Hey...
Here to post the new chapter, one that is long overdue given that it was originally planned to be out in July and here we are in September.
There are myriad reasons as to why this chapter took so long, so many in fact that it would probably take another week to get them all down. But if I were to pick out a choice few then I'd go with:
-health scare
-My PC bricking
-Bank account being compromised
-finding out one of my close friends both had and more importantly beat Stage 3 Cancer.But that's all water under the bridge. So here we are with the next chapter in the colourful story of Eden's Rest, I thank you for reading it and hope you enjoy it.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
A gentle darkness filled the room from end to end, enclosing all in the perfectly ordered oblivion of night. Nothing could be seen to any who had not taken the time to acclimate to the gloom but to those who had were gifted with yet more perfectly ordered sights and sounds. All was as it should be, not a hair out of place nor errant dust floating in the wind. All facets were covered much like the windows, their fine silk curtains denying any view in or out of the quiet Boudoir. Even if they had been drawn back, there would be nothing to see but the slow dance of the stars across the midnight blue ribbon of sky.
‘An area of outstanding natural beauty.’ That was what would appear on the screen of anyone who felt the passing fancy of looking up Eden’s Rest.
But in reality, there was nothing genuinely natural about the house, both in the moral sense of what went on there or literally in that there was much that was possessive and corralled into an unnatural submission.
The temperature and air in Sam’s Boudoir were maintained at a crisp 16°C by hidden air vents. A sophisticated and, above all, silent air conditioning system had been set at his Governess’s directive to provide the best chance at uninterrupted sleep. Even the placement of furniture and scant appliances had been chosen for a practical purpose. The clock was at the far end of the room, so placed that the light ‘Tick, tick, tick’ would peter out before reaching the ears of the sleeping Lady.
Tick…tick…tick. As a pair of gilded clock hands joined in union upon the Roman numerals XII -ushering in the 7th of July on fine Swiss gears- the effort was rendered moot by the kidnapped young man himself, who tossed and turned restlessly beneath his fine silk sheets.
Sleep had been a difficult thing to come by even after abandoning his prior outburst and wanting to fall deeply into sleep, hoping dreams could save him from the waking nightmare. He groaned softly, hands gripping at the light and slippery shimmer of the sheets, an alien environment compared to his usual cotton duvet. Never let it be said that price automatically made something better, because, to one so unused to the watery slick embrace of silk, he would have taken a ratty blanket.
While the soul was willing to jump feet first into sleep, his senses kept him agonisingly rooted on the edges of it. Every minor change from the norm permeated his mind as unnatural wrongness crawling right from the uncanny valley. The lack of input from his now vacant body hair made every cool touch that much more visceral. The freedom and confinement of his full-length night dress was seldom a balm from the constant presence of the hold around his left ankle or the much gentler embrace of the dress’s high collar. But what was most maddening was his hair. The curtain of silvery-white locks was a strangling thing, touching his ears and face no matter where he turned his head.
He awoke with a growl of aggravation, throwing back the sheets contemptuously. This was the third such time he had been woken from his fitful sleep by his own damned body; the only thing that kept him from ripping the nightdress off was the looming spectre of Victoria and Trisha in the back of his mind. He doubted that they would take kindly to him destroying their elegant prison uniform.
‘Prisoner,’ Sam thought, blinking slowly as his eyes once more acclimated to the darkness of the room. Shapes took form from the dark slowly until he could make out the shadow form of his Boudoir, framed between the dark negative of nighttime vision and the columned footboard of his giant four-poster bed. Sitting up in the bed, the feminised young men sent a furtive look upwards, seeing only a dark expanse of the bed’s canopy. He exhaled, letting out a breath he hadn’t realised that he was holding in. Hazel eyes were gladdened that it was still too dark to see the imagery carved into the rich dark wood of the bed.
Not his bed. Never his bed. He would not even entertain the thought. But wakefulness, especially from a sleep he had never wholly entered into, was not something that he could escape from, even if he denied it. His own inquisitive mind poked out from the fugue of his mood and latched onto the undeniable feeling of pressure around his left ankle. He tried to ignore it, grab onto anything else, but in the un-light, the pressure was strikingly clear. The recently re-christened ‘Carmilla Florence’ did an admirable, or pitiable, depending on your point of view, batting aside his own intrigue before his hand inexorably pulled the sheets aside to reveal his lower body.
The nightdress was as Victoria and her retinue of perverse servants had left it hours before, his pale feet poking out from the hem. But the length of chain snaked from the corner of the bed and up into the confines of it, an open declaration of bondage even if the implement of binding was hidden. Sam dithered for a moment, feeling the subtle voice of his submissiveness imploring him to let it lie and go back to bed. Gathering his wits, he pulled back the hem like ripping a bandaid from his wounded pride; it stung all the same.
Sam looked down at the shackle, an upsetting sight, and attempted to remove it for the third time that night. He drew his leg up to his chest and began to run his fingers over the seemingly impregnable clamp as he had done before. In the hours that had passed since he had been left to his own devices, Sam had not been a happy camper. Far from it. Initially, he had screamed and kept screaming at the top of his lungs until his voice had grown hoarse and failed him.
The brief pause, filled with panting, shaking breaths, gave way to a wave of anger that ran boiling hot. Sam had tried to get out of bed only for the chain to snap taught, instantly skyrocketing the metallic snake to the top of his shit list. Grabbing the chain, he had pulled as hard as he could, throwing his full weight behind it in an attempt to wrench it from its O-Ring mounting. His mouth had been alight, spitting obscenities and angry expletives with such caustic venom that they seemed to turn the very air blue as he yanked on the chain. How dare they do this to him. How dare they say that he had no choice in the matter!
But try as he might, his meagre strength could not make the chain even creak, nor the O-Ring even move any more than its hinge allowed. His efforts were utterly futile before he even started. Under the rich artifice of oak, the bed was constructed around a tungsten frame and bolted to the floor. It would take a professional strongman to even begin to hope to snap the O-Ring, and his angry words had backslid into pleas and begging for freedom from the pleasant-looking cage. He had cried then, deep and ugly until he had no more tears to give. By the time the sun had slid below the western horizon, he was trapped in a cycle of horror, anger and sadness that slowly robbed him of his will to fight, each loop capended by an attempt to slip his simple yet foolproof bondage.
Back in the present, a mirthless half-smile twinged at the corners of Sam’s mouth as he continued to tinker with the shackle, miserably looking for silver linings as a method to keep his light of hope alive in the choking darkness of the room. The three rounds of experimentation had yielded some information that his mind pawed over like a prey starved beast.
While the cuff was aesthetically pleasing, it had an effective methodology to it that championed simple redundancy. It was composed of three parts that each eclipsed the other, each part serving its own purpose while its brothers covered any flaws. At its core was a sleeve made of a padded black rubber that cushioned the hold from brutal to its current possessive awareness. Next came a black inner cuff made of hardy black leather that was fastened in place by thick straps that were buckled to their eye holes and held the inner sleeve flush to Sam’s ankle. The straps were invisible due to being clad in the true cuff, a tall shackle made from chrome that was mounted onto the inner cuff and rendered the straps unreachable.
Bringing the cuff a little closer with a small rustle of chain running over cloth, Sam peeled back the visible section of the inner sleeve with one hand before attempting to jam his index finger as deep as he could into the restraint. He hoped that maybe if he could take advantage of any empty space, then maybe he could slip his ankle free. It wasn’t a bad idea; after all, he had never had thick ankles, and in fact, they looked positively dainty with the baulk of the shackle clamped in place. The moment that observation registered in his mind caused Sam to visibly cringe, his bruised pride and masculinity wailing in protest at any admittance that Victoria’s insanity had any basis. Luckily, existentialism was overshadowed by disappointment. Sam had barely been able to get his finger an inch down before it bumped into the unforgiving leather of the inner cuff, brokering no further movement.
He pulled the finger free with a grunt, causing the two padlocks on the inner side of the shackle to rattle against the metal. Instantly, the memory of being held down as Trisha and his Lady’s Maids had sealed the cuff shut in triplicate assaulted his consciousness, and a feeling of uselessness washed over him. Sam looked from his ankle to the far end of the room, where the door remained closed and locked. ‘Even if I get this thing off, the door’s locked.’ he conceded to himself before flopping back on the soft bed with a huff.
Sam lingered there for a time before a new feeling pushed itself through his thoughts, one far more physical. He was thirsty. That wasn’t surprising given the amount of water he had shed through tears and spittle these past hours, but still, a dryness in the back of his throat begged to be slaked. Sitting up and leaning over the side of the bed, his hand flapped unsurely in search of the night table he knew was there and found purchase on it, quickly locating the inset lamp and questing for its switch.
Clicking it on, Sam was suddenly blinded by a flashbang of light that forced him to screw his eyes shut on reflex, waiting for the stinging of too much light seen too quickly to fade. He blinked his eyes slowly, and the room came into focus. It was now lit by soft white gold light that shone from the lampshade to his side. Another lamp on the other side of the bed had also clicked on; their circuits slaved to one another and illuminated the room to half-light. It didn’t fully fill the room, but it was more than enough to read by. Most importantly it revealed the jug of water sat squat on the bedside table.
The snow-coloured graduate gulped thickly; the jug of crystal clear water looked tantalising, lit as it was from the lamp directly behind it. He gingerly shuffled to the edge of the bed and slowly let his legs slip over the side to rest, feet coming to rest on the soft carpet. True to Trisha’s word, the chain was just long enough to let him sit on the side of the bed without being impeded, able to access the water if he needed it. Sam simply sat there momentarily, unable to move as the jug of water sat tauntingly close. Surely, it couldn’t be that easy, right?
He reached out with a shaking hand and grabbed the pitcher, closing his fingers around the handle and lifted it to pour himself a drink. Both the pitcher and the provided cup were made of clear, hardy plastic, which bore implications of mistrust, but frankly, right now, he didn’t care. He lifted the filled tumbler to his lips and drank deeply, like a man fresh crawled from the desert.
Sam gulped down the clear liquid with fervour before slowing down to a more normal rate, the initial rush of need to slake his thirst fading in favour of the banal enjoyment of drinking. Finishing the glass with a pleased groan, he replaced the glass on the nightstand. He considered pouring a second glassful of the stuff for a few moments before thinking better of it. His physical needs attended to for now. Sam pulled his legs back onto the bed and slumped back into the pillows, his body now resting above the covers. The white-haired graduate stared blankly ahead into the expanse of the room, still revealed by the warm light of the lamps, his eyes unseeing and unfocused.
There was so much to think about, but he could not muster the energy to act on it. He was exhausted in almost every capacity but physical, left to dumbly look into the ornate Boudoir with the hope that, at some point, he would hear his alarm going off, revealing that all of this had been a bad dream of ridiculous vividness.
But as time ticked by and the view before him didn’t change, Sam’s shoulders slumped at the reality that this was reality, not some spectre conjured from his mind. He blinked owlishly, the fog pulling back from his hazel eyes as they began to look around the room, picking up certain objects and spaces that he hadn’t noticed before…
No, that wasn’t right. Well, partially, anyway. There had definitely been some new additions to the Boudoir since his first night sleeping here. There was a vanity table and mirror on the left side of the room carved from a warm-coloured wood and paired with a plush stool thick with red quilted upholstery. Looking at the thing, Sam was struck by a revelation of how stupid the thing looked. Not in the sense that it didn’t fit the room's aesthetic, it did. The desk itself was roughly the shape of a kidney bean with two squat banks of drawers perched on the left and right of the desk, each supporting a winding protrusion of wood that held the large oval-shaped mirror.
The desk space was too thin to write, the drawers were too small to hold anything beyond cosmetics, and the mirror was pivoted in such a way that you would have to sit in front of the mirror to use it as a mirror. Its shapes and dimensions were specialised to the point that it was pretty much useless to do anything except be used for its intended purpose. Being prepped for the day.
The same could be said for a lot of the new additions, bits and pieces of furniture that were specialised for use only at specific times and in specific ways that were as impregnable to understand as his bed was to escape from. The only thing that was easy enough to understand from a glance was the tall changing screen that was at the far end of the room next to the wardrobes, their doors inset into the end wall. With nothing else to do, Sam pondered the room and his own feelings, and with every pass he made of the room, he felt his mind snag on the same thing again and again. Eventually, he worked out what it was.
Despite the bounty of opulence, the room felt bare. It was all artefact and facade with no creature comforts that anyone born after the year 2000 would crave. No TV or radio. No computer or silly posters. No homey mess that made a place feel lived in. An image of the tiny bedroom he had shared with Victoria rose in Sam’s mind, causing him to frown bitterly. There had been more heart in the four walls of that tiny student dorm than in this pale-coloured prison. All evidence and personal touches had been filed off in favour of laying the groundwork for what these mad women wanted him to become. His heart ached, and his guts twisted seeing it all.
However, as time passed and the ache in his heart dulled, the twisting in his guts remained, and a familiar pressure began to build within him. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, closing his eyes and attempting to will away the feeling as just nerves. Despite his best efforts to remain calm, the creeping feeling continued to grow stronger as pressure built up in his bladder.
Since they had begun to date, Victoria had identified and come to notice something about Sam; he went to the toilet at sharper intervals than most men, leading her to correctly suspect that he had a smaller bladder than an ordinary man his age. It was something that Yui had confirmed on her investigation and factored into his schedule and conditioning to control when and how his body acted on biological impulses. Sam knew none of this, only that the last time he could remember using the toilet was over 24 hours prior and the many drinks he had had since then.
Sweat began to break out on Sam’s forehead in defiance of the room’s cool air, now having to make a conscious effort to ignore the need that was pressing up from his primaeval mind.
Discomfort.
Pressure.
Alleviate. Now.
‘No,’ Sam thought, pressing his thighs together in a failed attempt to push away the feeling. But the more he fought, the more his brain woke up and became locked on a grim reality. There was a shackle around his ankle, and the door was locked. He couldn’t hold it in forever, and he would not inflict an indignity as horrifyingly embarrassing as wetting himself in light of the cavalcade of indignities he was already being hit from all sides. Finally, he let out a depressed sigh and opened his eyes, ‘I need to use the toilet.’ he thought, feeling defeated because he knew the only way to solve this problem with any of his dignity remaining.
The white-haired Lady of the House once again swung his legs over the edge of the bed and, trying not to agitate his full-to-capacity bladder, reached under the bed. After a few moments of fumbling, Sam felt his hand touch a hard surface and cringed before pulling it out from under the bed. Lifting the chamberpot up, Sam studied it for a few seconds, mystified by its surface. He had no time to ponder the gold filigree painted across the thing and instead fiddled with it until he worked out that it was hinged on one side. He popped the lid with a hiss of vacuum and opened it as wide as the hinge would allow. Hesitantly, he lifted the hem of his nightdress and slid the pot under it.
His eyes narrowed frantically as he blindly manoeuvred the pot into what he believed to be the correct position, letting out indignant yips and bleats of alarm when the cool white ceramic touched his bare legs. Then, with nothing else to forestall the onslaught, Sam relieved himself.
A stream of warm, off-yellow urine flowed from the tip of Sam’s chastised cock, passing through the slot in the hard plastic cage and into the chamberpot. Sam let out a relieved sigh as the pressure in his bladder dissipated, but his cheeks flushed to atomic red from the embarrassing sound of the noises coming from under his nightdress. Though he would never admit it, Sam was very thankful for the ankle-length garment at that moment, its long white expanse meaning he didn’t have to directly see either the humiliating act or his cock imprisoned behind hard, clear plastic.
Eventually, the stream died out altogether, the last few drops of his urine dropping into the one-third full chamberpot with damningly clear splashes. The deed done, he withdrew the pot and quickly closed the lid with the accompanying squeak of rubber from the seal, bringing an end to one of the most embarrassing things he had ever done. But even this relief was spoiled by realisation.
He sat there, staring at the porcelain chamberpot resting in his hands. “Victoria…” he spoke, his words a hushed whisper before gritting his teeth, his body begging to tense. “You…”
She’d done it. Victoria. For all his talk of raging out against the plans she had set out for him, here he was, dressed as a Victorian noblewoman at rest, having relieved herself. All she had needed to do was set the scene, ‘dress the set’ and make his first acquiescence to her desires be something he had no control over, and just like that, he had played the role…
As the revelation tore its way through the young man’s higher brain functions like a conflagration, all the tension in him instantly fled like a puppet with its strings cut. His body felt weak and nauseous, his grip loosening until the chamberpot slipped from his hands. He realised what was happening just a moment too late and tried to grab the falling container, but it hit the carpeted floor with a dull bump and rolled away, its contents sloshing slightly from within. “Fuck!” he cursed, lunging for the pot as it rolled away, only for the chain around his ankle to snap tight, sending Sam face-first into the carpeted floor.
He yelped in shock, flailing on his front for a second before rolling over onto his side. He looked between the black O-ring mounting for the chain and the chamberpot. The pot was undamaged by the fall and roll leaving it tauntingly just out of reach no matter how hard Sam reached for it.
The futility of the Sisyphean task succeeded in doing one thing, driving the unwilling sissy into a frenzy of physical, emotional and mental distress that it finally succeeded in sending him over the edge into total denial and shutdown.
He gracelessly clambered back onto the bed and turned off the lights. He didn’t want to look at either the chamberpot or the chain. He pulled the curtains of the four-poster bed shut, cocooning himself in silk, insulated by the deadening waves of physical, emotional, and mental exhaustion. And in that blackness between sweet dream and waking nightmare, Sam finally found a deep sleep, one that he knew would be over far too soon.
First light graced the seventh day of the seventh month at 04:53 on the dot, the golden disk of the sun peaking over the east and painting the South Oxfordshire estate in glorious colour. The pale blue sky of very early summer morning was dotted with numerous cotton ball clouds that looked like they had been plucked from a Texan sky, each turning pale yellow as dawn’s light touched each with a solar kiss. Despite the ungodly hour of this godly sight, the grounds of the Rest were slow and groggy to wake from their slumber, with only the birds chirping their morning song.
But even in this most early of early mornings, Eden’s Rest was a hive of movement that moved through the veins and arteries of the great manor as its heart began to beat to life. While the night was a respected time where all were permitted and expected to rest, there was never a time when all of the house’s servants were asleep. A skeleton crew of House Maids walked the corridors during the night hours to make sure that nothing was amiss and that there was always a maid on hand in case anyone was needed to attend to the resident’s wants and needs from a late night cup of tea to a raw fucking over the end of a bed.
It was a long, boring and mostly thankless job that was attended to all the same, and the day shift could not begin until the prior day’s night shift had completed their watch.
Diana stood in the antechamber in front of the Maid’s dormitories with her usual grace and poise, already fully dressed in her uniform with not a hair out of place. She acquitted herself with a single comfort in the form of a cup of lemon tea that she sniffed at fondly. She turned her head slightly to the side, her ear perking up as she heard the sound of rustling cloth through the door to the dormitories.
The ghost of amusement graced her face. While her girls were drilled and broken to the roter of early mornings and late nights, there would inevitably be those who pushed getting ready to the very last second, banking on the night crew’s last checks to get just five more minutes of idle gossip before the day began. Her face returned to its impassive neutrality when she heard the sound of footsteps approaching from the other door. ‘I will ask who keeps pushing their luck amidst the House Maids. If they want to take advantage of their work for a minute's extra idle hands, then perhaps a week working the night will set them right.’ As the Housekeeper and de facto highest authority amidst the staff, Diana had to set a standard of compassionate perfection. She was the first to start and last to finish and had always, did always and would always see the change of the guard.
Five House Maids filed into the antechamber and arranged themselves in a line in front of Diana, looking no worse for wear despite their long night of work. Diana took a sip of her lemon tea and replaced the cup on its saucer with an intentionally sharp chirp of sound. The maids within the dormitory all froze, hearing the sound and quickly snapping to attention.
This time, Diana was able to keep her mirth entirely internal, instead looking over the faces of each of the five maids before her. Maid Farnese, Maid Julia, Maid Zara, Maid Kate and Maid Renne. After an unspoken agreement, all five unanimously dropped in curtsey and did not rise until the Housekeeper had nodded her head in silent approval. As all their bootheels clicked loudly against the stone-flagged floor, the doors to the dormitory opened, and the day shift filed passed in a single file line while the night crew made their way in for a few hours of well-earned rest.
Similar displays of well ordered activity were playing out all over the house, though some with far more leeway than others.
Trisha stood silently before a full-length mirror in her room. Content with what she saw, she gathered her loose, auburn hair and tied it into a simple, functional ponytail before retrieving her clothes for the day. She wore another iteration of what she had worn the day before, a navy blue velvet maxi dresscoat that she buttoned up with ease. She slipped on a pair of black leather half gloves and attached her riding crop to her hip. Giving herself a once over in the mirror, the bespectacled governess nodded in satisfaction before leaving her room, bound for her charge’s Bodiore.
It would not be a long journey given that Trisha’s bedroom, like almost all of the ‘residents’, was on the first floor.
She walked with brisk and purposeful steps that carried her through the quiet halls of the floor, her brown eyes already bright and attentive despite the early hour. Trisha kept a very strict routine that ensured that she was always bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. It was innate to her nature, but it was also something that she hoped Sam would come to mirror once she guided him into his burgeoning womanhood.
Turning a corner onto the main thoroughfare of the landing, she was joined by Lily and Delilah. “Governess Moore,” both greeted the bespectacled woman with polite respect, earning a quiet nod of acknowledgement. The monochromatic duo quickly fell into step behind her.
The trio quickly and quietly made their way across the landing and towards Sam’s Boudoir. It was a short trip for three as familiar with the house as them, but even so, Trisha took the time to subtly observe the recently elevated Lady’s Maids. Serving as Sam's personal attendants, they would be a common enough occurrence and aid in his rearing at Trisha’s hand that it was only right she gleam as much as she could from what were about to become her most dedicated and steadfast co-workers.
Both the shorter, redheaded Lily and the taller, dark-skinned Delilah carried a happy enthusiasm with them that was just within the bounds of professional grace. They were happy and excited to face another day and prove themselves worthy of their promotion. Each had polished their silver neck pins to a perfect shine and had giggled to one another at the innocent imaginings of how they would serve Sam as he transitioned into his role as the Lady Carmilla.
‘Perhaps a tad more than innocent mental images, ’ Trisha thought to herself as she caught the lingering dusting of pink fading from Lily’s face when she shot Delilah a look. It was an infinitesimally small action that even the most observant would have written off as nothing, but Trisha made it her pride to notice such small things. There was an energy to their movements, little extras and subtleties to their gait, breathing and looks that came together to form a ‘glow’ that all who knew it would see.
Victoria’s suggestion that the newly christened Lady’s Maids should couple in coitus to celebrate had been followed to the letter.
Trisha pushed her glasses up her nose to hide the ghost of a smile. Yes, their tantric excitement at the prospect of serving and, when needed, reprimanding their Lady would make them fine underlings.
Reaching the door to the Boudoir, Trisha pulled a long key from her pocket and turned it. Tumblers silently whirred within, the mechanisms translating the key turning into enough force to pull back the thick internal bolts with a metallic ‘Tu-chak!’
Opening the door, Trisha walked in with her two underlings following her, eyes sweeping the room in a single quick look. The room was almost identical to how the three women had left it the night before with the curtains drawn, defusing most of the early morning sun, but the ‘almost’ necessitated that something was amiss. Trisha had been expecting to see the sleeping pale form of her charge, and while she saw white, she had not been expecting to see the curtains drawn around the four-poster bed. Her focus shifted to an errant white lump beside the bed, a beat passing before she realised it was Sam’s chamberpot.
Outwardly, Trisha did not change, but inwardly, she suppressed an aggravated sigh, having hoped she would not have to start the day with discipline. She gestured with her hand, commanding the two Lady’s Maids to set things to rights. Maid Delilah set to opening the curtains while Maid Lily retrieved the chamberpot from where it lay. Pulling on the drawstrings, the curtains parted, causing a bright light to spill into the room.
Maid Lily deftly picked up the chamberpot and brought it to the governess to inspect, its contents sloshing lightly with the movement, much to Trisha’s surprise. She had initially thought that Sam had tossed the object across the room in a bout of childish anger, but judging from its sound, condition and where Lily had picked it up from, that was not the case. Looking between the pot and the bed, the auburn-haired woman realised what had happened and felt her exasperation bleed away. It had been an accident, it seemed.
Happy that she did not have to use her favoured crop so early in the day, Trisha quietly spoke, “Dispose of its contents once we leave. We have to rouse her Ladyship from her sleep first,” she ordered.
“Yes, Governess Moore, of course,” Lily nodded, putting the chamberpot aside and moving to one side of the queen-sized four-poster bed. Each of the three women took hold of one of the three sets of curtains that hung from the canopy and quickly pulled them back, revealing the snoozing Lady of the House within.
Sam had slept in something approaching contentment for the past several hours, a wonderful dreamless sleep. He started to stir in the bed, his features twisting in reaction to the sudden influx of light and groaning wearily. He slowly opened his eyes only to immediately shut them from the stinging pain of the sun shining into them. “Uuggghh…” he moaned, his eyes gunked shut with sleep.
Noting the distress, Maid Delilah sidestepped into the path of the sun, casting her long shadow over her Lady and immediately bringing an end to his distress. He blinked a few times as his vision returned before noticing the three women.
“Wah!?” Sam bolted upright and attempted to scramble backwards, his back pressing into the plush pillows.
“Good morning, Lady Carmilla. I trust that you had a pleasant night’s rest?” Trisha said from her position at the foot of the bed, her piercing stare set on him.
Sam took several shallow breaths, taking in his surroundings. His memories supplied the needed information soon enough, and his shock and fear quickly morphed into spiteful anger. He opened his mouth to spit a curse at his self-proclaimed Governess. She saw the muscles in his jaw and rested her hand on the top of her riding crop at her waist.
Sam saw the action and felt a stab of fear, remembering just how embarrassing and painful the length of corded brown leather was. He squashed his angry words down to shallow distaste, self-preservation cowing most of his rebellion. Still, some of it smouldered. “No, I did not,” he ground out through gritted teeth.
“That truly is a shame. Do endeavour to get some better sleep in future, Carmilla. A growing young woman needs to be in top physical form at all times, and lack of sleep is as dangerous as unchecked alcoholism or any other uncouth vice.” Trisha commiserated conversationally, nonplussed by the restrained heat in Sam’s words. She slipped her leather-bound journal from her pocket and opened it to today's date while not breaking eye contact. “Your Lady’s Maids are going to unshackle you. If you make a fuss, then I will have to tell your spouse you won’t be making it to breakfast. Understand?”
He contemplated the older woman’s words, weighing the pros and cons of raging out again, but the image of Victoria retaliating for his breach of her inane aristocratic rituals stayed his hand. He nodded.
That wasn’t good enough for Trisha, eyes gaining steel. “Am I understood, Carmilla?”
She wanted to hear him say it.
Sam shrunk in on himself, taking a deep and shuddering breath before answering. “Yes…Miss Trisha.”
“Good. Now, ladies, if you would be so kind.” Trisha rounded the bed and sat in the chair beside the bed to Sam’s right.
A great rustle of silk filled the room then. His Lady’s Maids pulled back his bedsheets and grabbed ahold of both of his legs. Sam kicked on reflex but the two beautiful maids were well trained, negating any move he made as they began to unlock the trifecta of locks that held the shackle to his left ankle.
In the meantime, Trisha snapped her fingers to get Sam’s attention. “Now, from here on out, the majority of your days will start out like this. Your Lady’s Maids and I shall unlock you from your bed bondage while I inform you of the day's schedule. You must always have a general idea of what awaits you to best prepare. A Lady’s place is to know her place; to know her place, she must know what is expected of her at any given moment.”
Expectations. Always the expectations. Sam had honestly hoped that he would never have to face another expectation or deadline until at least the end of summer. Yet here he was, about to be dictated one by a madwoman employed by his girlfriend.
Had he not totally emptied his bladder in the early hours of the morning, then the clinical ‘foregone conclusion’ tone that his governess spoke in would bring his piss to a boil.
But for all the internalised griping, the presence of the women and their hold over his body and attention bayed him be silent.
“We’ll begin with morning hygiene. A thorough wash and cleanse to wake you up and make you ready to be dressed,” Trisha began, causing Sam to shudder at the thought of being ‘dressed’ again. Still, he could use a shower; he ‘felt’ dirty even if there was no spec of dust to be found. “You will take breakfast with Mistress Victoria in one of the dining rooms until morning lessons begin from 8 to 11:45.”
Sam made a strangled noise at the mention of lessons. The prospect was something he abhorred, but Trisha ignored him as the first of the three locks on the ankle shackle came undone.
Her glasses flashed in warning at him to not make such a noise again before continuing. “You have a Luncheon at mid-day with Mistress Victoria, she had yet to set the venu.”
“What the hell is a Luncheon?” Sam blurted out, the antiquated term throwing him from a loop.
“The modern simplification would be lunch, but please keep silent for the rest of the schedule, Carmilla; it is as tight as it is without you wasting it on pointless questions.”
He grimaced, feeling as if he had been verbally slapped in the face. He was expected to be attentive, but when he showed genuine curiosity, he was chewed out? He remained silent for the rest of the explanation, caught between listlessness and annoyance. How was it possible to feel so tired and weary only a few minutes after waking up?
The second lock came free as Trisha filled in the rest. “Afternoon classes will be between 1 and 3 before an hour’s Enrichment. Mistress Victoria has asked for you to take Afternoon Tea with her at 4 and Supper at 5. I believe the Mistress has some festivities planned to share with you in the evening. Some kind of gaming session, if I understood correctly.”
Sam perked up at that, the prospect of doing something actually fun amidst this aristocratic madhouse was a wan glimmer of hope in the dark. A sign that the Victoria he knew was still in there.
Trisha’s journal snapped closed, she rose to her feet and retrieved her own key and unlocked the third lock on the cuff and unlatched it. Relief washed through Sam as the constant pressure on his ankle eased off, the maids slipped the cuff off him and he quickly bright his freed limb up to rub some life back into it.
Trisha spared him no real time before pushing on. “Come along, Carmilla, you’ve seen enough of that bed today, it’s time to get washed,” she said with what passed for enthusiasm for her. Professional and vaguely smug.
‘Cunt ,’ Sam thought, the slur bringing him warmth that failed to heat his chest, swamped as it was by humiliation and fear. Seeing that he was not moving, Maid Lily took Trisha’s place and offered her Lady a hand while Maid Delilah opened one of the wardrobes at the far end of the room.
He looked away at first, still standoffish with these so-called attendants; they were jailers for all their pretty smiles. If Lily was offended by her Lady’s scorn then she did not let it show, keeping her offered hand firmly in place. The feeling of being dirty seemed to grow at those quiet and patient stares all three women favoured him with. He had to get out of the room. Finally, he bit the bullet and accepted the hand. The shorter woman showed surprising strength in levering him off the bed.
Lily’s sunny smile at having helped did nothing to alleviate Sam’s feelings of uneasiness. In fact, they only grew as the nightdress brushed against his hairless body, the sensitive skin making him shiver at every touch.
Delilah approached with a bundle of white cloth in her arms, unwrapping it as she spoke, “Please hold out your arms, your Ladyship.”
Sam quirked an eyebrow in question before doing as he was asked and soon found himself being wrapped in a white Victorian dressing gown. Much like any other article of Victorian women’s clothing he had seen so far, the dressing gown was floor-length and made of white brushed cotton. It had a high neck, a button up front and military-styled cuffs. Pushing his arms through the sleeves, Lily buttoned up the front and drew it close to his waist by a cord belt, tying it off in a neat bow.
He still felt like an absolute idiot, but at least he was a covered-up one. And with that chill comfort, he allowed himself to be led from the room in dire need of a shower.
Sam was led through the typically labyrinthine halls and corridors by his self-appointed attendants. Morning or evening made no difference to how difficult it was to keep track of where he was, and the brisk pace with which they made him walk was doing him no favours. Mercifully, Trisha remained silent as she led them to their destination, giving the enforced aristocrat time to wake properly. He unconsciously wrapped the long dressing gown tighter around him, its voluminous length obfuscating the truth and insulating his awareness away from the reality that he was dressed head to toe as a girl. Finally, they came to the sought-after door and pressed inside without breaking stride.
The bathroom differed from the one they had used the previous night but was no less grand in scope or appointment. A vast open-plan space with tall, shiny white brick walls and a matching floor in white tile with the occasional black tile at equidistant spacing in a touch of artful design. Looking around the room, Sam noticed that the majority of the furniture had been pushed to the edges of the room, including marble wash basins, bidets, and doors, which led to who knows where. Still, it was well-lit, the light streaming in through arched frosted glass windows that glinted off the true heart of the room.
A click was heard, causing Sam to look over his shoulder to see Lily closing the door behind them. Looking forward again, Sam grunted in surprise to find Trisha directly in front of him, having swept towards him silently when he wasn’t looking.
“Are you well, Lady Carmilla?” Trisha asked in a conversational tone, inspecting Sam through her glasses.
He swallowed thickly, mastering himself and answering, “Yes.”
“Good,” the older woman smiled, her eyes trailing down to give him a once-over. “Please disrobe,” she asked politely, his use of the chamberpot having won him a modicum of leeway as opposed to stripping him against his will.
His teeth clicked together sharply, hackles rising and hands twitching. He felt the gorge of rebuke rise, but the fullness with which Trisha dominated his view held it back. Instead, he slowly acquiesced, his fingers numbly questing to undo the dressing gown’s corded belt. “Can you at least look away?” he asked, rolling the gown off and was surprised when Delilah was there to take it. The dark-skinned maid gently folded the garment and took it to a laundry basket at the far end of the room.
“No, I’m afraid we cannot.” Trisha answered truthfully, “Your actions yesterday inspire distrust in your ability to function as the Lady of this house, and until you can show progress on proving us wrong, then it is our duty -mine as your Governess and they,” she shifted her chin towards the maids, “as your Lady’s Maids to watch and adjudicate. Now please disrobe fully , Lady Carmilla.”
Trisha watched the slight tremor in her ward as he did as he was bayed. His movements were ungraceful and held the shakes of trepidation, rumpling the front of the crisp nightdress as he drew its hem up over his pale, hairless legs. The downtime of his unfamiliar hands allowed the maids to work their other jobs with blinding efficiency, retrieving necessary items from one of the shelves that ran along the walls and the shower in the centre of the room.
It was quite the sight, a broad silver head positioned high above the centre of the room above a corresponding drain, but what drew the eye was what was next to it. A tall, thick silver pipe jutted out of the tiled floor some seven feet, with a pair of brackets at its top and bottom.
Moments later, Sam was once again naked, Maid Lily taking his nightdress to leave his lanky, pale form totally unadorned. He flushed with embarrassment and unease, looking down at his chastised cock and cringing before moving his hands to cover it from prying eyes.
“Hands by your sides,” Trisha cut in, her words like a sharp knife, a hand resting on the end of her crop in an unsaid warning. The young man scowled at her, conjuring all the malice of a ruffled kitten, pushing his hands to his sides in balled fists. “Good girl,” Trisha trilled, pleased.
She brought her gloved hands behind her back and linked them in parade rest, “Now, as you will recall from last night, your antics have lost you the right to sleep without being bound,” Delilah passed behind the older woman, pressing a pair of padded cuffs into Trisha’s unseen but waiting hands without Sam noticing before joining standing behind him.
Sam didn’t like where this was going, and his fears were confirmed the moment Trisha pulled the cuffs from behind her back, spinning them around her gloved thumb by their connecting chain. “Bathing will be no different.”
“No, fuck that. I’m not gonna-” he backed away, stumbling into the frilly fronts of Delilah’s Maid uniform; the taller of his Lady’s Maids flashed him a helpful smile that was borderline cute as she rested a ‘comforting’ hand on his shoulder, preventing him from squirming.
‘Shit .’
The young man rebelled as much as he could, pushing and shoving back and forth while cussing up a storm that made Lily blush in the corner, but it amounted to nought. He told himself that it was because the floor was too slippery and that his bare feet had no purchase on the tiled floor, but no matter his argument, he couldn’t stop Trisha from slipping the cuffs over his wrists. Nor Delilah easily manhandled him over to the stainless steel pole and locked his hands to the bracket above his head.
Delilah retreated with a swirl of frills, and Sam, tapping what little heat he could from the flames of indignance, tried to kick at the Maid. That failed spectacularly. His foot went wide, and his other foot slipped on the tiled floor, causing him to dangle by the chains between his cuffs.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Trisha tutted, internally rueful as she walked a circuit of Sam, keeping herself just out of the range of any possible aggression. “Really, Carmilla? And here I thought that you would behave yourself.”
Sam growled at the auburn-haired woman, his arms already starting to ache. The rattle of the chain through the bracket was a horrible sound.
“Would you like to stand again, or do you wish to be washed in that impromptu strappado? Your maids are capable of either.” Trisha groused in her infuriatingly serious yet polite tone, pointing an index finger at how Sam’s arms and legs flapped and slapped against the simple binding.
‘What the hell is Strappado?’ he thought glibly, clearly his knowledge of all things BDSM was surface-level. Frankly, he didn’t care because right now, he just wanted to stand up straight. Trisha stopped before him and leaned forward, drawing directly into Sam’s frantic hazel eyes, practically nose to nose.
He gulped, taken aback by the intensity hiding behind her glasses—an inferno trapped inside the shape of a pretty woman. He could feel her calm and controlled breaths tickling his face and found his struggles grinding to a halt.
“As your governess, I suggest you begin taking my advice more into consideration.” The blue-clad lady cooly said, " I advise you to let your Maids wash you without incident.”
“...”
“...”
“...Okay…” he whispered.
Trisha withdrew at that, retreating to the edge of the room as the Maids approached to begin their work. Delilah fixed his awkward position, aided by what appeared to be a shepherd's crook made of lacquered black wood with a brass end. She hooked the crook around the bracket that held his cuffs and pushed it up, sliding the bracket upwards along the stainless steel pipe. The whole process was quick but not sudden, allowing her Lady to be gently drawn back up to standing on his own two feet with his cuffed hands now remaining high above his head.
Despite his better judgment, Sam felt a pulse of genuine thanks brush against his thoughts, pushing through the prickle of humiliation he felt at being naked and manhandled. “Thank you,” he whispered. Delilah’s eye widened a modicum, and her professional smile grew more genuine. She inclined her head silently in recognition of his words before returning the crook to its proper place and stepping into an annexe to join Lily.
Trisha filed the exchange away in her mind for later, speaking when Sam looked towards her. “They will wash you now. Do your best to work with them, or I will fetch a spreader bar for your ankles.”
Sam’s reply was cut off when both Lady’s Maids returned from the annexe, each holding a bundle of shiny black material under their arms. He watched, transfixed and with building unease as they unfurled the garments to reveal… he didn’t know what to call them. They reminded him of painting smocks, the sort of thing they’d force you to wear to keep paint off your clothes yet always seemed to be ill-sized enough that some slipped through.
He wasn’t sure if he was thinking of such things now because these ‘smocks’ were a far cry from the musty rumpled things from days of scholarly yore. Each was made of matte black latex with white trim at the cuffs, collar, and hem. It fell to ankle length with a zipper running up the back. Each Maid helped the other into their smock and assisted in zipping them up.
It was quite simple, really. While Lady’s Maids were given the most ‘freedom’ of all serving staff, there were elevated expectations in keeping their uniforms to the utmost perfection—so much so that getting the cotton and satin splattered with the soaps and water that were inevitable with a shower was unacceptable.
Trisha knew that the truth went a bit deeper than that, but objectively, it was all that mattered right now.
Each woman affixed a white swimming cap with attached latex Maid’s frilled headband to their heads before advancing on Sam who shivered, somewhat intimidated. A twist of a handle was all it took to get underway. The white-haired sissy yipped in shock as his body was pelted by a torrent of hot water from the broad shower head above, so wide that he could not escape the downpour no matter how hard he juked and jived.
In no time at all, he was soaked to the bone; his new shoulder-length straight locks were clumped together in sodden strands that stuck to his forehead and cheeks. It was all so unfamiliar, different from any shower in the subtleties of sensation, fortified by a heady mix of embarrassment and being watched. To date, the only person who had ever seen him naked in the shower was Victoria. He gritted his teeth at thoughts of his ebon-haired betrayer but soon was wholly preoccupied by the squeaky sentinels of Lily and Delilah, advancing on either side with washcloths and loofahs.
They took hold of him then, their touches intimate and delicate as they began to scrub and sponge his naked form, the thunder of hot water pattering off their latex attire like a storm off a rainmack. “Hnnn, No!” he griped, turning away as they continued to seek every single crack and crevice to clean, enveloping him in a shroud of lathered bubbles and sweet-smelling soaps that slid lethargically across his body.
“While I have no comment on matters of religion, I wager that John Wesly’s observation applies to you, Lady Carmilla. "Cleanliness is next to Godliness,"” Trisha commented, watching from the side as Sam bucked against his bonds and the ministrations of both Maids. “Your attire as a Lady of your spouse’s chosen era leaves you delightfully covered up, but that does not excuse you from matters of hygiene. You will look, smell and feel clean at all times unless directed by Mistress Victoria, so cleanings as thorough as this are important and of the norm. Treat them with as much reverence and normality as you would breathing.”
Sam’s cheeks were atomic red by the time that his Maids had finished their rounds of bodywork, their smocks now deliciously slippery looking from all the water and soap that had splashed back on them. They washed and shampooed his hair with a pomegranate-scented shampoo that gave him a crown of suds as they worked it into every strand and to his scalp. He let out a strangled yell when some of the shampoos got into his eye, white-hot stinging pain blooming in his eye.
“A thousand pardons, my Lady,” one of them apologised, quickly pressing the edge of a flannel to his eye to rinse out the soap. Her rubberised sleeve brushed against his chest. It felt cool and slippery, gliding over his sensitive pinkening skin like an angel's kiss.
Trisha took that moment to prepare her own part in the process. She retrieved a stout wheeled box from one of the closets and quietly positioned it behind Sam, waiting patiently until the maids were done. She knelt down and opened the box, revealing two metallic containers, some subtle machinery, and two lengths of clear rubber tubing, one of which she attached to one of the drains.
By now, Sam’s thorough shower and hair wash had been completed, with the two rubber-clad maids stepping out of the water flow before switching it off. The downpour of warm water ceased instantly, with only a few lingering drops of water dripping to hit the pale wraith of the Lady. He huffed once, his expanse of revealed skin caressed by coils of steam that rose from it in the mostly cool room. Feeling off-kilter, he shook himself from his bound position, his hair whipping lines of water like a dog.
“Really?” Sam imagined the unseen Trisha saying, even if she was out of sight and silent, the Governess’s aura permeated the room. But for all his internalised grumbles and the position that he was forced to hold, he was glad that he had a shower. The invigorating waters and… interesting method of washing had served to well and truly wake him up. And with wakefulness came the sharpening of his mind.
‘Okay… if I can get out of this damn contraption, then both my body and brain are unshackled… in a literal sense at least. ’ he thought as his Lady’s Maids approached with fluffy white towels. While he instinctively flinched away from their touch, the drying was at least slightly welcome and soothed any kinks that had begun to take root.
He closed his eyes as they worked, hands twitching above him every time soft towels gave way to the cool liquid feel of their latex garments. Once he was dried from his toes to the ends of his hair, they pulled away, and Sam once again opened his eyes. The duo retreated towards the annexe door, moving to strip themselves of the smocks.
“W-wai-wait!” Sam said, his words timid and quiet. " Let me down…” he added before catching himself and quickly adding, “Please!” Much as he despised the needles' decorum, perhaps it would avail him of a speedier return to at least being clothed.
Lily and Delilah paused and looked over their shoulders at him, their eyes full of a mix of confusion and pity. Was he missing something…
‘...I am missing something…’ the words echoed in his skull like a mournful bell, Trisha’s shadow falling across him like a carrion crow.
“Is twelve hours really all it takes for you to forget salient information, Lady Carmilla?” Trisha trilled, “Cast your mind back. It may have been a different bathroom, but it was still a bathroom.”
His heart began to beat faster, and his breathing became progressively shallower as a vague memory pulled open his mind's eye. Trisha gently gripped Sam’s shoulder with a gloved hand.
“Internal Hygiene, Carmilla.” Trisha deadpanned, squeezing his shoulder authoritatively and causing him to stiffen. She held a length of clear rubber tubing in her other hand, a long, thin and flexible nozzle at its end. Its nimble black length widened toward the base, all of it glistening with a sheen of perfectly applied lube.
Trisha felt a tendon jump in her ward’s shoulder where she held him, a precursor to movement. “Spreader Bar,” she ordered evenly, Maid Lily nodding and moving to fetch it from the annexe cupboard as Sam began to violently squirm in the Governess’s grip.
“Get away from me!” he shouted, though he couldn’t move much between Trisha and his cuffs. Lily returned from the cupboard, taking a second to re-affix her regular maid’s headband, a spreader bar in hand. It was simple in design, a rectangular bar of brushed stainless steel approximately 25 inches across with a pair of matching metal cuffs at either end.
“No!” He attempted to kick out at the red-haired maid, but she proved surprisingly nimble. As his foot came up, she grabbed him by the ankle and held it, leaving him to hop unsteadily while she secured it to one end of the bar, a clock sounding from it as it latched close.
Trisha watched on with detached interest, she made a note to ask Diana for more detail on how the Lady’s Maids were trained to read movement. It was not to her high standards, but still admirable. As Sam’s other ankle was locked in place, the eldest woman in the room internalised that while this was an excellent opportunity to acquaint Sam with the Spreader Bar or any other type of bondage, it was purely logistical in this instance. “Come now, calm yourself. Mistress Victoria will be ill-pleased if we do not make it in time for breakfast.”
A garbled, angry snarl was her reply, sounding to all three women like a hissing kitten.
Sam stood awkwardly, spread into a triangle by the two restraints, padding one foot at a time. He pulled a face flush with horror when he tried and failed to close his legs, pupils thinning to slits when he felt something cool and wet press against his ass.
“Deep breath, girl,” Trisha offered, holding the tip of the thin nozzle against the tight ring of muscles.
“No, no, please don’t,” Sam begged, nostrils flaring.
Trisha slipped her hand from his shoulder, Sam looking over it to stare into her calm face with frantic eyes. She held the gaze, slowly sweeping her hand under his arm and trailing her fingers over his ribs, counting each one as they passed beneath the leather digits. “This maidenhood is spoken for, and I shan’t violate it until your spouse ushers it into womanhood.” her palm rested on Sam’s navel, feeling the thump of his heart and rise of his breath, “Until that time, I offer my apology for this inconvenience.”
The nozzle was pressed with a modicum of force. Sam’s eyes bugged out, teeth clenching, clear thought evaporating in the face of building otherness. The tip was perilously thin, perhaps the circumference of a pinky finger, but in the time it had rested at his rear entrance, it had spread a sheen of lube along the rosebud, and with the entrance aptly prepped, the thin rubber nozzle began to move forwards.
Immediately, Sam’s body reacted, his stomach going taught under Trisha’s hand as he clamped down to repel what it sensed was an intruder. His eyebrows shot up, lips peeling back and thighs questing to touch. “Wh-aahhh,” he groaned, his body and mind aflame with an overload of physical sensoria and visceral emotional feedback. Fear seized him like a viper… no, a viper was incorrect. While Trisha held his gaze like a fantastical serpent, her hold on his body was closer and more intimate, the grip of a python that only increased in pressure, driving the nozzle deeper.
Making it past the outer bud and inside the ring, the slippery rubber rod glided inside, fed slowly into him inch by inch by Trisha’s steady hand. Though tiny, every millimetre of widening girth drew waves of new and wrong feelings, causing him to twitch and yip oddly.
“Do not feel embarrassed at your body’s reaction. It’s natural that your body will attempt to resist what it doesn’t yet understand.” Trisha said, offering understanding if not comfort. The nozzle finally slipped inside, synapses that were quite literally not built to process this feeling in nature spasming to come up with a coherent expression. In the end, all he could think were the thought, ‘ get it out, ’ a hundred times over. But it didn’t get out; it kept its slow march inside him, sending jolts of severe discomfort when it kissed his inner walls until all three inches of it were within him.
While it widened towards the bottom, the nozzle sharply thinned where it met the end of the clear hose, so when the virgin tight ass enveloped the black rubber, Sam's own clenching muscles clamped tight on the instrument within him, effectively plugging him with a gasp.
Trisha gently let go of him and stepped away, signalling for the Maids to do the same and leaving him for a few moments, giving him time to get used to the penetrating feeling of the hygienic implement. He doubted he would ever be used to this, his asshole throbbed with the ache of being forced to do something it was not meant to do and the awareness of a foreign body in his most private place made him want to dry heave.
Kneeling before the box, Trisha lifted a catch to reveal a brass switch, “Brace yourself, Carmilla, this might feel a little strange,” she warned before flipping the switch. Within the box, a motor began to turn, drawing forth the contents of the bottles and up the tubing towards the waiting sissy. The enema fluid appeared to be perfectly normal, almost indistinguishable from water save for a slight greyness to its colour, beginning to spray a comparatively gentle spray of body temperature liquid into Sam’s ass.
An entirely new foreign feeling assaulted Sam; feeling the enema fluid enter him; he twitched and spasmed as much as he was able, cursing loudly as he wished ruin upon Trisha in another showing of a blue-coded lexicon. The ‘other’ of the penetration was swept aside in favour of true and proper discomfort as the fluid slowly but surely filled him, causing him to pant at the sudden feeling of bloating forced upon him. This didn’t feel right.
“Take it out!” he pleaded.
“Not until it is done,” Trisha replied, watching the progress on an ornate dial set into the contraption used for the enema. She split her attention between it and the drama of flinches and twitches in Sam’s body, the enema filling him and touching places inside him he had never felt before. “It’s a matter of cleanliness, and I won’t tolerate it when it’s not warranted. If your spouse wishes to roll around in the mud with you, then that’s her prerogative. Until such a time, you will be spotless inside and out.”
He hung his head, closing his eyes to drown out the feeling and the surroundings. It was just too much… too much. ‘ Too much to be feasible. ’ his mind latched onto a lifeline of sense in a world gone mad.
Eventually, a subtle pressure sensor within the contraption sensed that Sam’s colon was filled to capacity and ceased pumping in the fluid. Trisha walked to Sam and twisted a subtle catch running around the base of the nozzle, closing it from within. For a moment, he dared to think that she was about to unplug it, but in truth, Trisha detached the hose, transforming the closed nozzle into a thin buttplug. She came around to his front, waiting patiently until he opened his eyes to scowl at her. She held up the length of tubing in response, “The enema will sit within you for a few minutes to take effect,” her lips quirked up into a thoughtful smile, “No overpressure or strain, nor the indignity of douching. Perhaps in time, you’ll find it as invigorating as your external wash.”
“I…highly…doubt… that,” he moaned out between breaths, while not expressly painful, the discomfort of the feeling was overwhelming.
Smoothing down the front of her coat, the professional equivalent of a polite shrug, Trisha replied, “You seem to doubt a lot of things, Lady Carmilla. Shrewdness will serve you well, but it’s my job to make a believer of you.”
She retreated to the side, passing beyond the scope of his vision and retreated into the powerful position of his blindspot. Powerful because even if he could not see her or feel her, he would know she was there, watching to make sure he was okay and only giving help if it was necessary. Any enjoyment she may have felt at seeing so much emotional outpouring she had caused was safely hidden behind her glasses.
Not exactly in any position where he could do anything beyond stand there and take it, Sam let himself fall limp against the bondage rig, whimpering at how cold it felt and his unconscious contraction making the contents of his colon slosh about, his cheeks reddening in embarrassment and overstress. Seconds drew out into painfully long epochs that passed with acquaintance to the liquid in his gut… if this was something to be daily then he was set that it was something he would hate.
While the white-haired sissy thought of the enema as a humiliating and painful element of the house of horrors that was Eden’s Rest, in truth, it was a lot more special than that, as Trisha knew. What had flowed into Sam was no mear mix of soapy water and saline; no, it was a different beast altogether. One of the good Doctor Ito’s many brainchilds during her more official work for FMC, the enema fluid was, in truth, a ‘duel viscosity irrigation agent.’ It was a substance almost identical to water, save for its slight colouration that could be administered like any other enema, but once it was inside, that’s when things began to get interesting.
Within Sam, the enema began to react to the little waste that had built up from the prior day, molecules shifting and rearranging into two distinct compounds, a medicated water ‘outer’ and emulsion-based ‘outer’. The emulsion had been tuned to bind itself to waste, drawing it into the centre of the colon where now a consistency of oil, it remained separate from the medicated waters that bathed Sam’s anal walls, combining cleanliness and suppository medical administration all at once.
‘According to Yui, the medicated nature of the water can be tuned to long-term or short-term results depending on what she or Mistress Victoria require ,’ Trisha thought, recalling when the laid-back doctor had explained it to her. For the foreseeable future, the requirement would be in aid of Sam’s feminisation to Carmilla. But when time and opportunity allowed, ‘Well, I can foresee some innovative uses I am dying to share with the good doctor…’ her eyes glinted with enthusiasm before checking her watch.
Two minutes had passed, and Sam was shifting his weight from one foot to another again, the odd half step allowed by the spreader bar. The discomfort from the Enema had not abated, nor had it been in long enough to get used to, he tried not to bend over, not wanting the substance to slosh and remind him of its presence. He flinched when Trisha swept up behind him and reattached the tube to the plugged nozzle. “Wha- are-”
“Yes, Carmilla, I’m taking it out. Bear with me a second to build pressure.” Trisha explained, causing Sam’s brows to knit together. She looked over to the maids stood by the enema device, its internal motor again whirring quietly. Yui’s creation had another wonderful boon to it: how it could be administered did not require the user to lay on their side. As for the extraction, Sam was about to experience it. Reading the correct figure on the pressure dial, Maid Delilah flashed Trisha a thumbs up, and the Governess twisted the plug’s catch. The built-up pressure was accurate down to the Micro-Pascal, sucking the more viscous waste from Sam in less than half a second.
FOOM
“AGph!?” Sam squawked. The feeling was indescribable. The less viscous water was dragged down at a much slower rate, slowed by a perforated rubber flange at the base of the nozzle. Even then, the full extraction took less than ten seconds, his insides pulsing at the absence of the water.
Tucking a lock of auburn hair behind her ear, Trisha gently pulled down on the nozzle, causing Sam to bite down on his lip as it was slowly drawn out of his, his hole aching with an unfamiliar itch. The whole experience had sent him reeling, so much so that he didn’t notice the Maids undoing all of his restraints and offering him his dressing gown. Before he knew it, he was back in his boudoir and pushed behind the changing screen, submitted to the mundane torture of dressing.
The first layer was as it had been the prior day. Lingerie in all white with a nightmarish panelled corset that the Maids tied closed. His faculties slowly returning to him, he realised with tainted relief that while the Maids had made up for yesterday's faux pas, they had not laced as tightly as Victoria. His outer wear however was surprisingly, and thankfully, much lighter. A simple white petticoat and bodice were buttoned around him with a matching outer skirt in cotton and the same spat boots he had worn yesterday.
Or at least they looked the same.
Guided over to the vanity table, he was sat down and adequately adorned for the day, a coat of clear lip gloss and tasteful eyeliner. He hummed and harred as they skillfully worked his hair up into a neat but painfully tight Victorian bun.
Looking at him in the mirror, Trisha finally broke the silence, “While I empathise with the Mistress's need to induct you into Victorian finery, I find practicality is a must. So please consider this,” she gestured to the outfit, “your ‘Schooling attire,’”
Sam looked at himself in the mirror, hating how the black choker around his neck stood out like the collar against so much white. “I never wanted to wear a school uniform again after Year 11,” he commented.
Trisha narrowed her eyes before shaking her head and offering a hand. “Come now, so much bellyaching means you should see yourself to breakfast.”
The white-haired sissy eyed the gloved hand with disdain, softening when his stomach rumbled within the confines of his corset. Breakfast awaited, and low and behold, he was hungry.
Sam was escorted downstairs to one of the ground floor dining rooms that was similar in size to the parlour from the day before, and the tallest of the four couldn’t tell it apart from any of the others. It did feel good to be able to walk somewhere without the literal shackles of bondage affixed to his extremities, but the biting hold of his corset and unsteadiness of his gait was its own yoke.
Opening the door, they were greeted by the sight of a moderately sized round table set for four with one of the seats occupied. Victoria looked up from the morning paper nonchalantly and gave a beautiful smile when she saw Sam, her blue eyes glittered with happiness and appreciation for the figure he cut. Compared to Sam, Victoria still wore her nightdress and a belted dressing gown much like the one that her white-haired wife had been furnished with, save for the fact it was forest green with gold filigree. ‘ It suits her ,’ Sam thought reluctantly, galled to admit such a thing.
She was not alone in the room; as usual, Maids Jeanne and Chloe stood behind her at the wall while Diana was in the centre of the room, overseeing the entire table like a silken hawk.
“Good morning, Carmilla. Sleep well?” she said as one of Sam’s Lady’s Maids pulled out a chair for him to sit, which he promptly did, happy to take the weight off the blasted little heels. Victoria raked her eyes up and down the fine white of his dress and hair bun, “Straying towards the Edwardian today, love. I miss the bustle, but I must say you look simply scrumptious in that dress.”
His lips thinned, an act more noticeable with their glossy coat, choosing not to respond to Victoria’s words until Trisha fixed him with a stern look as she was seated to his immediate right. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he muttered brusquely, which seemed to satisfy the Governess.
Victoria pouted childishly at the noncommittal answer. She knew that he had a habit of being a bit of a zombie in the morning before a necessary spike of caffeine, but tea was still a few minutes out. How to draw him out into the open? ‘If he retreats into a shell, then that’s no fun and counterproductive to the process, it's not a cultivated subspace but a disconnect from surroundings and relationships.’
The Viscountess had broken and conditioned a fair few subs in her time towards a variety of purposes, but Sam presented a prospect that required finesse. A scalpel over a hammer. She still needed him to be him, the man who she had fallen for as he had his nose over his phone complaining something as inane as Gacha drop rates.
An idea struck her, and immediately, her hand dipped into the pocket of her dressing gown. “Ah, I forgot. You probably don’t want to break your login streak.” She withdrew a smartphone from her pocket and unlocked it, opening a specific app before sliding it easily across the polished wood to Sam.
He tracked the small slab of glass and plastic as it span across the table, bumping against where his chest met the edge of the table and causing him to twitch, but he found himself transfixed when he saw what was on the screen. Picking up the phone with clumsy fingers, he stared dumbly at the opening screen and welcoming music of a mobile game, one with which he was intimately familiar.
Tapping the screen, he watched the screen fade to white for a moment before loading into a menu, a deeply tanned man in gold and red Roman-style armour greeting him with an austere look. A login streak notification popped up seconds later, giving him two more of this month’s material drops. Sam blinked owlishly between the game and the phone, not quite seizing on the moment. “...this is…my FGO account.”
“I should hope so; you pumped enough time and money into it over the years,” Victoria replied, smirking when he looked at her. “What, did you think I’d take all your pastimes from you? I’d be a poor spouse if all I gave was misery to my beautiful wife.”
Sam couldn’t reply to that, a disquieting feeling of… he didn’t know what to call the emotion that filled him then. “This isn’t my phone, though,” he pointed out. His phone had been a present from Victoria, like the TV in their student accommodations, and had been brand new. But this thing, ‘it must be twice as wide as the old one ,’ he realised, turning the phone over in his hands.
“Same files, different case. One more fitting as a vessel for your pastimes.” Victoria made a giving gesture but spotted an askance look in Trisha’s eye, tacking on, “Of course, it has no call or text functions, so nothing to distract you from using it to have fun… when permitted, of course.”
‘When permitted ,’ Sam thought, the words echoing in his head, he saw this for what it was. It was an offered breadcrumb, and he hated that it made him feel good. Under the scrutiny of his Governess and blase eyes of his spouse, Sam found himself running his daily missions.
They slipped into quiet but not unpleasant smalltalk as Tea was served, the scent of which turned his stomach enough to make it growl.
When the far doors opened, the white-clad graduate looked over his shoulder, disappointed when he saw that there wasn’t any food. His face morphed into a scowl when he realised what it actually was, both for who they were and, more importantly, the way they looked.
“Good morning, Yui,” Diana greeted the Japanese doctor as she sauntered into the room.
“Morn’in,” Yui yawned cutely, rubbing the sleep from her eye and rounding the table. Compared to the overabundance of frills, pomp and circumstance that clung to Eden’s Rest like overly persistent bees, Yui chose a far more modern, trendy and normal sleeping attire, a bed shirt, pyjama bottoms and a slinky dressing gown.
Plopping down in her chair, Yui stretched with a catlike litheness that showed off her perky breasts through her bedshirt, working through aches both annoying and pleasant. Doctor Ito was very diligent with her work, especially when it came to projects that had her undivided attention, meaning that she had worked late into the night tabulating the results of yesterday's tests and tweaking her plans in accordance. Of course, this had meant that the ‘after-wohrk play’ to alleviate the stress had gone into the early hours of the morning, leaving her and er Nurse Maids exhausted but deeply satisfied.
Yui felt attention on her, discovering that the Lady of the House was positively glaring flaming daggers at her.
Sam was all too happy to let his emotions run hot after what Yui had done to him yesterday and act so nonchalant about it… and she had the cheek to wear something so normal while he was consigned to this floor length prison uniform!
“Oh, hey, Carmilla,” Yui greeted with another jaw-popping yawn, the lethargy of sleep bleeding away as she took in Sam’s comparatively perfect form. “I hope you slept well, you look… honestly you look great. Not a hair out of place.”
Sam gritted his teeth at the praise, he had neither slept well nor did he want to look like this.
But Yui was awake now and quickly sliding into her sly and somewhat teasing nature, “I’ll be real with you, my Lady,” she said, resting her fist under her chin to look at the sissy, “Between you, the staff and the rest of the frilled peanut gallery you’re making me feel underdressed for breakfast.”
Diana was the fastest to catch the offered bait and shut it down, “Then we should break fast as soon as we can to avoid starving now that everyone of note is here,” the steel haired Housekeeper suggested, inclining her head towards Victoria. “Three voices have asked, and to deny them would be rude.” she quipped, causing both Victoria and Yui to giggle.
Sam’s brows knitted together in confusion, not getting the turn of phrase.
‘Should I put that down under failure to grasp simple humour?’ Trisha wondered before shaking her head, it was a tiny indiscretion that could wait until a later time. She did however need to keep Sam’s mind on the here and now, so held out her hand for the phone. Sam reluctantly handed it over to the bespectacled woman.
Diana withdrew a service bell from within the folds of her uniform and rang it sharply, the tinkling sounds cutting through the air. A few seconds later, the far doors opened again to admit the Parlour Maids who rolled in covered platters of food.
“This morning’s fast shall be broken by Croissant aux Amandes.” Diana introduced, using the proper name for the dish while the Parlour Maids took their time to provide or refill everyone’s drinks.
Meaning that Sam was given a fresh steaming helping of Germn Breakfast Tea. He did his best to hide his scowl as the aromatic vapurs tickled his nose, the smell of the stuff made him want to retreat inwards.
That wouldn’t do for Trisha, who was now fixed on making sure her ward paid attention and kept attentive even if not contributing to breakfast chatter. “What’s everyone’s agenda today?” she asked the other women at the table, having a good idea already.
Victoria, as Mistress, was the first to answer, sipping on some Earl Grey and enjoying the warmth it brought her. “Breakfast, obviously. Then, a lot of paperwork has to be looked over and signed for the house and ongoing projects. I need to check over some matters with the Valets and ‘Tech Support,’” she easily explained, inwardly amused at how ‘Tech Support’ was just another colloquialism for those Maids who were assigned to preside over all matters electrical and data security. Tech Maids just didn’t quite roll off the tongue, coupled with the fact that some of the Nurse Maids also held the position. She looked over as Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, her face turning apologetic, “As much as I would love to spend all day with you, Blossom, these are some things I just have to do, But I’ll endeavour to poke my nose in on one of your lessons if I get the time.”
Sam gulped thickly but was taken aback when Trisha shook her head in refusal to the suggestion.
“Respectfully, Mistress Victoria, I would ask that you don’t take that course. Lady Carmilla has a packed curriculum today, and starting off with interruptions is not the best. Please save your frolicking with your wife for breaks and the evening.”
Perfectly proportioned lips pursed in thought as Victoria mulled over what the Governess had suggested, humming quietly. Yui watched the exchange from the side while Sam was in two minds. He felt conflicted at the interruption because while he didn’t want Victoria looming over him for most of the day, he also didn’t want to be left alone with a woman who had proven willing and motivated to hurt him if he stepped out of line. Was it better the devil he knew?
Oblivious of her ward’s internal dialogue, Trisha’s own mind was keeping her features expertly schooled. While she knew that Victoria was fond of her and she was necessary for Carmilla’s education, Trisha Moore was keenly aware that Victoria was still Mistress of everything here, and while she may have had leeway as a leading staff, it was nowhere near that of Yui who had the bonus of being Victoria’s best friend. So all she could do was phrase her thoughts as a suggestion and hope the Viscountess acquiesce to her sage council.
“Hmm,” Victoria mulled over what had been said for some time before finally nodding, “Fair point. I’ll just have to be a big girl and wait until lunch, I guess.”
“Girl, you have a vibrator in your desk drawer; use it if you’re chomping at the bit for some fun,” Yui quipped, earning a snort of laughter from her friend.
The conversation had succeeded in taking up the grace period before breakfast could truly start the Parlour Maids each lifted a platter covered by a silver cloche and placed it in front of the four at the table. Sam sat up, his stomach grumbling anew as the gloved staff set the table with hypnotic efficiency. But disquiet settled upon him when he noticed something amiss. Victoria, Yui, and Trisha were all given a knife and fork, while Sam only had a spoon.
It was taking too long for Yui, who raised a hand and snapped her fingers once, becoming Maid Jeanne to her side to pull the cloche back. True to their name, Croissant aux Amandes were Almond Croissants, covered in a fine dusting of caster sugar and a touch of vanilla and lemon. Each one steamed lightly as a signature of the oven that they had only recently been pulled from. The scent was heavenly, causing Sam’s mouth to water more and more as the other Lady’s Maids revealed more and more of the delicacies.
There was a hierarchy in the way the cloches were lifted, which spoke of eccentricities that flew right over Sam’s head. As Victoria’s best friend, Yui was permitted to give orders and be attended to by Victoria’s Lady’s Maids while Trisha, as Carmilla’s Governess, could order Sam’s, with Lily lifting her cloche to reveal two more Croissants.
It was at this moment that a waft of steam caught Sam in the face causing him to look down with mounting confusion until it cleared to reveal his breakfast. Unlike the three women, Sam stared down into a medium sized bowl of pale coloured slop.
Porridge .
His eye twitched, and his lips pulled back in a rictus of betrayed disgust, turning to look at Victoria. She had to be joking.
The blue eyed woman resisted the urge to laugh, finding Sam’s look and palpable confusion and unease a delectable concoction. “Don’t look at me, Blossom, this one’s all on Yui,” she jabbed a finger at the doctor.
Yui rolled her eyes at the blatant attempt to flow her under the bus, it wasn’t like it was a lie or anything. “It’s nothing that hasn’t already been explained to her,” she said before turning to look into the glowering face of her patient. “You’re set to very specific nutritional needs and diet control. Plus, porridge is a pretty good way to start the day. It’s not like you’re being fed… damn, what’s that thin-looking stuff from that one film?” she asked, searching for an answer on the tip of her tongue, “ya know, the one where the kid asks for some more?”
“Gruel?” Trisha deadpanned.
“That’s the stuff, I mean it isn’t but… ugh you know what I mean.”
‘No, I most certainly do not! ’ Sam mentally screamed at the doctor’s lackadaisical approach while looking at the porridge. While not the absolute worst thing in the world, it was practically teasing him that they got pastry delights while he was left to eat bland slop.
But… he knew from the prior day that not eating what he had been given would result in more harsh words and debasement. Picking up the spoon, he scooped up a portion and took a bite, bracing himself for the worst. It was… nearly average, a bland, slightly chewy concoction with an undercurrent of saltiness he couldn’t place.
Victoria’s smile grew imperceptibly, inhaling a familiar scent as she nibbled on her croissant and wiped golden flakes of pastry from her chin.
Munching away silently on the porridge, Sam did his best to keep his trap shut and listen to the idle conversation, which mainly consisted of Yui and Victoria jibing one another, much like he and Victoria usually did before all of this. Part of him was initially jealous of the Kyoto native but that soon faded to simply being upset. How? How could they converse and expect him to join in when everyone at this table had been someway complicit in his kidnapping and changing to whatever he was now.
His hand tightened around the spoon, ‘ Not changed, never changed. This is all impossible, a farce that will be abandoned the moment any of them realise how impossible it is to enforce.’ he thought, a soothing mantra that slowly but surely let the bad feelings ebb away. But as he became more at one with the present, he was still a novice in the game of etiquette and decorum he was now a player in; the Maids, Parlour and Lady’s alike moved around the table with fluid grace directed by the hands and slightest movements of the other three women sat at the table, the process so ingrained in them that they could both converse fondly as well as pay attention to Sam even when he thought they weren’t looking.
His pace of eating and drinking had slowed, underestimating just how much porridge was in the bowl. By the time the others had all finished he was barely half way through.
Taking note of his plight, Diana cleared her throat to get his attention. “Lady Carmilla,” she began, Sam being able to endure the sting of the unwanted title, “If the porridge is not yet to your palette, is there anything that we can provide to meet your existing tastes?”
“I can do that?” he asked unsurely,
“Certainly. While the set menu for a meal cannot be outright changed, it’s perfectly within your right to ask for small additions and amendments to better your meal.” Diana replied, conveying the needed information in a patient and educational way that was a ‘smoothed’ variation of Trisha’s teaching tone.
It took a few seconds for it to truly register to Sam what Diana had said, and after clearing his throat he dared to ask. “Could I… get some maple syrup…please,” he requested, expecting to receive anywhere between a stern lecture to mocking laughter.
To his surprise, Diana simply nodded and directed a look to one of the Parlor Maids, who curtseyed before leaving the room and, in no time at all, was back with a small crystal jugg filled with clear amber-coloured maple syrup. The jug was passed to Maid Dellilah, who quickly poured a spiral of the sweet secretion into his porridge. Sam stared at the swirl of gold sitting atop the porridge, amazed at the mundane wonder of the way it caught the morning sunlight before it slipped under the surface, a site that prompted him to resume eating with more gusto.
It was good, very good. The syrup added the perfect catalyst for both the oaty flavour of the Porridge and the salty undercurrent it carried. He was so wrapped up in eating that he didn’t notice Delilah still standing beside him with the jug, ready to pour more if he wanted to. He frowned, swallowing his mouthful and felt bad for the dark-skinned maid, “Oh, you don’t have to stand there…” he realised he had never said her name before, and the twisting in his stomach grew.
Realising what was going on, Delilah gave an understanding, though a tiny bit forced, smile for her Lady. “Maid Delilah, your Ladyship. And it’s quite fine. I’m glad you’re enjoying your breakfast.” she said before moving to return the jug to its proper place.
“Pity not the servant, Carmilla. There is pride in a job well done,” Trisha whispered into her ward’s ear.
Wanting to break the silence that had spread across the room, Yui was next to speak. “Ah, lovely as usual, my comments to the chef. But now that’s done, I can tell you all what I'm doing today,” she crossed her arms under her bust, looking like a smug fox now that the topic had returned to schedules. As per usual, she would be in medical for most of the day, fielding information back and forth between herself and her ‘learned colleagues’; she had medical maladies to take care of for members of the staff.
“Maid Adrianne did seem to be suffering from a sore throat when she attended to me last night,” Victoria recalled, a pleasant chill running up her spine at memories of her evening after playing with Sam had got her all hot and bothered.
“Bingo, she’s slotted in for 2PM.” Yui confirmed, fully aware that the cause of said ‘sore throat’ was poorly adapting to the learning curve of Deepthroating. ‘ A real shame given how much promise she shows at domestic duties. ’
“You’ll at least be joining us for lunch and evening entertainment?” Victoria enquired, flashing a sultry smirk at Sam when he paid closer attention.
“Oh, I am not missing that for the world. I need to see if your wife has been keeping you sharp in all the ways that matters. How about it, Carmilla?” the dark-haired doctor asked, a challenging tone in her voice that promised a troubling amount of fun.
Sam focused on the food and pretended and offered a noncommittal shrug. It was probably some other thinly veiled innuendo that he was to afraid to rise to.
One the Parlour Maids approached Yui and lent down to whisper something in her ear, Yui nodded and the Maid stepped back, picking up a small silver platter as she went.
Finally finishing off the porridge, Sam pushed the bowl away from him, happy that his hunger had finally been sated before burping.
“Carmilla!” Trisha snapped from his side, pointing at him like he had just shot someone.
“What?” he honestly asked, not knowing what he had done wrong.
“A Lady does not belch like a tawdry beer-swilling strumpit! If you feel the need to do such a vulgar thing, at least cover your mouth.”
He blushed in embarrassment at the woman’s fury; he’d never thought about not having to burp before because he spent most of his time alone, and Victoria had never seemed to care. If anything, she found it funny. But right now, Trisha looked like she was set to dunk his face into his empty porridge until he begged for her forgiveness. He desperately wanted to hide his face behind his teacup, but for once, neither of the Maids had refilled it.
As if hearing his prayers, a silver platter was placed on the desk in front of him, a crystal tumbler sitting atop it. He snatched at it, lifting it up to try and assuage Trisha’s perfectly measured fury, but caught himself before he swallowed it. He tilted the glass and looked at its contents. What he had initially taken for juice was far closer to water save for an ‘off green’ hew.
No one spoke, and a quick check revealed that all eyes were on him, watching him with predatory closeness. He returned to Trisha, holding the glass between them as if it would ward off the buttoned-up banshee. “What is this?” he asked her.
“A Tonic,” Trisha answered slowly, regaining her composure.
Yui snorted at the grossly non-scientific name.
“A what?” Sam replied, as far as he knew Tonics were something that gave you Superpowers in Bioshock Infinite, and while this place seemed to be outside the rules of sense he doubted they had that level of tech.
“By Mistress Victoria's decision, certain words and contemporary urns of phrase are to be replaced by period-appropriate dialect. A ‘Tonic’ is the closest analogy to the contents of that glass.” She explained, pushing her glasses up her nose until they glinted, “I believe the correct term in common parlance would be a vitamin supplement.”
He felt the urge to toss the contents across the room at that. More drugs! More infernal drugs. ‘ Is this one going to send me back to sleep? ’ he wondered, fingers pressing harder into the crystal and returned it to its tray.
“Do you recall what happens when you do not finish everything given to you?” Trisha asked glacially, her eyes daring Sam to push her far enough. Sam gulped, his hand aching in remembrance.
“Oi, can we not try to kill each other over breakfast?” Yui asked rhetorically, getting all to look at her, but she had eyes only for Sam. “It’s nothing nefarious. Given the control over your diet and body type, we have to supplement your vitamin intake to keep you healthy. You’re not happy unless you’re healthy.”
He looked at the glass, still unsure.
Taking a breath, Yui placed a hand over her heart. “I sware on my hippocratic oath that there is nothing in that ‘tonic’”, she glowered at Victoria, “that will bring you harm.”
While Sam’s judge in character had been proven to be frankly awful in this last week, he could find no lie or deceit in Yui’s words or face and given the looming threat of another punishment, he brought the class to his lips and began to drink.
“How's it taste?” Yui asked. She saw Victoria glowing with happiness out of the corner of her eye, another step along the long path.
Sam finished the tonic and put the glass down, relieved that Trisha was seemingly satisfied. “Like sour lime juice,” he wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
“Really? Interesting.” Yui was genuinely interested. First-person testimonials were always fascinating.
Victoria templed her fingers, “You are to drink three of these Ladyship Tonics per day. Breakfast, lunch and dinner.”
‘Great’ he thought sarcastically. Breakfast quickly wrapped up after that, and Victoria rose to her feet, matched by Yui and Trisha, who made Sam stand as well.
The Mistress of the house rounded the table and came to stand before her wife, the combination of his existing height and the tiny heels making him stand six inches taller than her in her slippers. It did nothing to detract from her power and gravitas, looking up into his eyes. She placed her hands on his waist and slowly teased them up his form, sending a chill fire of sensation through him before cupping his face. Leaning up, she captured him in a searing kiss that made his toes curl in their spat boots.
She was like a butterfly, all fluttering while pulling sensation and passion up from deep within the both of them. It was an insidiously wonderful feeling, inciting desire while keeping him painfully aware of where and what he was, savouring the contrast she tasted in his movements.
Victoria kissed him passionately until he began to move his own lips before pulling away, his face red.
“Good luck with your lessons today, Carmilla. You’ll be in my thoughts.” Victoria said before turning on her heel, leaving Sam to totter towards the door on unsteady legs as Trisha ushered him from the room.
The Governess had selected a room on the Ground Floor to serve as her primary classroom and quickly led the group to the prepared space and gracefully took her place at one end of the room. It was a large square room with rich hardwood floors, several polished tables and side dressers. The room was lit by a glittering crystal chandelier and a pair of tall and wide Elizabethan windows that let natural light spill in. Sam looked out of the window curiously, looking at the wide blue sky and sweeping green of the grounds rolling on seemingly forever. Several other items in the room caught his attention, most relegated to the far wall. A huge blackboard, pulled from the bowels of some ancient university, filled most of the far wall, though if it was an antique, it had none of the dust of a period piece, looking brand new.
To the right of the blackboard was a wooden lectern come desk that Trisha busied herself behind, rummaging through the contents of its draws.
She saw him looking at her and gestured for him to take a seat at one of the tables. “Bear with the busywork, Carmilla. We will begin shortly,” she said in a crisp, energetic tone, enthused at the prospect of starting.
Seeing nothing better to do, Sam crossed to the indicated table and took a seat, grimacing when one of his Lady’s Maids pushed the chair in so the front of his bodice touched the edge of the table. Effectively pinning him in position. If he wanted to get the space to slouch, he would have to slide the chair back, which would likely produce a racket and beckon Trisha’s ire.
Sam was correct in his assumption; Trisha would have made a complaint that rode the line between snide comment and bashful jest, even as she was preoccupied with her preparations. She pulled a number of items from the drawers and set them down on her desk and lectern. Pens, papers, and books were arranged in neat, perpendicular piles, all crisp and new. The eldest woman in the room took particular attention in a wide pale yellow box. Opening it revealed a cadre of pieces of chalk, one of which she drew from its slot with a fluid grace.
Trisha rolled the chalk between her gloved fingers, satisfied when no particulates stuck to the supple leather. “Ladies,” she said, causing Sam to look at her while she remained focused on the chalk, “You’re dismissed.”
Confusion rolled over Sam before he heard a ruffle of fabric, turning to see both his Lady’s Maids giving professional curtseys. They pair about faced and silently filed out of the room, leaving a perplexed Sam in their wake.
The woman in blue felt Sam’s confusion from across the room, “Worry not, Lady Carmilla,” she supplied, switching her vernacular and tone over to a formal setting of lesson time, “Your Lady’s Maids have their own lessons to attend to. A rise in status and responsibility brings with it new skills to learn. From the lowest pauper to the grandest Duke.”
Revulsion crawled under his skin at her clinically crafted sentence, but his curiously yet lingered. After all, the more information he had about this madhouse, the more he could look for a way out. “Learning what exactly?”
Trisha turned to look at Sam from half profile, “Learning what exactly…” She left the words hanging, her eyes expectant behind her glasses.
His eyes narrowed shortly before widening, “Learning what exactly, Miss Trisha?” he reiterated, galled when Trisha looked pleased at the decorum.
“I appreciate your eagerness to learn the ins and outs of your staff, Lady Carmilla. But perhaps we should get through the basics before you jump in at the deep end?” she replied rhetorically before beginning to write on the blackboard using the chalk.
The tap, clack and oddly warm scratch of chalk on a blackboard permeated the room, Trisha quickly writing her name in a neat and looping cursive, perfectly sized to draw the eye. Sam watched on as she also began to elegantly write out a collection of other information before she made an academic introduction.
“Pardon the redundant introduction, but it bears reiterating in a teaching capacity. My name is Trisha Moore, your governess and teacher. I am 32 years old and studied anthropology and education at the University of Exeter before attending finishing school at the behest and support of the Countess Beatrice Florence.”
Beatrice… that name rang familiar in Sam’s head, coming from Trisha’s own lips no less. It did not take him long to connect the dots that that was Victoria’s mother. ‘ And is she as crazy as Victoria, or did Victoria win the nuthouse lottery? ’ Sam thought wryly, following along with what the Governess was saying but growing steadily more alarmed when he saw what she was writing.
“Upon my graduation, I took up a job lecturing at the Finishing School and offering my services to the Florence Family for their gracious patronage. Over a year ago, your spouse, Mistress Victoria, approached me with the request to serve as your governess. While I admit her initial explanation gave me pause, I was quickly brought around and relished the prospect of such a unique teaching and mentoring experience.”
‘Pause’ was an understatement. While Trisha had met Victoria a scant number of times through her mother, having their first true conversation, including outlining the kidnap, re-education and reconditioning of the Viscountess’s paramour, was one hell of an icebreaker. ‘Relish’, on the other hand, was not a lie.
“While I like to consider myself an all-rounder in the paths of a sophisticate, my primary studies are education, etiquette, and anthropology. I am fluent in English, the four Romantic languages and German.” She underlined the first block of languages and bifurcated it with a vertical line, creating two columns that she named ‘Intermediate’ and ‘Beginner.’
“I have full professional proficiency in Japanese, Chinese -Mandarin and Cantonese- and Greek, as well as professional working knowledge of Korean, and I am currently in the opening stages of learning Arabic,” Trisha concluded, making the point to use the correct linguistic signifiers for her level of competency. She would not rest until she was fluent in all of them.
The list of languages threw Sam for a loop. He initially thought that she was probably embellishing the truth, ‘ 10,000-hour rule on ten languages… ’ he thought, quickly running the math. While he had never put much stock in the old skill-based idiom, it presented more than a decade of study. But as much as he wanted to reject the boast out of hand, he found he couldn’t. The 10,000-hour rule did not account for talent… and right now, the way Trisha spoke convinced Sam to silently listen on. The older woman spoke with such banal conviction, like a simple fact of life. And despite the fact he knew that everything here was a lie… he believed her.
And that terrified him.
‘Either she is a really good actor, or I’m overestimating her capacity for bullshit.’ He shuddered, trying to take his mind off the unassuming yet intimidating woman as she busied herself with more writing, seeking to fill the board it seemed.
When he was sure her back was to him fully, he began to look around the classroom again, first at the large window and then at the door. He wondered lightly if he could make a break for it, pressing his heels against the floor to-
THUMP !
“Umnph!?” the white-haired sissy squeaked in alarm, surprise lancing through him like a searing blade, looking around and suddenly aware of Trisha filling all of his vision. She looked down at him with the ghost of amusement flickering in her eyes, which quickly faded as she raised her crop. How had she crossed the distance so quickly with no sound at all? She raised her arm, the crop going high, and Sam braced himself for pain.
None came.
Instead, Trisha relaxed her arm and tapped the crop’s slapper to source of the prior thump. A collection of booklets printed on high class glossy paper and a pen resting on a pad beside them.
“What are these?” Sam asked, getting his heart rate under control.
As she sidled against the table, the hypnotic movement of a cobra, Trisha extended a gloved hand and thumbed Sam’s chin before tucking a stray strand of his stark white hair behind his ear. “Mistress Victoria says you are quite the scholar. And after taking a look at your work, I have to concur,” her eyes bored into his, “but academic papers don’t tell a story. I need to know your general knowledge baseline. To see what you know and where you are… lacking .” she said, lacing the voice with a veiled warning. “Then, once I know you through your words and actions, then I can truly teach you to be the Lady you were born to be. And to do that, I need to build within your new knowledge base, observe what needs refinement and what needs scrapping altogether.”
The hazel-eyed graduate tore his eyes from the Governess’s, dwelling again on the booklets. It fell into place moments later. She was asking him to sit an exam. He looked back up at her and deadpanned, “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh I am very serious. I wouldn’t have gone to the effort of writing all the questions if I didn't expect you to answer them.” she answered emphatically.
Anger bled into Sam’s consciousness like a swarm of angry wasps, stabbing into him with righteous fury. He bit his lip, tasting the elusive notes of the lip gloss they had fallaciously forced upon him. What was funny in the abstract sense was his current ire had nothing to do with his outfit or budding feminisation. No. “The last thing I ever want to do after graduating a bloody Master’s Degree is be made to sit an exam, Trisha.” he ground out, forgetting himself.
But if Sam was a swarm of angry wasps then his Governess was a tide of smoke, moving while in situ, emitting a pacifying air of sartorial power from every gold button on her long jacket. “The lesson has begun, Lady Carmilla. In this setting, I am Miss Trisha, and I don’t need to spell out what will befall you should I be given any more undue disrespect,” she exclaimed, rolling her crop between her fingers, her eyes watching Sam closely as his attention flickered to her favoured implement.
Sam gulped, faltering at the open threat, his thumping heart making him aware of himself and how bound he was already. The coolness of hard plastic against his inner thigh brought him to cooler waters.
Seeing the chink in his armour, the Governess capitalised, leaning against the table and taking the well-worn leather implement between both hands. “Tell me, Lady Carmilla, do you know what this is?”
“A…riding crop,” Sam answered slowly, drawing a short nod from the woman before fixing him with a narrow look.
“Correct, but you fail to see the layers of nuance to it. What it represents. Most people think of crops as implements of punishment, but in truth, they are objects used to correct a supplicant party towards what they should be doing. “Run faster. Turn this way. Pay attention. Suck harder.”” she listed, taking a measure of pleasure when she saw his discomfort at her suggestive imperatives. “You will learn what is asked of you, and I will encourage and correct. I don’t want to use this to punish you; something used outside its function upsets me,” the crop swished through the air as it was tapped against her hand with expert articulation. “But give me warrant to, and I will.”
When she is sure that he was compliant, Trisha pushed off the table and returned to the Blackboard, taking a seat behind her desk. “You have an hour to complete the test. If you have any questions or issues then you raise your hand. This is a classroom after all, respect its rules.”
Letting out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding in, Sam picked up the pen and uncapped it, his face suddenly turning ashen. Slowly, like a marionette pulled by a lank string, he raised his arm.
Trisha looked up from her journal and raised an eyebrow with such sculpted emphasis it practically screamed, ‘ Really? Already?.’
“Yes, Lady Carmilla, is there an issue?”
Sam deflated, looking down at the pen in his hand, its arrowhead-shaped nib glinting in the sun. “I… don’t know how to use a fountain pen, Miss Trisha.”
Trisha grimaced but, to her credit, did not fault Sam for his ignorance. ‘ That’s a mark away from the British School System, ’ she noted, thoughts rife with pule. She opened her desk and retrieved a pencil, crossing the classroom to give it to her charge, “I shan’t condemn you to something so base as a ballpoint pen. A pencil is a perfectly fine period-appropriate alternative. Now you have one hour. Do not waste it, Lady Carmilla.”
The hazel eyed young man opened the booklet and allowed himself to sink into the figuratively charged mindset of an exam. The test was on.
While he was initially put off by Trisha’s looming presence in the corner of his peripheral vision, Sam focused on the first few questions and found that their nature served as the perfect haven to drown out the world around him. There were a variety of questions on varying topics, but mostly came under the purview of general knowledge, and he quickly began to answer, feverish scribbling giving way to the slow and low scratch of pencil on paper as he put more effort and thought into the answers. The room seemed to fill with the sound and the deep air of concentration as Sam slowly began to work his way through the thick booklet.
He was watched most of the time by Trisha, but her vigil was not an unbroken one. From time to time, she would look away from him to read from the collection of books she had brought out or make several notes, always managing to detect whenever Sam chanced a look at her. After finishing writing up the minutes of what had already passed between them, Trisha pushed herself to her feet and used a blackboard eraser to wipe the chalky black surface clean, soon replaced by a new set of information that expanded across the board.
Those actions went unnoticed and unremarked upon by Sam who was too busy getting as deep into the exam paper as he could. It was awfully thick, and an hour quickly vapourised before your eyes when you were under pressure. Moreover, it had probably been about three years since he had cause to do any extended writing by hand; his Master’s Degree had been almost entirely confined to a keyboard, and as a result, his less-than-stellar handwriting had atrophied to a legible chicken scratch.
And yet despite this, he found himself making an almost blinding amount of progress once he had gotten into his scholarly groove, pleasantly surprised by the range of topics within the general knowledge. Sam was prompted to give succinct summaries of certain periods of history, define and provide synonyms for dozens of words and even a prolonged section on maths. Hitting his head up against a brick wall at a string of algebra, he took a chance and flicked to the back of the booklet and was presented with a formula sheet.
If Trisha was being truthful, and he hated that she had given him nothing to the contrary, then she had been very thorough in putting the booklet together.
‘There is some weird stuff, though, like how the question asks me to not show my working out.’ he thought, tapping the odd request beneath a particular question that required the use of the Quadratic Formula.
Returning to her place at her desk, Trisha looked at Sam contemplatively as he worked and felt pleased, templing her fingers as she watched him work. She liked the look he wore, one that went beyond the orchestra of emotions on his face. There was diligence in his posture that was accented by the elegance of his schooling attire, the faux bust created by the cinching of the corset a pleasant sight to behold. It was like seeing the rough outline of what was to come, a path that she was charged with leading him down.
Fifteen minutes later, Sam suddenly stiffened, his eyes narrowing. A beat passed, Trisha wondered what could have caused it, then twitched her lips up into a smirk. ‘Ah, she’s reached the first of those questions.’
Hazel eyes blinked owlishly at the page, not comprehending what they were seeing. He tried again to read the question and found it washing over him and leaving no comprehension behind. He tried again and again, but nothing would stick. Why would it stick? It had to be some kind of sick outlier or misprint.
Despite all the humdrum questions, Sam had stumbled upon a question that had utterly thrown him for how out of place and unexpected it was.
‘When giving one’s spouse cunnilingus the morning after a stressful evening, what would be the optimal conversation topic to set the spouse’s mind at ease and enhance the sexual service?’
The Lady’s pencil remained suspended above the dotted line of the answer box, frozen in the air like its holder had been turned to stone. His Governess pondered if she should say anything to jog him back into action when he began to write once again, skipping to the next question. His movements were imperceptibly more stilted than before, but Trisha let it slide. The smirk grew in size, this was a good sign in her mind.
Sam turned the page, beginning the next question, relieved to see that it was a normal question. ‘ It was a fluke, a random question she slipped in to fuck with me ,’ he checked off a few more boxes, using the fact to return himself to a semblance of calm and reason-
His hastily constructed mental sanctuary was caved in by a battering ram as he came across another question asking him to give an extended answer on how best to stave off a partner’s orgasm to prolong their pleasure.
Mental screams filled the confines of Sam’s head at such volume and intensity that they would have driven a banshee deaf had they breached his the confines of his cranium.
As the sadistic sophisticate had explained so succinctly, the test had been designed to acquire Sam’s baseline knowledge on as wide a breadth of subjects as possible. This included those of a tantric nature. This was to politely and intellectually inform the new Lady Florence, who currently looked about a few seconds shy of a conniption, that sex was going to be on the agenda at a banally common frequency. For every five questions there were to do with basic STEM testing and logic were tests of articulation, musings on the Victorian era, extending into testing the feminised lad on what he had been able to pick up about the house and its operations in the brief time he had been there.
‘How many layers of clothing constitute a Parisian Style Bustle Dress from 1895?’
‘Translate the meaning of ‘Innectis ad Perfectum Flore’ in the context of the Florence Legacy.’
‘Would you consider Lesbian intercourse a more attractive prospect than Polyamous play between mixed sex partners? Discuss.’
He did his best to answer what he could, abjectly refusing to answer the ones that were plainly smut. Finally, he reached the edge of his fraying nerves and put the pencil down. “Are you serious?” he asked bluntly.
Trisha looked back at him impassively, her face a stern mask, “If you have an issue, Lady Carmilla, raise your hand, and I shall deign to answer,” she cautioned in a monotone voice, a ghost of challenge in the words.
White hair bristled as Sam bit down on his lip, the cool condescension in those words burned without flame. He was about to…what? What could he do? Blurt out her own insufferable face looked like it could be smacked like many past teachers. ‘ Oh yes, that will probably land me with whatever detention she has dredged up from the Marquis de Sade's playbook. At least he was able to adapt to the time he spent in the Bastille before getting free.’
He took a deep breath, more to gather his wits than assuage any anger. Adapt. He had to adapt. If they were going to play by warped rules, then he would have to play by them, too. The Lady of Eden’s Rest picked his words well, and though he spoke them with a crackle to his voice, they had been well prepared. He raised his hand. “Miss Trisha, I have a question.”
“Yes, Lady Carmilla?” Trisha answered, curious at the note in Sam’s voice she couldn’t quite parse.
“If you have my files and know how far some of these… topics fall outside of my purview, making me unable to answer them. So, Miss Trisha, can you clarify their presence so I can provide an answer and know what I should do if I can’t?”
‘Clever girl,’ Trisha felt the appreciable thrill of witnessing intelligence in action, noting how her ward had quickly adapted to the mental issue. Able to construct a way of avoiding her promised retribution by framing it as an academic question. ‘It seems that physical stimuli are more reactive than logical ones for now…’ her glasses flashed as she smiled, ‘I’ll work it to my advantage in time.’
As a reward, she answered truthfully, explaining how their presence served as an introduction to a notion that was normal at Eden’s Rest. Sexual expression, exploration and submission were the same as any other basic skill and expectation. Carnal pursuits were normality; he had to become aware and accept that “you can discuss the artisanal pursuits of Caravaggio as your spouse brings you to raucous orgasm and fills you to the brim.”
The words made Sam wilt, visibly shivering in denial and revulsion, but it was clear from Trisha’s explanation that sex was the norm, but he would learn when that norm was permitted and encouraged and when it was to be rescinded. The mental image she painted was vivid, and his placid nature and awkwardness towards such a thing could not take it. The woman he loved doing something to him like that was…
“By my count, we have wasted ten minutes explaining that, but given it was born of your ignorance, I will give you ten minutes extra time at the end, Lady Carmilla.” Trisha pointed out to Sam’s relief, but she fixed him with a steely glare and added, “But you WILL be learning how to use a fountain pen; that is a promise.”
Sam returned to the test and did his best to answer the questions, the first pass mostly focusing on the purely academic or general knowledge and leaving the tantric questions for the second pass, some of which were so obscene, despite being written in a very dry way, that he could not bring himself to answer them and thus left them blank. Once finished, he found himself looking out the window again and noted glibly that the unblemished band of blue sky was dotted with even more white clouds, signalling that the weather was on the turn.
An hour and ten minutes after the test had begun, Trisha returned to the table and collected the test, flicking through the pages and skimming their contents as she returned to her place at the lectern. She gave Sam a few dark looks that made his heart skip a beat, but he was otherwise satisfied with his effort. “I’ll mark them this afternoon. But your work has earned two bits of information before we proceed further into this lesson.”
‘Good fucking God, when does it end!?’
Trisha opened the cabinet set into her lectern and withdrew a small plate with two silver Service Bells resting on it, bringing it over to Sam. “You should be familiar with what these are at this point,” she noted amicably, taking a seat beside her student, the bells between them. “Now is the time you learned how they worked.“
Schooled features did their due to hide Sam as best they could, but there was the ravenous beast of his own curiosity again at the back of his mind, like a spider feeling the threads of prior intrigues being plucked. He told himself he wasn’t interested. That it was just more pomp and circumstance. The apparatus of a machine designed to rob him of who he is. Alas, he still found the cool balm of intrigue upon him as he watched the intricate way Trisha picked up one of the bells by its handle and rang it, the tinkling sound echoing across the room.
The bell was like all the others that Sam had seen so far. A purely silver bell with a thin, six-inch-long handle poking from its top made from lacquered black wood.
Seconds drew out after the last echo of the bell died away before finally, without fail, the door opened, and a maid trooped in elegantly.
She was not one that Sam recognised even if he had seen all of them during his presentation, and depressingly, they did tend to blur together with their identical uniforms. Like all of the Maids, bar the Tantric, she wore the standard Maid’s uniform and was a pretty young woman roughly the same age as Sam himself. There was something oddly familiar about her though, an uncanny valley effect about her face with its large dark brown eyes, thick eyebrows and plump lips.
“Thank you for joining us, Maid Dorothy,” Trisha greeted, receiving a crisp curtsey in response. “An auspicious opportunity for any Maid to aid in her Lady’s education.”
“Yes, Governess Moore,” Maid Dorothy replied, giving both of them a beaming smile that was all teeth. She spoke with a clearly American accent that had a light warmth to it that reminded Sam of classical film. Dorothy turned her attention squarely on him and said, “It is an honour to do you service, my Lady.”
“Uh-m,” he cleared his throat, “yes. Thank you, Dorothy.” The servile woman beamed at his comment, making Sam feel incredibly awkward again.
Standing from her chair, Trisha positioned Dorothy in the middle of the open space and asked her to pull her hair to the side and pull her ears forward. The Maid complied instantly, exposing the backs of her ears to the now bewildered Sam.
“Hazard a guess as to the mechanics of the Service Bells, Lady Carmilla?” Trisha asked her ward, standing beside the Maid, entirely focused on Sam.
“Uhhm,” Sam awkwardly began, suddenly feeling much more self conscious by the new Maid’s presence even though she couldn’t see him. He unearthed his half backed guess from prior days, “The bells are electrical and when one is rung, it connects to some kind of switchboard.” he explained.
A small nod was given in reply from the gladdened Governess, “Half marks. You touch on the general area but miss the depth of the truth.” she said. Unhooking the crop from her side, she tapped the end of its slapper to the back of Maid Dorothy’s ears. “Every Maid at Eden’s Rest has a pair of subdermal speakers implanted in the tissue at the base of their ears. When a Service Bell is rung, the chime will be immediately played directly into the ears of whichever Maid is geographically closest to the one who rings it. As a result, they always know where to go and there is always someone close at hand.”
Horror gripped Sam, a sudden torrent of shock and dread. In retrospect, it made his prior interactions with the Maids and their hearing ‘phantom calls’ make sense. Trisha pushed on, dipping a hand into her jacket pocket.
“Explanations are best underscored with demonstrations, so let’s acquaint you with how intricate the system can be.” A length of cloth was pulled from Trisha’s pocket as she signalled for Dorothy to face Sam again. She quickly used the cloth to blindfold the woman before plugging each of her ears with the earplugs that had been wrapped in the cloth.
Effectively deaf and blind to the outside world, Dorothy remained at parade rest while Trisha took up the Service Bell again.
“The sequence and frequency of your chimes can be used to impart information to the Maid of what you need of them. Observe.” Trisha said before holding up the bell for Sam to see and beginning a series of nuanced movements to get the bell to ring in a certain way. Staccato series of tinkling sounds interspersed with forceful chimes as her fingers danced up and down the handle.
In truth, it just sounded like a hail of noise to Sam, he couldn’t even begin to fathom what was being asked. But the bell was set down and Dorothy removed her blindfold and earplugs.
“What was asked of you, Maid?” The bespectacled woman demanded, hoping to impart to Sam that it was okay to be callous from time to time with the staff.
It took the space of one blink for Maid Dorothy to answer, “You asked for my attention, that you require my assistance, that the assistance pertained to more than just you, Governess Moore, and that it has no predetermined end.” She listed off to a knowing Trisha and flabbergasted Sam.
“Good. Please leave the room and wait outside until you are called in again.” Trisha said dismissively, and the Maid excused herself with a curtsey, leaving Sam alone once again. The moment the door shut, Sam found himself both relieved and ill at ease.
“So much information… it’s insane.” he said, Trisha returning to her seat beside him and replacing the bell on its plate with the other.
“Indeed. The system is very intricate, and the language of chimes has complexities to it that take time to understand. But I have faith you will meet my expectations.” Trisha said with a genuine tone of encouragement that sent Sam reeling. The auburn-haired woman tapped the top of the Service Bell she had just used. “Almost every room at Eden’s Rest possesses at least one Service Bell placed within it. Each is keyed to a unique note that will tell the attending Maid which room the sound is coming from.”
Sam looked at the bell before his attention swept to the other one. They were almost identical but possessed a brown wooden handle with silver filigree set into the wood. “What about that one?”
Trisha picked up the bell and turned it to show him, revealing that it had a gold clapper. “This is your personal Service Bell. While it can be used to summon the closest Maid, it is also directly keyed to your Lady’s Maids. No matter the distance, if you ring this one, they will come to attend you.”
She passed him the bell, and Sam looked down at it like it was some kind of strange new lifeform that might shatter if he held it too hard. Trisha sighed, “Well give it a wave, Lady Carmilla.”
Looking between the two of them, Sam cautiously rang the bell, its chime ringing through the classroom. Seconds passed, Trisha’s eyes boring into his soul. God, what he wouldn’t do for- ‘Wait,’ he turned his head to look at the door. It remained closed and unmoving. Trisha watched, seeing the gears turn in his head. “She’s not coming in. Did I do it wrong?”
“Yes on both counts, my Lady. Bravo for realising; I was afraid I’d have to lead you by hand.” extending her hand, the Governess took hold of the hand that held the bell and began to carefully shift the position of his fingers along the wooden handle, pressing some in and pushing some out. “There is a pressure sensor in the handle. You must hold it correctly for the transmitter to activate.”
She made him do it again, this time with a precise, ‘limp-wristed’ movement. Sam would never admit it, but he was happy when the door opened a few seconds later, and Maid Dorothy reentered.
“You summoned me, my Lady?” the House Maid asked.
Trisha preened, “Yes she did, Maid, yes she did.”
He looked down at the bell, turning it lightly between his fingers. The twenty-two-year-old sissy did not like anything about this, but there was a strangely banal comfort that came with the fact that he had witnessed his action having some consequence. Perhaps it was because, for the first time since he had awoken strapped to that chair, he had some tiny, infinitesimally small control over what happened. It was barely anything… ‘but it’s a start,’ he thought, resolve hidden deep at his core.
But the more he thought about it, the more he was left conflicted.
Seeing the confliction, Trisha changed tac, deciding to lighten the load as it were. “While the ‘language of chimes’ is developed enough to commune intent, usually it is better to summon a member of staff and tell them your intent directly.”
“Why?” Sam asked honestly.
It was Maid Dorothy who answered.
“Because it is not a servant’s place to assume she knows what her Lady needs her for, only that she is needed and must attend.”
Sam looked up at the Maid, seeing the simple yet powerful conviction in her eyes, simply stating a fact of how the world worked. “Please leave, Dorothy.”
Maid Dorothy offered a curtsey and left, leaving Sam and Trisha alone again.
Sadistic glee arched like phosphorescent lighting within the Governess, a lesson had been learned here and a strong emotion with it. It would hew itself into her ward and even if he rebelled against it, he could never shake the emotions and knowledge that he had learned it.
“Let’s change tack.” Trisha took back the bells and returned them to the Lectern cupboard before rapping her crop against the blackboard, “Now starts the meat of the lesson.”
Leaning back into his chair, Sam read off the large block capital title written over everything that Trisha had written on the board while they had been testing.
SYLLABUS
-Etiquette and Graces
-Scholarly Pursuits and Intellectual Acumen
-Household Responsibilities
-Ladyship Acclimatisation
-Victorian Adaptation and Tuning
-Wifely Skills and Pastimes
“During your time under my tutelage, your syllabus can be broken down into six overarching areas. 1)” Trisha wrapped her crop against the board again beside the first of the six elements, “Etiquette and Graces: How to walk, talk and act in given situations ranging from the banal to the extraordinary both in the capacity as a Lady of the aristocracy and as Mistress Victoria’s wife.” she dragged the slapper away and struck it against the blackboard again on the second line, causing Sam to flinch. “2) Scholarly Pursuits and Intellectual Acumen: Building and refining of your existing knowledge base and new topics in accordance with both self-betterment and your wife’s wills and desires.”
He listened to his Governess as she explained, her intentionally vague wording holding just enough information to leave him with an inkling of what it could entail but a forebodingly lacking indication of what it could include.
“3) Household Responsibilities: Learning the goings on of Eden’s Rest and how to navigate your position as Lady of the House. 4) Ladyship Acclimatisation: Acclimatising to the body, mindset and responsibilities as the Lady of Eden’s Rest.” Trisha pointed at Sam with the crop before making a sweeping gesture over the entire room, a grand movement to include all he saw of the antiquated classroom into her diatribe. “5) Victorian Adaptation and Tuning: Introducing Victorian elements - either verbatim from the period or improved - to your repertoire or tuning your existing likes and pastimes into a more Victorian mode.”
She was in motion then, turning in such a way that her jacket’s tails flared out behind her, almost ruffling in an impossible wind, a flair of theatrics to hammer home the last point, professional smile in place and eyes shimmering with restrained excitement. “6) Wifely Skills and Pastimes: ” the older woman chirped, a knowingly sultry undertone to the way she rumbled the words, thick with dictatorial predation. “Practices that reflect being a woman in all ways, and those most wifely duties of all…” A thought struck Trisha, inspiration that was quickly woven into her words. “All my lessons, tasks and projects can fall within, to borrow your family’s floral parlance, these six petals.”
Sam let his head fall to rest against his chest, overwhelmed by all of this. The fact that Trisha claimed to have fashioned a whole educational course for something so… twisted. So much room to go wrong, downing him in a sea of details and nuance. He suddenly stopped, unable to lower his head any further, something obstructing his path.
Trisha gently lifted her crop’s slapper from where it rested under Sam’s chin, slowly levering his head up until he was forced to look up at her. She leant forward, lowering her face towards his while making sure she was just above him, forcing him to keep looking up at her. “Any questions, Lady Carmilla?”
The length of corded leather that made up most of the equestrian implement stretched out between both of their faces, separating them. Sam was held in place while Trisha had all the freedom in the world. Yet she maintained her position, not deviating even a millimetre to stare into his twinkling hazel eyes, watching the silk choke around his neck jump up and down when he gulped.
“Where do you even start?” he asked honestly.
The pressure beneath his jaw persisted for a few seconds as Trisha scrutinised him before finally she pulled it away, “As with any newborn, walking and speech, the rest will follow.”
Bidding the surprised young man to stand, Trisha went to go retrieve something from the lectern as Sam slid the chair out from under himself.
Getting up slowly, he groaned at the stiffness and aches in his legs, the small flared heels on the boots sending sparks of aching pain up into his calves. He hadn’t realised how tiring it was to simply sit in the same place for so long. He was grateful for the chance to stretch them and tried to rub some life back into them through the floor-length skirt, shivering when he felt the smooth silk stocking beneath slide against his ministrations.
He set those thoughts aside when Trisha cleared her throat. The blue-clad Governess held up a relatively small black book, and Sam’s face turned ashen, instantly grasping what she intended him to do.
“Grace is a facet of elegance, the light that shines through modesty. Grace must fill every breath you make and step you take. It is of paramount importance that you engrave it into everything you ever do.” Trisha told him, holding up the black book and balancing it on the tip of her finger. “Thankfully, this was a skill that the Victorians understood and developed into a simple-to-understand exercise. Book Balancing.”
Narrowing his eyes at the innocent-looking book, Sam once again became the personification of consternation. He knew what Book Balancing was, even with his fragmentary knowledge of his girlfriend’s namesake era. He’d seen the image dozens of times spread across media and mentioned as a joke in countless sketches. Aspirant women trying to walk ludicrous loops of their homes with a book wobbling atop their heads.
Trisha noted his slight visual tell and took it as a sign to continue, “It is also a simple way for you to become aware of your personal balance and how to maintain it on the move.” she said, Sam’s annoyance growing when she added, “A needed step right now because frankly, your posture is a travesty for a woman of the Peerage, married in or not.”
Sam scoffed, uncaring of the response. “If I’m so unladylike, why do you still insist on making me one?”
In retrospect, he shouldn’t have pushed his luck. All happiness fled from Trisha’s face before she marched towards him, rearing her free hand back and, with no warning, slapped him across the face.
“Agh!” he cried, his cheek stinging, raising his hand to the quickly pinkening flesh. A gloved hand locked around his wrist, the hide vice holding him tight. Trisha glared at him balefully.
“Do not forget your place, Lady Carmilla.” she voiced, words glacial despite the fire in her eyes. “Would you like another, or has the lesson begun to sink in yet?”
Sam bowed his head, cringing away from the dominant woman, his will crumbling. She was so much shorter than him but commanded an air that made him feel like the child she treated him as. “...Yes, Miss Trisha.”
“Good,” she stood on her tiptoes to lessen the height difference between them and placed the book on top of his head, making micro adjustments with her fingers until it remained still. “The important thing is to maintain your lateral stillness. Your corset should hold your spine to the correct position, so let it guide you.”
Content that the book wouldn’t fall despite the odd wobble from Sam shifting his weight between the heels, Trisha repositioned to the other end of the room, back to the blackboard. “The task is simple. Walk from one end of the classroom to the other without letting the book fall. Begin.”
It seemed easy enough. He lifted his foot, long legs taking his first step-
‘Click-clak’ THUD!
The book tumbled from his head and hit the floor with a horrid bang.
Brown eyes stared at him through glass lenses, “Pick it up and start again.” Trisha said in a clipt voice, mentally counting the first of what would turn out to be many, many failures.
The next twenty minutes could be accurately described as ‘trying to unlock a door with numb fingers.’ you knew what you had to do, and the task itself was seemingly easy, but there was always something that caused a spectacular failure. For Sam, it was getting used to the change in gait that came with walking in heels, even in ones as short as the ones on his boot. For whatever reason, he kept putting his heel down second, causing his entire body to shudder just enough to dislodge the book from his head.
He was not left ignorant for long with Trisha being all too happy to call out instructions, tips and orders from the sidelines. Eventually he was able to consciously force his legs to make the correct ‘heel to toe’ motion, his heels making a clear ‘click’ underfoot as he was able to finally get from one side of the room to the other with the book in place.
“Again.”
He grumbled under his breath, turning around and beginning another slow and stilted click-clack walk across the hard wooden floor.
Every action was observed and committed to memory by Trisha who now walked alongside her ward, waving her crop like a marching band’s drum major. She internalised that this simple action was operating under the progressive overload. Go until the skill in its current state is natural before increasing the load and stipulations. It was going to be hard work, but her ward had taken the first steps.
Without consciously noticing it, Trisha smiled in sadistic enjoyment, basking in the truth she lived by. ‘People doing what they are told is their own reward.’
Notes:
Annnd done. Ta da! As you can likely tell given how much time she took up of the chapter's runtime but the focus for this chapter (and part of the next) was on Trisha and her relationship to Sam. I hope it proved a fun read and well worth the wait.
The next chapter is fully summarised and structured out and is set for a release date of the first half of November, probably in the 35k word range.
P.S. the reason Sam experienced 'uncanny valley' when looking at Maid Dorothy is because her facial features description were based on Judy Garland who played Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. All 70 staff members have individual appearances that I hope unravel in the coming chapters even if they are a 'background element'.
and with all that said and sone, I thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed the chapter and again apologise for the delay.
Chapter 5: Chapter 4: First Time for Everything
Summary:
Summer heat and evening games lead to Victoria taking Sam over a threshold he will never return from.
Notes:
Good Lord, SurvileSupplicant getting a chapter of Eden out on time? Preposterous!
Alas, good fortune, a wonderful beta and probably half of Columbia's national coffee export came together to get this chapter out not only on time but I think pretty bloody good.
A massive shoutout to one Annabellum who beta read this chapter for me and helped me fight through the writers block that hit me for the first few days of this chapter being written. Loviante on BlueSky whose wonderful art was a major mood setter and inspiration for this chapter, their art is well and truly wonderful and you should go give them all the love their sinfully classy work disserves.
Now, into the the garden we go~
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The operations of Eden’s Rest ran like clockwork no matter which part of the massive estate was observed. Usually, that meant a steady stream of House Maids moving from room to room to put a shine on the already immaculate decor. It may have been cliche, but throughout the manor, two women teams could be seen leaning up on their tiptoes to dust bookshelves with feather dusters, making use of micro-vacuum cleaners to suck up what little dust they could find. Once done, one slipped on a pair of white linen gloves and ran a finger over every surface in a given room, not satisfied until they could see no grey spattering on the tip of the white gloved digit. Nodding in satisfaction, they exited the room and moved to the next to repeat the process.
It was a monotonous collection of tasks, but they weren’t without variation. Floors needed scrubbing, carpets needed to be beaten, light fixtures needed to be checked in case their bulbs had begun to weaken. However, despite the great pride put into the effort it took to keep the Rest as a pinnacle of aristocratic pride, it was not without subtle modern methods of streamlining the process. Most rooms were affixed with discreet air conditioning that sucked out the majority of the dust before it could settle, and the heat and humidity of a given room could be fiddled just so. For the most part, the libraries and galleries that filled whole wings of the manor and even entire halls were kept at a strict 20.5°C, with humidity dictated by the particular contents of the room in question.
All of this was, of course, controlled by computer systems that none but the staff would ever see.
Victoria stood in another such place that would usually never be seen by visitors nor staff, looking over the contents of a long table covered by a non-static fabric cloth. It was a holding area of sorts adjacent to the loading dock at the rear of the house, and the objects on the table were very familiar. The Viscountess looked over the sum total of her and Sam’s former student accommodation, every item separated and placed beside one another with tags indicating their identity and function, though some of them were quite obvious. Victoria looked in through the glass panel on the side of Sam’s PC, a black tower that was in sharp opposition to the surroundings or the other women in the room.
Today she had chosen to wear something a little more utilitarian to match Sam’s schooling attire. She wore a pleated skirt in jade green that ran to mid calf with gold detailing at the hem and a matching petticoat. Above this was a matching jade green bodice jacket that was belted at the waist, revealing a white lace blouse with a high collar and frilled cuffs that poked out at her wrists. Her long raven black hair had been gathered in a tastefully thin braid that ran down between her shoulder blades. Lastly she wore a pair of black patent leather knee high boots that were partially obscured by her dress.
“Is this everything?” she asked, not turning to look at Johanna, who stood at one end of the table with a clipboard under her arm. Victoria was sure that it was, but her place demanded that she verify these things. After all, when it came to disappearing someone from the modern world, one had to be thorough.
Johanna flicked through the pages of the clipboard before snapping off a crisp nod. “Yes, everything of note that you asked us to bring up from London. As requested, Lady Carmilla’s former wardrobe has already been taken down to the incinerator, save the few items you requested we preserve.” she said respectfully, indicating a small pile of clothes further down the table. Most of it was Victoria’s, simple outfits of high quality but modern designs, but there were a few items that were recognisably Sam’s. A few scarves, a tweed jacket Victoria had bought for him to wear when she needed him to stand in as a model for a painting she had as a project, and some very fluffy dressing gowns. Johanna met her Mistress’s blue eyes with her own green, “Would you like me to read off the manifest?”
Victoria waved a hand dismissively at the offer, “No, that’s quite alright, Johanna. Please forward a digital copy to me and begin taking them down to storage once appropriately prepared.” she ordered.
The Finnish Valet clicked her heels together and nodded, “At once, Mistress.” she said before snapping her fingers. As one, several maids approached from where they had been standing at the edge of the room and began to work as they had been ordered. They were mostly House Maids, but surprisingly three of them wore the short white uniforms and armbands of Yui’s Nurse Maids. The maids took items of their choice under the Valet’s direction as Victoria turned to leave, leaving them to their task. The Mistress’ items were far easier to sort out with her possessions either sent to her personal chambers, the galleries or into storage if they already had the same thing at the house.
However, Sam’s eclectic collection of possessions was treated with far greater care. The House Maids packed solid items into bubble wrap and padded fly cases for storage while the clothing was marked to be sent off for when the Seamstress would drop by the manor to refit it for Carmilla’s new mode of dress. While they worked on that the trio of Nurse Maids had lifted the PC tower over to a side table and begun the process of dismantling it. Their nimble fingers wielded screwdrivers to unlink every component of value that they laid out for proper storage and later reintegration into one of the many computers at Eden. Sam’s SSD’s were hooked up to a micro-server, which began the quick process of cracking them and transferring all the files into Eden’s Rest’s network.
Once the information was safe, the drives were wiped, then marked for destruction along with the case via a pulveriser in the basement. Not to be outdone by their tech savvy Asian counterparts, the House Maids took to Sam’s collection of printed media with a fastidiousness that bordered on mastery. Books, magazines, manga and comic books were slipped inside plastic sleeves, which were then vacuum sealed and locked inside a padded trunk that was wheeled into the bowels of the house for storage.
Leaving the maids to their work, Victoria strode through the halls with a spring in her step, her painted lips curled in a genial smile as she made her way back to her private study on the third floor. The size of the house meant any journey from one side to the other could be counted as light exercise, and she needed it to burn off the waves of excess energy that bubbled within her like a fresh spring. Today was the day. The day that she had been dreaming of for years, and while she wanted to run and whoop through the halls, she had to keep up some level of decorum. At least until tonight, when at last she could show Carmilla just how much she loved her.
Taking a seat at her desk, the wood panelled room was quickly filled with the sound of rapid typing as Victoria attempted to work through her excitement, pouring her energies into paperwork she’d been putting off. Her screen was filled with a collection of spreadsheets, seemingly innocuous excel documents, that to an outside observer would look like nothing more than the busywork that came with any position of power and wealth.
In some respects, they would be correct. Victoria was semi-divorced from the running of FMC and while Yui’s presence and work technically put Eden’s Rest as part of the R&D side of the company, the bulk of the nitty gritty company running was run by the rest of the family.. Still, she had to appraise herself of the current goings on. She would be an idiot to not be fully aware of her family’s business, if only to avoid feeling out of the loop at family gossip. ‘I swear to Lilith if Arthur makes some snide comment about export tariffs to Panama because he’s buddy buddy with the CEO of Viviro Shipping one more time I’m going to slip laxatives into his espresso!’ she thought impishly as she replied to a particularly aggravating chain of emails, clicking through the spreadsheets and committing the information to memory.
Her feelings soured a mote at that thought but she endeavoured to keep herself positive. She was home, her wife was with her, and soon enough she would be onto much more enjoyable pursuits. Her desktop emitted a melodic chime as a new email came in, and mousing over it revealed it was the manifest that Johanna had sent through as ordered. Victoria scrolled through it, pleasantly surprised at some of the items she hadn’t known her wife possessed. Considering for a moment, she began composing a reply, detailing what she wanted done to each specific item.
The words she’d chosen, no matter how innocuous, would start a chain of emails that would reach far beyond just the house and into the numerous private subsidiaries that offered services far beyond the ken of the rabble.
The raven haired woman relaxed back into the creaking leather of her office chair with an air of satisfaction, enjoying the feeling of internal warmth as the light of the sun coming in through the window had baked the chair to the perfect temperature. Her thoughts turned to Carmilla, her imagination snatching at threads of intrigue and weaving a tapestry of what she was doing right now. And yes, she thought of her wife as a she already. How could she not?
The Florence Legacy was to uplift the one you had formed a bond with to the position you thought them worthy of, and in Victoria’s mind that made Carmilla her wife, a woman of striking beauty and refined submission, a model of demure perfection. The world would come to see that as if it had always been that way, and if Carmilla fought back, well, it would be as though sand against the waves. .
Eventually, Victoria opened her eyes, content with a few minutes alone with her thoughts, and moused over to a new folder, continuing her work in making sure the world conformed to the new facet of reality she was set upon editing. The monitor was once again filled with a collection of spreadsheets, word documents and mundane statistic keeping, but the sight of these filled the Mistress of the house with joy. What it actually was, was a ledger that kept track of the ‘necessary tidywork’ of her ‘claiming’ of Sam and transition to Carmilla.
She busied herself first with the leftover work of her last session, paying off the individuals and agencies that had been used to obtain the sum total of Samuel Hayes’s personal records. There was no direct line connection between Victoria or FMC with the private parties that had gathered the information, the payments were broken into uneven amounts that were laundered through layers upon layers of shell companies before filtering their way into the pockets of the obtainers. Some would receive their money as cash from a dead drop. Others in material assets gained by rigging the results of certain competitions and even some government employees would find their tax rebates next April a little fatter than usual.
Victoria knew that such a thing would have been far easier had she leaned on FMC’s corporate espionage division, but the Legacy compelled her to exercise her imagination and intelligence on achieving her desires, not just the easy path. ‘ Plus I don’t want the results of my efforts being shown off to the others before they have borne fruit, ’ she mused, switching to the next set of documents. A keystroke and a click, and a subtle program was uploaded to the internet, which set to work scrubbing Sam’s digital footprint from the web while she focused on amending her own records to reflect the new ‘story’ she was crafting for them both.
Opening up a video file revealed a grainy series of CCTV footage depicting a Jaguar limousine parked in front of what was clearly their former student accommodation building, and Victoria was pleased to see the blue of her dress showing through enough to identify her and Sam getting into the limo before driving off. The footage was deleted and replaced by one of an identical street, lacking the car and replaced with what appeared to be ‘Sam’ leaving the place on his own and walking off into the streets of London never to be seen again. The Hamalainen sisters had been charged with both the collection of their things but also installing a backdoor into the University of London’s systems, letting them grab the any footage of their stylish exit from the Uni as well as allowing them to upload the deepfaked alternative that they had been able to whip up.
‘I usually wouldn’t touch AI image generation with a 10 foot pole, but when it comes to replacing trash footage with something that should be trash I guess it’s a fine tool.’ Victoria thought, uploading the new footage. She pursed her lips in thought, ‘I do wonder if I should have got in contact with those two disappearers Yui recommended. Apparently they're at the top of their game… though a little eccentric.’
The irony of Victoria Florence accusing someone of being eccentric, considering what she thought of as a pleasant evening was so thick it could choke someone out. Though it did not register for Victoria, her face turning genuinely solemn as she stared at the pair of reports in front of her. The one on the left was for Samuel Hayes, while the one on the right was for a John Doe. This was a grisly bit of business that she treated with the solemn respect it deserved. The John Doe bore a passing resemblance to Sam, and she quickly transferred their biometrics to replace the ones that organisations had on file for her wife’s former identity.
She sighed upon completing the cleanup work, opening up a long text document that she had been working on since last night, her mood immediately improving. While the act of ‘erasing’ Sam digitally was a dispassionate affair, the process of building up ‘Carmilla’ was much more entertaining.
She had an in depth list of information and points of intrigue that she was weaving together into her Carmilla’s little tapestry of what brought ‘her’ to become the wife of the resident viscountess. This would be the history that the rest of the world would see on the few times that they would need to venture out into the world beyond Eden’s Rest.
Humming a wordless tune to herself, Victoria reviewed the information she had so far, relishing the enjoyment that came from knowing somewhere in the house her wife was being taught to match it.
‘Carmilla [BLANK] was born in Devon in the year 2000 and was left in the care of St Joan’s Orphanage for the first decade of her life, ’ the Viscountess read, knowing full well that ‘St Joan’s Orphanage’ only existed on paper as an FMC shell company, she ignored the [BLANK] staring back at her like a sore thumb. ‘ It is strongly believed that she was abandoned due to being born with a prominent case of Oculocutaneous Albinism. At age 10 she was transferred to a French branch of the orphanage chain where FMC could study her rare case of the pigment issue. She began to attend Pierre and Marie Curie University in Paris in 2018.’
Her choice of having Carmilla having ping ponged back from between the UK and France was a twofold decision. On the one hand it made for an easy target to fabricate a life story if most of the outside schooling was outside of the country. All of Sam’s published work and diploma’s were set to be republished under Pierre and Marie Curie University as Carmilla’s work, keeping her little blossom’s hard earned work but reframing it into a ‘story’ devised by Victoria. Secondly, it would force Carmilla to have to learn how to speak French in order to blend in with her new backstory, providing an overarching impetus to excel at studies that would turn her into a cosmopolitan Lady of the House.
‘And…’ Victoria blushed faintly, a warmth building in her nethers at the thought of Carmilla crying out in a dozen languages as they made love, ‘I’m a sucker for a sexy accent.’
Many little bits and pieces of information were in the process of being seeded in the necessary databases to make everything look legitimate. From online conversations on Twitter and other forums to childhood photos, and even doctors notes from hospital visits to help study Carmilla’s ‘Albinism’. Victoria had experienced an absolute surge of creativity, using the image of her ashen haired wife presenting herself to the staff as the grand inspiration. But for all of the fine details, it was not yet perfect, and a glaring issue was becoming more and more annoying to Victoria the longer she tried to put it out of her mind.
[BLANK]
She looked over a rough animatic she had sketched up of what was to be a series of photos of Carmilla shortly after arriving in France. She would have to dedicate some time to sourcing period appropriate clothing for the eventual model stand-in to wear, but for now Carmilla’s sketched stand-in wore a decidedly pretty summer dress. She had yet to pick a colour for it so for now it had been left [BLANK].
Her hand right clicked by mistake, a spasm that was uncalled for for one in control of their body and she stared at it accusingly. She held the look with her hand for a full three seconds before sagging and pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation. All over the various documents she had laid out with regard to Carmilla’s life, there was a glaring commonality on everything dated from before her becoming the Lady Florence, namely what she had been in the years leading up to that.
She could hardly keep Hayes as a maiden name because not only was that tauntingly gauche but would be a blemish on what was supposed to be a fresh start for her wife. And the perfection in the foundation had to be paramount. Where things were guided after that had a level of flux to it, but for this to work and not drive Victoria up the wall. It would rankle her to the point where she could not sleep, and she’d have to relieve her frustrations in creative ways, hopefully with Carmilla.
The blue-eyed aristocrat knew that it was in truth a tiny issue that Carmilla would scoff at had she heard her, but it was needling her close to admit something she did not want to. “I’m not very good at coming up with names for things.” she admitted aloud, happy that she was alone in the study. She rolled backwards in her office chair and twirled in it childishly, her vision flashing between the office and green planes sprawling out beyond the window. How hard was it to come up with a blasted maiden name? ‘ It’s not like it overly matters, after all she’s already Carmilla Florence and hardly will be a maiden that much longer… ’ Her chair’s spin came to a stop facing the computer, a lightbulb sparking to life above her head as inspiration struck her.
“A maiden…” she murmured, smirking in amusement before rolling forwards and erasing all the [BLANK]’s from the document, “Never let it be said I don’t have a flair for the dramatic,” she chuckled, entering the name she had seized from the fires of inspiration.
Given name: Carmilla
Maiden name: Virgo
Some hours later, upon discovering what her best friend’s choice had been, Yui would snort with laughter, calling Victoria a hack of a writer but happily updating her notes to mix the new maiden name.
A rap at the door cut through Victoria’s musings and she pushed the computer's monitor to one side to get an unobstructed view of the door. “Enter,” she called.
The door opened inwards to admit Diana, who held a fine china cup on a small platter in one hand. “Good morning, Mistress Victoria. I thought a spot of midmorning tea wouldn’t go amiss.” she said in a chipper voice, closing the door behind her as she entered, the ring of keys at her waist jangling lightly.
Victoria nodded in kind, pleased to see her Housekeeper, “Please, work without herbal supplements is just not the same.”
Diana chuckled at Victoria’s turn of phrase, crossing the room with the streaming cup not swaying at all in her hand. “Were you a lesser woman I’d consider having your Lady’s Maids spying to see if you were smoking weed when painting, but I raised you too well for such tawdry vices.” Diana said, placing the cup and saucer on a waiting coaster beside Victoria. “Earl Grey. I figured you needed some heat without peaks.”
“Thank you, Diana.” Victoria lifted the cup and sipped at it, enjoying the rich flavour. In all the years she had known Diana, the steel haired woman had never failed to pick the right drink for the right moment. She raised an eyebrow as she took note of what her housekeeper had actually said. “If I had taken up any kind of drug in my teens, you would have been so angry with me I would have had to sleep with the light on in fear you would come lunging out of the wardrobe when I least expected it. That would have made for an awkward evening with Yui.”
“No less awkward than taking up vices that are non-productive. If people wish to melt their minds on hemp or heroin then that’s their prerogative. But do not do it in a place where the smell can seep into the uniform.” Diana harrumphed, having banished Yui’s smoke and later vape breaks outside of the building.
“I didn’t expect to start today debating recreational drug use with you, Diana. A+ for taking the initiative of amusing the heiress to a pharmaceutical empire.” Both women giggled at the shared joke and Victoria drank another draft of the tea before indicating the chair opposite her. “You may sit.”
“Thank you, Mistress,” Diana replied, smoothing down her linen uniform and gracefully sinking into the offered chair. “I must say you are looking particularly verdant today. Am I correct in assuming you are trying to match the Lady Florence’s schooling attire?”
There was very little Victoria could ever slip past Diana, she had known her for too long to not. “Correct. Bustles may be beautiful, but standing in solidarity with one’s wife when she is adapting to her new role in life is a mark of pride for any spouse.”
Diana agreed wholeheartedly, pleased with the path that her Mistress was taking towards her goals, but as they began to fall into a conversation about how things were going in the house, she took notice of a tense excitement building up in the aristocrat. The beautiful middle aged housekeeper brought up any lingering issues she thought needed hearing, such as the fact that some of the morning shift House Maids were taking advantage of change over to gossip. “What would you suggest as a punishment if they continue?”
“Hmm,” Victoria thought about the issue for a few seconds, quickly devisiong a simple but effective deterrent for those Housemaids who still pushed their luck. “You believe it is mostly amongst the newer staff?” she received an affirmative nod. “If they don’t shape up promptly, then have them wear horsehair slips as their uniform base layer for a week, the long sleeved ones. That should make them value their idle tongues, if it leads to an acute itch they are forbidden to scratch.”
Victoria liked that thought, the image of a novice maid bending over to scrub at the floor only for the rough horsehair of their slips to scratch at their naked bodies deep beneath their uniforms. Teaching Carmilla to identify each twitch along the body and how they differed between aggravation, itching and arousal.
“Thoughts on your wife?” Diana cut in.
Victoria shook her head to rid herself of the lewd thoughts if only to conduct herself better. “Perhaps. After all, tonight is the night I teach her the joys of being a woman.”
Diana gave an amused sniff, looking over the rims of her half moon glasses to look at her Mistress. She could still see the young girl from so long ago but grown into her adulthood beautifully, like a lioness at rest. “It makes me happy to know that you have achieved that which you set out to do so long ago. I taught you well.”
A pleasant silence fell between them, broken only by the occasional sips of tea by the Mistress of the house. Victoria scrutinised the older woman subtly, her greek features were beautiful as any who worked at Eden’s Rest, but Diana wore her age on her sleeve, having only turned 46 very recently. Her hair was not naturally its burnished steel colour, but Diana had dyed it that way because she felt it ‘fit the position’ better. A predatory air emerged from Victoria then, tilting her head to one side as she examined her housekeeper.
“You know… Just because I have a wife of my own now, doesn’t mean I don’t still appreciate the one who showed me to my own womanhood,” she drawled, crossing one leg over the other and leaning forwards towards Diana to seemingly get a better look at her.
The other woman saw the predatory glint in her Mistress’ eyes as soon as it was born but did not recoil, instead remaining still and lifting her chin, baring her neck, “It was a joy born from a labour of love, Mistress Victoria, it was its own reward.” she said, keeping her tone professional and demure, but she did not rebuff the black haired aristocrat.
Hearing no rebuttal in her Housekeeper’s voice, Victoria’s soft smile deepened to a grin. She recrossed her legs, before slowly getting to her feet and rounding her table, trailing her fingers along its dark mahogany surface with a sensual sweep. Diana tracked her every move, but still offered no rebuke of what she knew was slowly rising in her Mistress. “It is not a servant’s place to say when a reward is due or not, Diana. I could punish you for such impudence~” Victoria teased the older woman, coming before her seated form and resting her back against the front of the desk.
“I am quite familiar with your rights as head of the house, Mistress Victoria, and will support any decision you make.” Diana said, offering nothing but neutral peasantry through her voice. Internally though she could hear her heart begging to beat faster, kept under control by her slow and even breaths, techniques that she had taught Victoria long ago. Techniques she could see Victoria using now. “I only offer sage advice when it is required, or observations if they are wanted.”
Victoria advanced a step slowly, a measured movement that conveyed grace and power. Looking down at the seated housekeeper, she marvelled again at just how beautiful the Greek woman’s uniform was. All Victorian Maid’s uniforms were works of art, but the simple embellishments to Diana’s set her so far apart from her peers and underlings that she practically shone as an onyx pillar in the light of the room. She trailed her fingers up Diana’s apron covered bodice and rested her hand on the uniform’s puffed shoulder, enjoying the way it cushioned her fingers as she squeezed. “Then what would you advise if, by some unhappy accident, I had forgotten the correct way to kiss another woman with passion?”
Shifting her gaze from between the hand and Victoria, Diana felt an old warmth bloom in her chest, tinged with wry amusement. It had been a few years, but she was willing to indulge her Mistress. She turned her head to face to Victoria’s hand, not breaking eye contact, “Then I would advise practice with one whom you are comfortable with,” she blew lightly on Victoria’s fingers, sending thrilled pleasure up the younger woman’s body, the predatory dominance that came so naturally to the Florence Viscountess bidding her to stand.
She did not resist, getting to her feet and stood the same height as Victoria. She was two inches taller than Victoria flat footed, only the low block heels on Victoria’s shiny black boots kept them on the same footing. Victoria dragged her hand down her arms, feeling the slippery black satin run like water under her fingers. Victoria was tempered steel fresh from the forge, the cool darkness of Diana’s uniform washed over it, producing metaphorical clouds of desire as she took hold of the Housekeeper’s tight waist, delighted to feel the stiffly boned corset beneath.
“Attired to perfection,” Victoria purred, drawing closer. Diana snaked her own arms around the younger woman’s torso, slowly bringing their torsos together. Each gave a small noise of appreciation, the simple pleasure of their chests pressing against one another a simple joy that brought them both arousal.
“I would not wear anything less than perfection, I set an example for all who follow me.” Diana breathed, the tassels of her mop cap swaying with the movements of their bodies. Victoria began to poke and squeeze at the beautiful Leading Servant, groping her and kneading the fine material.
Victoria let out a trill of enjoyment, inhaling her gorgeous Housekeeper’s scent. It was hers. All hers. “I will never forget the one who guided me to who I am, but know that with time, as my wife comes into who she is, into what she is, she too may one day have use of you…” she smirked, “albeit in a bit more of a submissive position.”
Diana agreed, and was about to give voice to her thoughts when there suddenly came a knock at the door, causing both women to jump apart. They looked at one another before both taking a moment to straighten their clothing then Diana called out, “Enter.”
A Housemaid opened the door, poking her head in through the study door and snapping off a quick curtsey to Victoria. “Begging your pardon, Mistress Victoria, Miss Diana, but you asked me to call you when that matters with preparing the Mistress's bedroom for tonight.”
Victoria pouted childishly at that while Diana looked amused. “Indeed I did, I will go over matters in a few minutes. Please return to your duties.” Diana told the Housemaid who excused herself, closing the doors behind her. Victoria’s pout intensified and Diana tittered in amusement. “If the wind changes, my Mistress, then your face will get stuck like that.”
“Good, then my frustration will be committed to the annals of history.” Victoria barbed, but her own amusement broke through, and she shook her head with a wry smile. “Of all the times…”
Diana walked towards the door, fixing her glasses and looked over her shoulder at Victoria, “I may have taught you how to be a woman, but when it comes to running a household, there is still much for you and your wife to learn.” she said, curtseying before leaving.
The room's one remaining occupant huffed before looking up at the tall vaulted ceiling, “Hmph, she’s lucky I’m saving myself for Carmilla… but that just means there's that much more for the both of us to look forward to.”
Sam was not having the best of times right now.
The classroom was filled with the semi-regular click of heels on a hardwood floor, intermingled with Trisha’s words of encouragement, instruction and occasionally brutal rebuke when the book that had been wobbling atop the Lady’s head inevitably tumbled to the ground.
Trisha’s riding crop slashed out from where she walked beside her lady, its slapper smacking sharply against Sam’s rear and causing him to let out a grunt of pain, the three layers of fabric doing little to lessen the stinging pain of the strike. “Heel to toe! Maintain a straight line from your pelvis to your neck unless you want to develop scoliosis!” Trisha barked, rearing back the crop again when Sam did not immediately drop to retrieve the fallen book.
Hearing the whoosh of the crop being drawn back, Sam quickly fell to a knee to retrieve the book, forestalling the corrective implement’s wrath. This pleased Trisha, but she was quick to notice a flaw in his form. She brought the shaft of the crop under Sam’s chin to bring him to a stop, shaking her head. Sam looked up at her from his kneeling position, fear in his eyes that he had earned some new punishment for a perceived issue in the madness she was forcing him to do.
‘What is it now?’ He wondered morosely. He didn’t dare speak his thoughts aloud, he could only imagine how painful a swat to the cheek with that crop would be and his Governess had already shown she did not mind smacking him across the face if he gave her lip. Trisha let the crop slowly fall away from his chin and tapped its tip to the hem of his dress, where the hard tip of one of his spat boots stood out proudly beneath the cloth, Sam having trod on the fabric as he went down.
The auburn haired woman spoke in a deliberately slow and clear voice, making sure each word sunk in. “If you must kneel, be sure to fan out your skirts and petticoats, so that you don’t pin them beneath a limb. If you get up with pinned fabric, there is a chance you could tear it.”
Sam looked down at the point of his boot and gulped thickly. He didn’t want to imagine what would have been done to him if he had torn his skirt. But then again, why should he care? Shouldn’t he rebel against his situation and delight in the destruction of this silken bondage? A tiny voice in the back of his head argued for him to stand and fight, but it was an outlier, not the norm. The norm was, as much as he would deny it, submissive and placid, so he removed the cloth from under his foot and got to his feet once again, the fabric unblemished.
Retrieving the book he had neglected to pick up, Trisha replaced it atop his head and signalled for him to continue his many laps of the classroom. As he resumed the thankless and monotonous task, Sam took stock of how he felt. The combination of physical stimuli each drew a blade across his sense of normality, carving a shallow but still present scar into his feelings. Small things like the weight of his longer hair atop his head paired with how it poked from his peripheral vision, swaying with every movement. He could not shake the lurch in his stomach every time his heel struck the hardwood floor. It was an ego death of a thousand cuts, set to the metronome beat of his own footsteps.
Sam winced at the prickle of pain in his behind from her earlier strike, melding into the group of other pains that kept him suitably cowed to the Governess’s purposes. The book balancing exercise was the personification of tedium, both in that it was boring but also unfun and dreadfully taxing on his body and spirit. In the physical sense his body was awash with aches and pains. His face throbbed dully from the earlier slap, he was hungry and thirsty with perspiration beading down his temples as his feet wore a rut into the wooden floor.
He had always been taller than average, even before he had been made to wear the low heeled boots, but now his centre of gravity was higher than he was used to. It seemed as though each little mistake he made was magnified tenfold, from how the book wobbled atop his head. His feet hurt from the focused weight on his heels, his legs burned, the corset bit into his waist and forced him to stand straight like a rod, his neck having to mimic it. Despite the room being perfectly ventilated and air conditioned, sweat fell down his brow and his hair which tickled his face. He was halfway across the room in his latest lap when a stray strand of his pale white hair tickled his nose.
“Ah-choo!”
THUNK
“Stupid girl!”
Repeat ad nauseam.
And yet despite that endless repetition, the look of pleased approval never once faded from Trisha’s gaze, hidden behind the glint of her glasses. As small as it was there had been progress made from what there had once been. ‘ A first step may be stumbled, but once you start along the path you cannot get off of it .’ The physicality of her corrections and punishments were blunt instruments compared to what she had in store for Sam in his transition to Carmilla, but it would pave the way one unsteady step at a time until the pale haired sissy would be looked at with envy.
When Sam had completed his latest lap of the hall, book still in place no less, Trisha checked her watch and decided to call time on the lesson. “That’s enough for today, Lady Carmilla.”
The sudden conclusion of the exercise caused Sam to stumble in place, the book tumbling free from his head and causing him to yelp in panic. A gloved hand struck out like a coiled viper and snatched the book from the air, Trisha tucked the book under her arm and took in her charge’s exhausted appearance.
“Is it really over, Miss Trisha?” Sam asked, half expecting her to pull a taller pair of high heels or a King James Bible out from hammer space, and announce the next lesson was to begin forthwith.
Relief flooded him when Trisha nodded in confirmation and Sam allowed his shoulders to sag, his posture kept mostly aligned by the corset he could feel constricting his waist. His ribs ached so much it felt like they itched. How the hell could bones even itch? Sam didn’t know, he didn’t want to know. Right now he just wanted to sit down, soak his head and pretend that there was a small army of police on route to rescue him.
“You look famished, Lady Carmilla.” Trisha observed, reading the exhaustion in him as she collected her teaching equipment and safely locked it away in the desk. “Then you’ll be happy to know that we are approaching the time of your Luncheon with Mistress Victoria.”
As much as Sam wanted to blanch at the prospect of another meal strung from some half remembered gothic horror he had once watched, Sam was too hungry and thirsty to argue with the prospect of rest and recuperation. “That’s… good,” he panted.
His personal Service Bell was handed to him by Trisha who watched him expectantly, her taught posture telling a story far clearer than any words. He would not be getting out of this room unless he summoned his Lady’s Maids to escort him. It was an exercise in proper etiquette and security in case the aggravation of the lesson made Sam fly into an attempt to escape. That was extremely unlikely, but his face was mortified when he limp-wristedly rang the bell. It chimed clearly, the vibrations running up the wooden handle in pleasant haptic feedback that made him feel embarrassed.
Within a minute the door opened to admit the by now familiar forms of Lily and Delilah, who curtseyed to their Lady and her Governess. They were the same as they had been when they had left him to Trisha’s mercies but Sam noted that each had a modicum of exertion in their movements, almost like they had been facing exercise not unlike his own. But judging by how well they hid it as he was ushered from the room and into the usual formation, they were taking it a whole lot better than he had. ‘ Fuck me, I’m out of shape. ’ he comiserated.
Trisha made a quick decision and changed their pathing, taking them down a new corridor. “Luncheon is to be presentable. A trip to a powder room to fix your makeup and effect will not go amiss.”
On cue, Delilah opened a door to their side and admitted them all into one of the many powder rooms that dotted each floor. It was about the same size as the toilet he had used on his first day at Eden’s Rest except instead of a toilet, Sam was horrified to see a familiar looking stylists chair and vanity mirror waiting for him. He tried to back up but Lily blocked the doorway and Trisha seized his arm, easily manhandling Sam into the chair.
His reflection greeted him as an unwelcome spectre. His abject self was still a shock to see and his mind reeled again trying and failing to reconcile what he saw with what he knew to be him. It was still clearly him but the subtle and major shifts had taken what was usually a perfectly average face into an entirely new direction. His pale complexion had been rendered fine by the light application of makeup and the white hair, even pulled up into its bun, had changed his hairline and along with it the shape of his face. His Hazel eyes seemed to glow as a result, shining with a twisting feeling as they reflected his Victorian attire.
Yet he let out a pleased noise as the softness of the stylists chair took his weight, the plush leather cushioning creaking under him as it dulled the aches and pains of his body. He luxuriated in that feeling for a moment, uncaring for the rest of the world from the simple pleasure of just being able to sit down. When he opened his eyes again, he was faced by both of his Lady’s Maids, one holding a comb and brush while the other held a flannel and lip gloss wand.
He looked between them, unsure if he was expected to say or do something before Trisha appeared behind him in the reflection. “You may begin.” The bespectacled woman ordered her underlings who set to work correcting the minor blemishes that a morning's work wrought.
Minor by Sam’s measurement anyway. Relaxing back into the chair, he was happy that this time there were no restraints involved. His chastised cock ached deep beneath his layers of clothing at the meer memory of the last time he had been forced to sit in a chair like this. But as he was forced to stare at his own reflection, the graduate was befuddled at just how little there was wrong compared to when he had first been dressed. His forehead was slightly shiny from a layer of now evaporated sweat, his lipgloss had a mark on it from where he had bitten his lip and his hair was a little out of sorts. Even then, his hair was still in its mostly functional bun with only a few stray hairs that had come loose and a slight flatness at the crown where the book had sat.
‘ All this for some messed up hair .’ The concept was so ridiculous that Sam was actually amused.
Frivolity did not stop the Lady’s Maids from setting to their tasks with perfection. Delilah pulled his hair free from its bun, falling to his shoulders before taking a comb to it, working loose any tangles that had formed with a deft hand, relaxing Sam even more. He chided himself for the relief the movements caused him to feel, his long standing weakness turned against him by the mocha skinned maiden. Lily used a warm flannel to wipe his face clean, making Sam feel refreshingly awake.
As the two worked away at returning him to their idealised perfect state, the hazel eyed young man once again looked at both Lily in front of him and the reflection of Delialh behind. Yes, they had definitely been doing something strenuous while he was having morning lessons, he could feel it in the way the comb was pulled through his long white hair. “What were you two doing all morning?” he asked in a low voice.
Both women paused in their work to share a look before sending a furtive glance at Trisha. The Governess’s head dipped, giving them leave to answer their Lady’s question.
“Just as your rise in station required education, we too required lessons to learn skills to better serve you in any way that is required,” Delilah explained, genuinely pleased and impassioned.
Sam was about to ask just how, when Lily pinched his lips closed and began to fix his lipgloss. “Some ways which are more physical than the usual work expected of a Maid.”
Silence fell over the powder room again, it seemed that was all he was going to get out of the two maids for now, but the hook of intrigue had been set. And not just in Sam’s mind. The eldest woman in the room was quite curious about just what education the two were receiving. And why shouldn’t she be curious? After all, they were technically her direct subordinates in most things. She knew then she would have to discuss this with Diana as the Housekeeper had almost certainly been the one to organise it.
The interim period was pleasantly silent and Sam let his mind drift as the pains in his body faded away to nothingness save for the embarrassment at how Trisha had so easily punished him into compliance.
“The powder room is a stopgap measure, Carmilla.” Trisha said, breaking the silence and keeping him from straying too far from the here and now. “Usually main meals would be accompanied with a change in clothing for the occasion, but I felt that as this is your first day of education that getting you out of your schooling uniform would be counterproductive to keeping you in the right state of mind.”
“F-,” Sam stopped himself from finishing the curse, choosing instead to shake his head, “There’s no point in forcing me to wear such elaborate gettups if I have to get stripped out of it every few hours.” Though god in heaven he would love to be rid of his current ensemble, the corset felt like it had been welded to his spine.
“There being no point logistically is a point in and of itself, Carmilla. The ability to present oneself as a beacon of sophistication and fashion, unique for any given occasion, is a far cry from the banal boredom of today’s fashion. It was called the Gilded Age for a reason.” Trisha shot back, perfectly happy to engage her charge in some light verbal sparring during the dead time of Carmilla’s hair being put back into its bun. “You should feel elated that your day to day life will see you wearing three dresses a day from such an age.”
‘From where I’m sitting, Age is not the term I’d use,’ Sam thought while mentally gritting his teeth. But the internal grimace soon morphed into a thoughtful frown. All that pomp and circumstance and yet Trisha had chosen to overrule Victoria’s desires in the name of logistics. Logistics Sam could deal with. Logistics Sam could thrive on. And from them he could spot holes in a system. When Samuel Hayes looked at Eden’s Rest as a system, he could see nothing but holes, chaotic pitfalls of entropy that would slowly drag everything down until he was free. ‘I just have to show Victoria that this isn’t sustainable.’
As much as he hated what Victoria had done. Hated it with every fibre of his being, deep down Sam still deeply loved his girlfriend, and hoped that if he could convince her of what was truly ahead of them then… then what? They could never go back to what they were before. But anything was better than this.
Hair and makeup now fixed, he was helped to stand and led out of the room towards where Victoria had dictated they take lunch.
“Mistress Victoria has elected to have your Luncheon together in the gardens on account of the good weather.” Trisha told Sam as they made their way through the halls of the ground floor towards the back of the manor. Listening to Sam as he walked, she was happy to hear that the rhythm of his footsteps was far more even than it had been this morning. Her student seemed to be an attentive one indeed.
Outside. Fresh air. Not having to look at these indistinguishable corridors and hallways. The idea of that brought a calmness to Sam’s emotions and with it a breath of bravery. Perhaps it was also the genuine hunger and thirst but he approached this luncheon with genuine desire for the first time in what felt like ages.
The transition between interior and exterior was sudden and disorienting for the white themed Lady. One minute he was being led down a well lit carpeted corridor and the next he was plunged into the brilliant summer sun. Sam held up a hand to shield himself from the sudden bloom of light and blinked as his eyes adjusted. No matter how well let the interior of the Manor was, there was simply no substitute to direct sunlight that bathed all four of the sartorial quartet. They alighted on a large stone patio at the rear of the house that was ringed by shoulder high hedges perched atop stout marble walls. The entire patio was marble but held the marks of tasteful weathering, seen no better than the wide Florence family sigil carved into the floor, lacking its usual lapis colouring.
A white canvas gazebo had been set up beyond it on the common that separated the patio and the initial gardens that spilled out across the lands that backed Eden’s Rest. Acres upon acres of brightly coloured flowers of a hundred different colours and a thousand different genus, varieties and cultivars. It should have looked gaudy or sickeningly ostentatious but like all masterfully maintained gardens from Hampton Court to Kew it was organised to draw the eye to certain patterns. Water features and short walls broke up this purely visible garden so that there was always something to draw the eye and never get overwhelmed by any singular arrangement.
A twinkle in Sam’s peripheral vision caught Sam’s eye and he turned to look into the distance. There was a structure of some kind in the distance, obscured by a copse of trees from the nearest section of the many woods and forests that filled the grounds, a gravel path leading away from the house’s perimeter towards it but the true scope or nature of it obfuscated. He tried to get a better look at it but frowned when one of his Maids, Delilah, blocked his view.
“Your interest in the grounds can wait, Carmilla. We do not want to keep your spouse waiting. No doubt she’s eager to see her wife again, by now.” Trisha said slowly, internally happy that Sam was taking interest in his home but wanting to keep focused on the moment.
Gritting his teeth, Sam fell into step with the others. It felt like a lifetime ago since he had last been outside, but this time came with a wave of different extra senses that he parsed the nuances of. The warm summer breeze jostled his hair and his skirts rustled against his stocking clad legs, tracing them with ghostly kisses that made him shiver.
Victoria was seated on one side of a moderate round table set for two under the shade of the gazebo, resting her chin on the palm of her hand as she looked out over the plain with satisfaction. She had heard Sam approach but kept up the guise of blissful unawareness before turning to look at him when she heard he was close enough. Looking at him caused her heart to skip a beat. ‘Oh sweet goddess above and garden below…’
The bright summer sunlight reflected off Sam’s stark white clothing and hair, seeming to glow between the dark colours of his companions. Desire burned blue-white fire in the aristocrat at the sight before her, but she kept a reign on it as she rose to greet her beloved wife.
“Well, if it isn’t the ravishing young Lady Florence I see before me! It’s lovely to see you, Blossom, I hope your morning lessons went well.” Victoria greeted warmly, watching as Maids Lily and Dellilah pulled out a seat for Sam, which he quickly plopped himself into with a light grunt. Victoria sniffed at the honestly cute noise, as the two recently promoted Lady’s Maids took up vigil opposite Victoria’s own attache, each of the four attendants standing at one of the corners of the Gazebo.
The unwilling aristocrat did not initially reply to his spouse’s inquiry, much more focused on the cart left to one side of the table, stacked high with platters covered by the usual silver cloches. Wonderfully rich scents emerged from those covered plates, causing his mouth to water.
“Carmilla did fine for her first lesson. I believe her baseline general knowledge is up to snuff, and I have little doubt in her academic ability. You did not oversell her skill.” Trisha told the Mistress, causing the younger woman to glow with happiness. Her eyes turned flinty, and Sam felt the air shift around her. “However, I have yet to grade her test results, and her physical training was only just up to par with my encouragement.”
‘ Encouragement? That’s a stretch .’ Sam groused within his mind, nose wrinkling. It did succeed in bringing his attention back to Victoria who was studying him pointedly. A ghost of the old Victoria flashed in his mind and he was again disquieted by the fact that he could see her in those beautiful dark blue eyes. He straightened, perhaps this was a sign she would listen to reason.
“So, what you’re saying is, she has plenty of room to grow.” Victoria summarised, upbeat despite the Governess’s briefly stormy face.
Growth was on Victoria’s mind as she looked at Sam, focusing on the disparate elements of his outfit and how they came together into a scintillating yet simple ensemble. She felt desire simmer to the surface within, and noted to herself that she would have to thank Trisha for picking such a delicious outfit. Yes, she could just imagine hiking up that skirt, running her fingers over Sam’s deliciously lily white ass. But that was not all she imagined. She saw Sam slowly morph in her mind's eye, imagining what he might look like with time and her guiding hand. Red was a prominent colour, painting plumper lips and matching beautifully red eyes that would reflect her lust filled orbs back at her in sanguine hues. So too did she see his bust expand and hips widen, adding to her burgeoning hourglass figure. She smiled, looking forward to the process, as much as the result.
The clouds cleared from Trisha’s brows, as she nodded in acquiescence of the Mistress’ assessment. “Yes, room to grow indeed. But I will not broker or tolerate a lack of results. Tough love will out, her Ladyship permitting.”
“I see,” Victoria said, entirely satisfied with the current level of progress. “You may leave us.”
Trisha bowed to Victoria before turning to a befuddled Sam, “I will return at 1 o’clock to begin your afternoon lessons and enrichment,” Trisha informed him, then bowed to him with a hand resting on the crop at her hip, her face forming into a bright smile as she rose. “And please do enjoy your Luncheon. Until later.”
She turned on her heel and walked back to the house, leaving the two residents and their Lady’s Maids in the cool shade of the gazebo.
Realising that his Governess and so called ‘chief companion’ would not be joining them for lunch, Sam let out a long suffering but relieved sigh. The genuineness of the exhalation proved endlessly amusing for Victoria, who leaned forwards in her seat with a cheshire grin.
“Oh come on. She can’t have been that bad. Maybe a little abrasive in her approach but she’s nice once you get to know her.” Victoria reasoned, eyes as sparkling bright as the summer day.
“The marks on my rear end tell a different story,” Sam deadpanned, finally looking back at Victoria with a tangible level of strength. Annoyance gave him the spur to speak his mind, and he tried to keep his voice in line with how he would have normally interacted with his girlfriend, before… Before this nightmare. “I don’t like having all of my actions dissected by someone who looks like they are constantly on the verge of having me taxidermied and mounted on the wall.”
“Oh, please. Deer heads might look nice hanging over a hallway, but I much prefer seeing my animals walking through the forests, rather than stuck on my wall.” Victoria replied, denying his implication. A sultry look graced her face and she raked her eyes up and down his body where he sat, “That being said. The idea of mounting you is a truly wonderful turn of phrase. The real question would be, clothes on, clothes off, or something in between?”
Sam’s cheeks darkened in embarrassment at his girlfriend's words, the lewd image of her suggestion appearing in his mind- A rough caricature compared to the detailed fantasy being built in his spouse’s mind.
“I’m not hearing a nooooooo~” She teased, drumming her fingers on the table to feign the same lack of care as her singsong voice implied. Her eyes, however, remained keen, studying how Sam reacted.
“The answer should be so obvious I don’t have to bloody say it, Victoria!” Sam growled back.
“That is a lie.”
Hazel orbs narrowed in confusion. “What?”
“I said that is a lie. An untruth. Fabrication. Deception. Falsehood. A lot of words for the same thing. You didn’t reply not because the answer was obvious. You didn’t reply because it is not in your nature to question the decisions of those who hold power over you.” Victoria diagnosed clinically.
He gripped his hands closed until his knuckles turned white. “On what planet-”
“Earth, United Kingdom, Great Britain, England, Oxfordshire, Eden’s Rest, our garden.” Victoria cut him off, her words dry as a saharan wind. When Sam recoiled she pushed further. “Location doesn’t matter. The truth of the matter I’ve been able to see since the day we first met. You, Carmilla Florence, are a sub.”
A warm breeze gently blew across the garden, fluttering through the white canvas of the gazebo. The white haired Lady remained as still as a statue as he digested what his spouse had just told him, though his skirts fluttered gently beneath the table. He did not outwardly change save for his eyes clouding with a plethora of emotions. Internally he was a storm of voices, all knocked off kilter by what Victoria had said. A Sub? What did she even mean by that? The obvious answer conjured images of straps, chains and any other not safe for work paraphernalia that lined up with what Victoria had claimed she wanted to do to him. But the way she said it felt deeper than that and he struggled to comprehend just how.
Victoria let the silence sit for just long enough before continuing, her body language shifting imperceptibly. “Don’t take that as an insult, Blossom, because it’s not. Being submissive is not, and never will be, some lesser state of being. There are no ‘Beta Males’,” she made quotation marks with her fingers, her derision for the term clear, but not directed at him. “Some people have dominant inclinations, others submissive and sometimes in between. You are a sub, and therefore you need a dominant force in your life, to give you direction and be the best version of yourself you can be.”
Sam bristled, trying to bring his anger to a boil but for some reason finding it difficult to make it a truly righteous blaze. So instead he focused it and let his tongue weave words from it. “Even if that were true, which it’s not!” he raised his voice and jabbed a finger at her accusingly “That doesn’t mean much when according to you I have no say in what I want to be!”
She smiled, “Prove me wrong, then.”
“...What?”
“Prove. Me. Wrong.” Victoria repeated, looking thoroughly amused. Like a mother whose child had just declared they were not tired when it was clear they were on the verge of falling asleep. Her look thinned, as she turned her head so the shadows of her hair played across her face. “Tell me what you want, right here and now. In this moment and no further.”
“I WANT…” he raged, glaring at her and about to demand his freedom. Then the fire fled him, slipping away back into his subconscious as he spied Maids Chloe and Jeanne behind Victoria, not at all bothered by the Lady’s apparent fury. His tempestuous anger was nothing to them. His hand slowly began to fall but the ember of defiance would not let him go without proving his captor wrong. “..LUNCH!” he said with finality.
The Viscountess smiled widely, looking especially pleased. Sam’s brows knit together in confusion.
A second later, the ember anger snuffed. His eyes widened. ‘Fuck…. I did it again,’
She had baited him, using his frustration to do exactly what she had asked. In an effort to avoid admitting he was submissive, he had submitted to her exact demand.
As his head fell, Victoria’s mood soared. His final defiant shot had tickled her deeply, so she was all too willing to do as the young sissy had asked. She raised a hand, and all four Lady’s Maids moved as one. They worked in a well ordered team to set the platters in front of both their Ladies, and quickly pulled the cloches away to reveal their contents, before providing each diner with a glass of crystal clear grape juice. As much as Victoria wanted to get Carmilla hooked on the fun that was wine snobbery, she had wanted this lunch to be an entirely non-alcoholic affair.
Lunch consisted of two separate meals from which a diner could pick from to form their main Luncheon. The plates in front of Sam and Victoria were both empty, but beside them were two large satellite dishes that contained the selections for the meal. Venison meatballs and a bean slaw filled a small bowl on one, while the other held a basket of buffalo wings and flatbreads, with celery sticks and blue cheese dip on the side.
“I thought that today we could start with something familiar, but tweaked with class.” Victoria explained, tipping the bowl of venison meatballs onto her plate. She speared one with her fork and dipped it in the Blue Cheese dip before popping it into her mouth, making an appreciative noise at the rich game meat. “It’s richer than pork or beef, but I find it pairs well with mayonnaise.”
She indicated a number of small china bowls between Sam’s two plates, each containing the aforementioned white sauce.
“I don’t like Mayo.” Sam spoke tiredly, his stomach growling at the smell of the simple yet well prepared meal.
“Have you ever tried it?” Victoria asked in response, tucking into her meal but keeping an eye on the dithering white haired sissy.
No. He hadn’t. For the first 22 years of his life, Samuel Hayes had lived in the bosom of picky eating and boring tastes. Anything that fell outside of that simple mould was viewed with a certain amount of suspicion. He was happy with that though. In a culinary sense, he was exceptionally easy to please, and his available budget for food kept him that way.
His stomach groaned loudly, betraying his hunger, and the Viscountess giggled at the noise. The embarrassment finally forced Sam to eat. He mirrored Victoria, and dipped a venison meatball in the small bowl of mayonnaise before wrapping it in a small flatbread and jamming it into his mouth.
Victoria smirked knowingly.
Sam’s hazel eyes widened at the sudden presence of an unfamiliar flavour in his mouth. It was savoury and cool, with just a hint of salt. His first instinct would have been to spit it out, but fearing the potential repercussions of such an act, he manually worked his jaws and swallowed the food down, going someway to sating his hunger. He didn’t even clock the taste or texture of the meatballs, moving onto the buffalo wings which he greedily began to strip to the bone.
There was no finesse to Sam’s eating, just a desperate desire to feed. He made his way through the flatbreads and wings, before grudgingly crunching down loudly on the celery. While he did not allow himself to truly appreciate the food, he had to admit that the food was tasty, even if he had to repeatedly stamp down on the urge to retch at each unfamiliar flavour or texture. Suddenly, his eyes widened, and he froze mid-chew, coughing as he thumped his chest with his fist. He gasped, his throat tight, managing a choked swallow before wheezing in a shaky breath.
Lily swept in like a monochromatic wraith, pushing a glass of grape juice into his hands that he thankfully slurped from.
“You need to slow down when eating or you’ll choke. Take the time to actually savour the meatballs.” Victoria advised, wiping her lips clean of some crumbs that had fallen there.
Sam did so, and found that the flavours were not bad, but still far too unfamiliar and rich for his tastes. “You… are not the best at putting these spreads together.” he bit out, before sipping more of his drink.
“And you have the palette sensibilities of an unmortared brick, Blossom.” Victoria finished her plate and was content to watch as Sam now slowly made his way through what was left of his luncheon. The image was a familiar one, and she recalled a time from the start of their relationship when a similar conversation had played out. “This isn’t the first time I’ve made you do something you’re not comfortable with. Remember the basil on the Pizza?”
Shortly after the lockdown had begun, the at the time two flatmates had come to the relatable end of days scenario of there being nothing in the fridge and quite literally not being allowed to go down to the shops to buy new food. And like many young people in their early twenties, they had decided to order a large Pepperoni Pizza. Only, Victoria had ordered it with basil, of all things.
Sam had spent far too much time painstakingly removing every green leaf from his slices, to Victoria’s great mockery, until she had browbeaten him into actually giving it a try, leaving him moping that he had actually enjoyed the added flavour.
“I’m just glad you didn’t order Anchovies.” Sam grumbled flippantly, recalling the unusual flavour.
“I got you to like basil, you’re currently eating venison, soon enough I’m sure you’ll be quite partial to anything I present to you.” Victoria said simply.
Shaking his head at the remark, Sam found himself feeling better and a touch more confident. As awkward as it was, this was the closest he had gotten to the way things had once been between him and Victoria, and with the return to normality came a clarity to his thoughts. It was time he actually challenged his girlfriend with the flaws in her plan. “There’s a difference there. Much like how all of this,” he made a sweeping gesture towards the house, “is never going to work.”
“How so?” Victoria questioned, raising an eyebrow with interest, wondering what scenarios her beloved had cooked in his mind.
“The difference between me being ‘made’ to like something, and this… ‘Life’ you’re making for me, is a matter of scale. Sure, you made me like a pizza that had some greens on it. Something I had never done before, and I’ll even admit was somewhat tasty. But there are worlds between that and making me accept, let alone enjoy, being sewn into dresses and made to dance to a tune that is 200 years out of date. For all this place’s smoke and mirrors, there is a simple logistical problem to all of this Victoria.” Sam leant forwards over the table, trying to reach Victoria. “It’s just too big to work.”
“Explain.” Victoria replied, her face not dipping at all, genuinely interested to hear his read on his situation.
“Economics.” Sam began, taking and drinking from the Ladyship Tonic that Delilah presented him with. “There is only so much time in the day for any of this overly engineered and ostentatious bullshit. You know that, I know that and I think probably Trisha and Yui know it as well, but humour you because you’re their boss. Someone out there is going to notice I’m gone, Victoria. Someone’s going to follow the breadtrail to this house of horrors and bust this wide open. Please, see sense. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you but you can’t do this to me. Your Maids can barely fit in the time to change me into the clothes I’m apparently supposed to wear, how could this place ever hope to do anything more? Everything you’re trying to do- to make me do- it’s just wildly impractical! You must see that.”
For her part, Victoria patiently listened to her wife’s argument. She committed each and every point to memory and never once interrupted, even as he grew into an impassioned speech. Usually she would have cooed and praised his capacity for emotion within the mental parameters she had allotted for him. But this time, she simply listened and let him come to his points. It was a polite and intelligent domestic debate, and she would give her wife the time and floor to speak what he believed to be the truth.
But it wasn’t the truth. Not really. Not in any facet of reality where it ever would matter.
As he began to wind down, Victoria drew in a deep breath, taking a moment to digest what he had said before she gave word to what she needed to do. ‘Okay. It’s time to take off the rose tinted glasses and give her some harsh realities. ’ she thought, as she straightened in her seat.
Realities. Not truths. Truth was mutable and subjective. Reality?
Reality was whatever Victoria Florence damn well said it was.
“A comprehensive and well structured argument, blossom.” Victoria led with, nodding appreciatively at her wife. “Your thesis outlined and looped back from introduction to conclusion, its abstract broken down into overarching points which you then justified with examples. A textbook example of an academic's read on things. I can’t deny that were I made of less stern stuff, I might have actually said you had a point.”
Her answer knocked Sam totally off kilter, and he stared at her as if she had grown a second head. “You do?”
Victoria nodded again, but her lips curled into a challenging smile. “I do. But as you know, any thesis will, given time, trigger an antithesis to rise to oppose it. I do so love to spar verbally with you, Carmilla, so I will present to you my antithesis.”
She looked Sam dead in the eye, and raised a hand to point at Eden’s Rest, mirroring his former sweeping gesture. It was such a simple thing, but somehow it commanded much more gravitas than when Sam had done the same thing, a dominant aura pouring off of Victoria. Sam’s breath hitched in his throat, his reply turning to ash on his tongue. “Your entire hypothesis hinges on the idea that I am not able to do this to you, like I’m trying to build a house of cards in a heavy wind.”
The hazel eyed young man did not reply, wrapt in Victoria’s words.
She took a moment to sip from her glass of grape juice, a bead of the sweet liquid adding a wet look to her lips that she slowly licked clean. “This premise is fundamentally incorrect. Because it is based on the idea that you deny all of our capability. The reality of the matter is that we are more than capable of doing what I want, and the only reason you aren’t currently strapped to a gurney marked for a pair of implants is because I care too much for you, and my own enjoyment, to not draw out the process. I can assure you, I have spent four long years considering every variable.” Her long black hair covered her like a hood shaped from shadow as she kept every word in a conversational tone. “Maid Lily.”
Maid Lily jolted suddenly, not having expected to be drawn into her Mistress and Lady’s debate. “Yes, my Mistress?” she asked, her hands gathered in front of her.
“You’re more familiar with the particular numbers than I. How many pieces of Daywear does your Lady’s wardrobe possess?” Victoria asked the red haired maid, keeping her focus squarely on Sam.
Lily thought for a moment, “Do you mean just external daywear?”
Sam looked over his shoulder at the shorter of his two maids, a feeling of dread suddenly crawling up from the pit of his stomach, though he didn’t know why. Victoria, however, did. It was a sign that she had seen in many particularly promising subs over the years, the ability to subconsciously realise something was going on without it being said, in this case, being specific hinting at the true scale of something.
Daywear meant external presenting clothing on a general day. It did not include underwear, nightwear, recreational wear or even more exotic things like cosplay or fetish gear. It was simply the mainline, nothing more.
“Just external. Carmilla doesn’t yet know the hard numbers. We should illuminate her.” she clarified.
“I see,” Lily replied, considering for a moment before addressing both the Mistress and her wife. “Please take into account that some pieces have yet to be taken in or tailored for future proportion changes,” that phrase caused Sam to shiver in fear. “But at last count, External Daywear numbered one thousand eight hundred and sixty six individual pieces, my Lady.”
“A good start,” Victoria replied with satisfaction.
1,866. Sam tried to put that number into perspective, and found that despite considerable effort, he simply couldn’t. It was not as if he couldn’t conceive of it, but rather that in the context of clothing his mind simply refused to correlate a number that high with something as banal yet necessary as clothing. He’d never owned 1866 of anything in his life. In fact, he doubted if he lined up everyone he had ever met and combined their wardrobes he’d get close to even half of that. And all of that was… a start?
“Secondly,” Victoria continued, returning to her speech and breaking Sam from his fugue. “You grossly misunderstood just how easily it is for people to drop off the grid and never be found again. The terms John and Jane Doe exist for a reason you know.”
“You’re arguing semantics and technicalities.” Sam argued somewhat hollowly, and Victoria delighted in the conviction leaving his voice.
“I’m providing examples to the contrary. But If I must give you something a bit more hypothetical, then perhaps this will set you straight, Carmilla.” She could have been brutal here, but this kind of intellectual domination used muscles she had not had to stretch in a long while and she relished their use. “Digital footprint aside. How many pale, lanky guys with dirty blonde hair and hazel eyes do you think there are in the world? A hundred? A thousand? A million, maybe more?”
Tens of millions. Sam hated it but he knew that by sheer statistical likelihood, his pre-changed appearance was not the most standout from the crowd.
“Of that number, what are the chances that at least one were to donate their body to science. That at least one John Doe could be close enough to the late Mr Hayes, that some creative number fudging and a few replaced files could convince even a seasoned CSI investigator that they were one and the same?”
He gasped, horror and disbelief plain in the noise that emerged from his open mouth, quickly morphing into disgust. Victoria was happy she didn’t have to spoon feed him more information for him to get the picture. “You…you killed someone.”
Rolling her eyes at his words, Victoria giggled, “Oh, don’t be so over dramatic. I might have the funds and clout to do such a thing, but that kind of thing is so in-elegant I’m tempted to spank you for making the suggestion.” She began to play with her braid as she laughed, running the thick coils of silky hair through her fingers playfully, “All I am saying, is that if someone ever went looking for Samuel Hayes, and I highly doubt that they would, they would find someone, and that someone would never be you.”
Hearing that, Sam’s head began to fall even as he tried to come up with alternatives and refutations, his chin coming to rest on his chest and again feel the corset’s hold, forcing him into the shape and posture that Victoria desired. He stared placidly at the bowl of venison meatballs, only one remaining in its white mayo garnish.
Rising slowly from her seat, Victoria began a slow orbit of the table towards him, “Lastly, you insist that there is a difference in scale between what I can make you do now, compared to what I’ve made you do before. To which I must point out, how many times have I been able to make you do as I desire?” she asked, her satisfaction and arousal rising with each step she took towards her brow beaten lover. “When I got you that TV, despite you thinking it too big, you let me.” she said, walking her fingers across the surface of the table, “When you didn’t want to go to graduation, you did it for me. When I wanted you to come to Eden’s Rest to celebrate, you came.” Each point was pronounced with the grandeur of a victorious fanfare. She came to Sam’s side and popped her pert rear up on the table, looking down at him with a sultry smirk.
“When I asked you to present yourself to the staff, you bowed .” she held one of his despondent hands, lacing her fingers in with his. “You have as much agency as I say you do. As much freedom as I will it. And with it, you made me fall in love with you, you beautiful little sub. And now, I just have to show you what being loved by me means, and you will love me for it in the end, no matter what you might think now.”
Sam slowly raised his head to look into her twinkling blue eyes. “Someone will come looking for me,” he whispered.
“Oh, Blossom,” Victoria leaned in until she was face to face with her wife, “You don’t sound like you believe that.”
Did he?
A hand was extended and Victoria’s soft fingers slowly guided Sam to look out over the gardens and plains of the grounds. “Look to the horizon. All that you see, from the house to the distant hills, is Eden’s Rest. For lack of a better term, this is your world. A world tuned to the purpose of making you my breathtaking Victorian wife. And until Carmilla Florence is far enough along her path, it will remain that way.”
Sam felt a tremor begin in the centre of his chest and radiate out through his body, threatening to turn into tears had what happened next not occurred. Victoria leaned in, and captured his lips in a searingly hot wet kiss. They meshed their lips together, Sam as the beginner and his spouse the master. His blush shifted from embarrassment to reluctant pleasure, eyes becoming half lidded as he opened his mouth to let out a series of short and sweet sounds. Seeing her entrance, Victoria did not hesitate. She ran her tongue over his bottom lip as a formality, before pushing into his mouth. Sam’s mewl morphed into a moan as Victoria’s tongue easily slipped between his painted lips. His own rose to meet it, and both danced, coiling against each other in a lovers embrace.
Part of Sam rebelled against the affection and tried to pull away, but Victoria wrapped her long pink tongue around his, suddenly becoming unescapable, dominantly dragging his tongue towards the point where their mouths met. She greedily explored his mouth, letting out throaty moans in chorus with every little gasp. She stole the air from his mouth, and replaced it with the warm vapours of her adoration, vibrating with songs unsaid. Victoria let her dominance become an artform. She was a domina, a dominatrix from her origin to this moment and she poured every iota of it into her wife as she dined upon his reactions, from the taste of his lips, to the slight rustle of corset bones as he tried and failed to arch his back in arousal, left with the scraps of her meal that was the sweet cinnamon of her lipstick…
And then she broke the kiss.
Bringing a hand to her face, Victoria used her thumb to wipe a stray dot of saliva from her lips, licking it clean with a hum of contentment as Sam got his breath back. Usually she would not be so overly rough, she enjoyed ‘normal’ kissing very much, but it served to illustrate her point. And if the wince of pain she clocked in Sam’s cloth sheathed legs was anything to go by, she had been very successful.
The sudden kiss had set Sam’s heartbeat into a frenzy as the Florence heiress called her wife’s arousal from the metaphorical basket like a snake charmer, and as such, another snake had attempted to rise. It, however, had run into the hard plastic shell of the CB3000 it had been locked inside of, sending an unwelcome ache back into Sam that brought him back to the present, glaring hotly at his spouse. “That…” he gasped out between breaths. “That was…”
“Was a wonderful early desert.” Victoria purred, then took notice of the last venison meatball in its bowl. She picked it up between her fingers and held it up for Sam to see, its mayonnaise coating looking almost translucent in the bright summer sun. She had hit him with the verbal stick enough, so it was time for the very savoury and somewhat sticky carrot. “You know, form’s a funny thing. It reframes what the observer sees as a positive point. In life, this once was part of a mighty stag, a powerful and graceful king of the forest. But under the knife of a butcher, it has been made into succulent meat for us to feast upon.”
“And I guess I’m just more meat to you.” Sam muttered darkly.
Victoria fixed him with a look that was edged in steel, her lips quirked up in happiness that made butterflies flutter in the white themed Lady’s stomach. “You are my wife. The one I will teach love and lust, reframing what was good from before and adding to it. Nothing lost, only gained and changed.” she told him, before popping the last meatball into his mouth.
Chewing on it slowly, for the first time Sam was able to appreciate the rich flavour of the Venison and the sticky salt tang of the mayonnaise. He swallowed and looked away, not wanting to show his appreciative face to Victoria.
As if she would ever let him hide from her.
Gold filigree edged cuffs slipped around the Lady’s waist, causing him to look over his shoulder as she hoisted him onto his feet in a surprising show of strength. But then again, he was so lanky he probably could have been knocked stumbling by a stiff breeze. “Come on, Carmilla, let’s finish that walk around the house from the other day just in the role you always should have worn,” Victoria said, linking arms with the now pouting Sam.
“Please stop calling me that.” Sam protested weakly, but much as he hated to admit it, the prospect of a good walk in such fine weather was far better than being sent back to Trisha’s all too capable if fastidious hands.
Victoria rolled her eyes at the heatless defiance and began to walk, pleased with the white flower walking alongside her. She looked up at his higher standing, not at all intimidated. “Whatever you say, Blossom.”
Sam decided to let that one go, and began to walk properly, Victoria’s presence and support unconsciously making his heel to toe motions that much more natural. Their skirts brushed against one another, each one’s stocking clad legs feeling the gentle motion of the fabric, and while Victoria could hide the way it made her feel, she grinned when Sam could not. For now at least, it was a pleasant summer day and he could do with a walk. Well, one that didn’t have a book on his head, at least.
Small stacks of papers were scattered across the simple but tastefully carved wooden desk, varying in thickness and texture from glossy to office grade. Next to them on the wooden expanse was a leather bound journal, and a small white plate upon which sat a picturesque tuna sandwich. A hand descended and picked up the sandwich, bringing it to the mouth of the one sitting behind the desk, who nibbled on it, exhaling as they looked from the leather bound book to the screen of a laptop canted to one side. The display was reflected in a pair of round rimmed glasses.
Trisha swallowed down the last of her simple but tasty lunch and continued her quiet task, marking the results of Sam’s recent test. She had ended up deciding to take her lunch in her private study that was ensuite to her bedroom, taking the time to complete extra work while Carmilla was away. The study was neither as big nor as finely appointed as Victoria’s, two floors above them, but it suited the auburn haired woman just fine. The study was a wood panelled room, perhaps the size of a normal house’s living room, filled by a sizable wooden desk pressed against the right wall, so that the light from the windows would light half of the room, and the twin uplighters either side of the desk would illuminate the rest.
The far wall was filled by a floor to ceiling bookcase, filled with mostly box files, books and a few more personal knicknacks. Photos, souvenirs, and the like. Trisha’s riding crop hung on the side of the desk from a blunted hook, easily within arms reach of the hard at work Governess.
Somewhat spoiling this image of professionalism were the number of ‘teaching aids’ that sat atop filing cabinets and drawers opposite where she sat. Dildos, buttplugs, and vibrators were left out on display, grouped by size and severity, ranging from a short and thin probe to a knotted 12 inch suction cupped leviathan with blunt protrusions covering its length. And that was merely on the surface.
Also of note was the dressing bust in the corner of the room, placed beside a mirror, that was wrapped in a harness of black straps and black metal O-Rings, designed to be always felt, but never to inhibit movement. The bust’s head was wrapped in a leather harness, a bit gag in the mouth, and metal hooks inserted into the nose. Had it been a person, the harness would have given the wearer pig’s snout.
Oblivious, or rather uncaring of all of this, the athletic and lithe woman turned a page of Carmilla’s test and read through another answer, frowning when she found her Lady’s response wanting. She picked up a red marker, adding an annotation of ‘half-marks’.
Irritation faded quickly, however, the feeling having only been a surface level disappointment. She reminded herself that despite the occasional poor answer, Carmilla had shown an admirable aptitude for all things academic, despite her duress. Steps were already in motion to prepare for tomorrow’s lessons in accordance with Trisha’s teaching plan. She adjusted aspects of said lessons in accordance with what she had learned, and as always, from the brief sparks of inspiration that struck her.
‘ Supplement book balancing with holding something within her. Nothing overly large but just enough to slightly alter her gait. Perhaps a string of anal beads? ’ she wrote in her journal, tapping the top of her pen to her lips in thought. ‘The internal roll may plant a seed of association between physical pleasure and correct posture. Will consult with Dr Ito over the current elasticity of Carmilla’s love canal .’ She felt a tickle of amused pleasure at the thought of each little twitch in Carmilla’s walk, a smack to the back of the legs to exacerbate the speed at which he would lose control over her body.
And it was her body. Because while Carmilla may cling to notions of still being the late mister Hayes, Trisha had already adjusted her cognition to think of Carmilla in her house-accepted role.
“Hmmmmmgggggggg~” a voice whimpered from the other side of the open doorway connecting the study to her bedroom.
Trisha gave the door a sideways glance. Turning the sound down on her laptop, the slow string movement she was listening to lowered enough that a consistent low buzz carried over from the bedroom, intermingled with quiet gasps of pleasure. She closed the laptop’s lid and pushed back in her chair while putting her gloves back on, making sure each finger was perfectly wrapped in fine leather before retrieving her crop and sauntering into her bedroom.
Standing by the doorway, Trisha focused on the show taking place on her bed. Perched on the edge of the white double duvet was a maid, on her knees with her skirts and petticoats pulled up to her waist facing Trisha. She was a pretty thing, with a bronze tan, green eyes and slightly frizzy black hair. She panted shallowly, one hand shaking as it tried to keep her skirts above her waist, while the other firmly pressed the rumbling ball shaped head of a large vibrator against her painfully erect cock.
Trisha watched the display with an outwardly detached air, but her appreciation of the display still made its way through. She walked forwards slowly, smiling at the sissy maid as she looked back at her. When she reached the edge of the bed, she crouched down to look at the needy cock that jumped against the rumbling vibrator head. She began to count down from ten in her head, watching the way the member, slick with precum, jumped to the beat of the House Maid’s undoubtedly thundering heart. The tempo grew faster until it was erratically bopping in place, the maid panting needily.
With a herculean will, the Maid pulled the vibrator away and left her cock to spasm in the open air, left on the edge of orgasm that quickly turned into an intimate pain of denied climax.
Trisha smiled, enjoying the show. “How many does that make, Maid Kore?” she asked with a chuckle.
“Six, Governess Moore.” Maid Kore managed to gasp out in rattling breaths. Trisha knew that after six edgings, the poor thing would probably be pushed over the edge by something as simple as her breathing on the still bobbing sissy cock. She considered it, then discarded the idea and rose to her full height, giggling in sadistic glee at the groan of needy arousal that Kore produced.
While the crop wielding woman was no stranger to sexual pursuits and how they would have to be taught to Carmilla, she knew that her experience with dealing with sissies for prolonged periods of time was unsatisfyingly small. Seeking to remedy this, she had made sure to acquire the services of a few of the sissy inclined housemaids to assist in the refinement of her craft. In teaching terms, Maid Kore was assisting in ‘personal research into how best coax and control carnal responses from sissies.’
The fact that Trisha felt a genuinely sadistic pleasure from the act was a happy coincidence that she allowed herself to partake of in the spare time this lunch period allowed. “That’s enough for today, Kore,” Trisha said as the Maid began to inch the vibrator back to her nethers.
Kore made an upset groan, but did as she had been asked, switching off the vibrator and reluctantly putting its slick surface down on a handkerchief that Trisha had provided her at the start of lunch. She kept her skirts up until ordered otherwise.
Rolling the crop between her fingers, Trisha brought it to Kore’s cock and began to use it to delicately manipulate the girl’s member, causing her to moan as the cool face of the crop’s slapper rubbed along the well warmed and sensitive flesh. She traced the vein from the point where it met the sissy’s tight scrotum, all the way up to the tip of the head, scooping a single bead of precum from it onto the crop before pulling it away. “What were my exact orders for you this session?” she asked in a sultry voice, looking over the tops of her glasses at the frizzy haired housemaid.
Pleasure rocked Kore like the winds of a tempest against an old house. Trisha’s crop was a poker, its hard length stoking the embers of a fading fire enough to be agonisingly felt, but not enough to drive her to the edge again. She took a steadying breath before replying, “Endure my tantric duty, but I may not cum until it is Miss Trisha’s gloved hand that allows it!” she quoted.
Warmth coiled in Trisha’s chest, and she treasured the glow, the combination of submissive acceptance and dutiful reiteration of her orders hit the ear just right. People fulfilling their tasks and orders despite discomfort gave her a spurt of joy that was hard to quantify, but she knew it to be born of her sadism. When people did as they were told, the gears of the world kept spinning, and the knowledge of this was what got Trisha out of bed in the morning.
She shook her head, “You will not be receiving an orgasm today,” she said simply, getting a kick out of Kore’s falling face. But she was quick to give the dutiful helper something to take her mind off of it, “But I expect you to rejoin me tonight to continue assisting me with my research.”
“O-oh, yes! Yes, Governess Moore, I’d love to!” Maid Kore agreed animatedly, finally dropping her skirts when Trisha indicated for her to do so.
“Good! I’m sure we’ll make a lot of progress,” Trisha almost purred, presenting the tip of the riding crop to the maid’s lips. Kore blushed profusely before licking the drop of her precum from the Governess’ favoured implement. “But for now, I think it’s time you return to your duties for the day.”
The still frustrated Maid got off the bed, and quickly bid Trisha farewell before departing the room, leaving Trisha by herself.
Now alone, the navy blue clad lecturer allowed herself a single outward giggle, articulating the perverse enjoyment the small interaction with Maid Kore had given her. This job certainly had its perks. She ran a hand over the satin of her dress come frock coat and bit her lip, her desires having been roused. Seeing the vibrator left on the handkerchief, she picked it up and contemplated using it on herself to sate her urges before afternoon classes started, but the sight of the thin silver watch on her wrist stayed her hand.
Checking the time, she huffed in annoyance, she had a meeting to keep and it wouldn’t do to arrive at it all sweaty and glowing with the wrong kind of satisfaction. Using the handkerchief to clean the vibe, she returned it to her bedside nightstand and forced her physical passions to bleed away. She looked forward to the time when she would soon be able to show this side of herself to Carmilla unreservedly. Trisha did enjoy the power she held over people, it was a tool she loved to use and would continue to use it. It would not do yet to show this side of herself to her ward before she was physically initiated into womanhood.
“Not that I have to wait too long,” she spoke aloud before leaving the room, bound for her meeting with the Housekeeper.
Her practised calm back in place, Trisha wore a polite and professional half smile as she made her way to the ground floor. On the way there she passed a courtierge of Housemaids who carried a collection of items up the stairs towards the third floor. Straps, chains, and cuffs clinked amidst the items that the Maids carried, and Trisha knew their purpose. ‘A pleasant evening for the Lady Florence, it seems.’
Her passage eventually brought Trisha to the ground floor hallway that contained Diana’s quarters, coming to the foot of a simple wooden door with a brass plaque on it that read ‘Housekeeper’ in flowing black cursive.
Smoothing down her clothes, she raised a hand to knock on the door, but stopped when the woman herself turned onto the corridor in a flurry of black and white cloth, walking briskly down the corridor towards Trisha.
Trisha raised an amused eyebrow at the Housekeeper's approach, turning to face the older woman who smiled genially at her.
“Dear Trisha,” the green eyed Housekeeper greeted. She pulled her ring of keys around and inserted a long silver one into her room’s door handle. A quick turn and they were rewarded with the by now familiar sound of tungsten bolts being drawn back from within with a heavy clunk. “Please come in.”
As they both entered the modest quarters, Trisha quickly discarded her initial thoughts that Diana might have been late. It was much more likely that the steel haired Housekeeper was simply perfectly on time, and had abstained from keeping herself idle, instead taking the time to do some other task before their meeting.
One might expect that the overall head of Eden’s Rest’s staff and the secondary power behind Victoria would have a large place to live, and they would be correct. Diana’s quarters were much like Trisha’s, only in reverse, with an office at the front and the quarters behind. Diana’s office was almost surprisingly normal, with a desk, book cases, and a pair of fabric couches on either side of a coffee table flanked by several small bookcases. It was almost purely functional, save for a few subtle creature comforts. A large painting was hung on the far wall, depicting a verdant coastline by the sea and the corners of Diana’s desk were packed with framed photos.
Trisha sat on one side of the desk, while Diana made her way over to a large fluted tea set in the corner. “Milk and no sugar I recall,” she said, busying herself with making tea.
“Please, and thank you.” Trisha replied honestly, looking around the office while she waited. It was not her first time in here, but in the time she had lived at the house she had rarely had the need to come in here. “I hope I didn’t call you away from something important.”
“Nonsense, I was just arranging some disciplinary clothing to be prepared for some of the newer maids. If they don’t carry their weight, then they will be forced to itch until they do.” The kettle began to slowly hiss as it came to a boil.
Intrigue hit Trisha at the comment, her ears perking up. “Ooo, I appreciate simple reinforcement. Show someone just how good they have it, and that if actual harm were meant, it could be so much worse.”
Diana shrugged modestly, “It was Mistress Victoria’s suggestion.”
They exchanged pleasantries for a few more minutes, while the auburn haired Governess looked over the Housekeeper’s desk. Her eyes narrowed on the largest framed photo on Diana’s desk, leaning in to get a better look. Two women were in the photograph, both showing off beaming smiles to the camera. The taller of the two was clearly a much younger Diana who looked to be almost the same age that Trisha was now. Her hair was a deep black, and cascaded down her back in frizzy waves. Most notably, she did not wear her trademark maid’s uniform. Instead, she wore a smart and conservative women’s suit, made up of a black blazer and matching pencil skirt.
But Trisha quickly turned her focus on the other woman, a feeling of bemused whimsy falling over her as she realised who it was. Silky black hair, deep blue eyes, and an elfin face set in a million watt grin. It was a 12 year old Victoria Florence.
Turning around with the tea set, Diana saw Trisha looking at the old photo, and smiled at old memories. She fondly recalled the morning she had taken that photo. “She’s grown so much since back then,” she said to Trisha as she handed the younger Governess her tea.
“She certainly developed into a wonderful person. And looking at the background, I guess some things never change.” Trisha replied.
Diana turned quizzical at that comment, before realising what Trisha meant. She shook her head ruefully, “Ah, you appear to be labouring under the belief that this was taken at Eden’s Rest. But the Mistress did not inherit the house until she was 18.”
Plucked auburn brows knitted in confusion. Trisha studied the photo closer, and saw to her surprise that the steps and door behind the two in the photograph were different from what she knew to be Eden’s Rest’s front portal. “A relative's house?” she ventured, for clearly it was still some form of stately home.
The Housekeeper shook her head, her smile polite yet a spark of impishness to it that reminded Trisha of Victoria. “Close, but no cigar. It is a relation, but you don’t pick up on the totality. Mistress Victoria was raised at Alchemilla Hall, the Earl Florence’s primary residence in Bath. Many of the senior staff here at Eden’s Rest were originally from there and transferred when Victoria inherited the Rest.” She sipped her tea before changing the topic, “How did Lady Florence’s first lessons go?”
Oh no. Diana was not about to drop Trisha off the scent of intrigue after such a tantalising kernel. She was not about to let this pass. She quickly informed the Housekeeper of how it went, eager to return to the topic of Victoria’s youth, and watched Dians’s eyes fog with sentimentality.
“Ah, I remember the simple joys of raising a young girl to be a Lady. No one starts perfect, it is just a matter of knowing where to push, and where to pull back.” she reminisced, speaking from experience.
Hearing the genuineness of that reply, a puzzle piece fell into place in Trisha’s head. She allowed herself a rare display of cordiality, resting her elbow on Diana’s desk. “You know I had actually forgotten that you were Mistress Victoria’s Governess in her youth.” It had been mentioned to her a few times long ago by Victoria’s mother, Beatrice, but this was long before Victoria had approached her to take the reins as Sam’s governess. Something rankled in the back of the current Governess’s mind at this though. If Diana had once been Victoria’s Governess, why was she now her housekeeper?
‘Then again, I suppose it was a promotion of a sort, more lateral than upward but Diana is very comfortable and capable in the position.’ she mused idly.
“Enough about my tenure in the teaching seat.” Diana waved a hand dismissively, “You wanted to discuss something about Lily and Delilah?”
Sighing internally that her intrigue had been waylaid for now, Trisha packed the new bits of information into a mental box, and got down to brass tacks. “I would like to have the details on Delilah and Lily’s lessons and additional training as Lady’s Maids,” Trisha supplied before giving her justification, “I want to know how both paths of education could be twisted as to help both grow and further Carmilla’s acclimatisation to her position. Sibling students is a powerful bond, even if on different walks of life.”
Green eyes turned askance behind half moon glasses. A beat passed before Diana opened a deep draw in her desk, and withdrew a blue manilla folder that she slid across the desk to Trisha.
Opening the folder, Trisha silently leafed through the papers, noting not only mugshots of the two Lady’s Maids but also of the two younger Hammalainlan sisters. Her reading was, however, hampered by the interrogative look that Diana fixed on her. “Something wrong, Diana?” she asked, genuinely confused.
Diana weighed her words before speaking. “Usually matters like this are kept within a strict hierarchy. Education of the Maids, even if they are Lady’s Maids, goes through me. The only exception to that are Yui’s Nurse Maids, given their unique skillsets.”
The younger woman sniffed at that, “Our Mistress also says that we should work to improve upon certain traditions, as opposed to being merely a slave to them.” she countered, before adding under her breath, “I do have some issues with our Mistress’s conduct though.”
That was a dangerous line of thought, and it was only Diana’s own experience as Victoria's Governess that kept her features schooled. She did, however, want to know just what it was, as dissatisfaction was the seedbed of disorder. “And that would be?” her face softened, “you can tell me, and I swear it will not leave this room.”
“I think Victoria’s ‘clapping’ incident during supper was ill timed. Not the content, just the timing. Humiliating Lady Florence may be an amusing pastime, but there was a chance she could have slipped into full on catatonia, had Victoria’s read on her reactions been even slightly off.”
Templing her fingers, Diana’s face turned impassive, looking at Trisha questingly. The woman in question kept a straight face, but the fact that she felt the base desire to fidget as the older woman scrutinised her was a testament to her ability at ‘compassionate intimidation’, a term that Trisha had coined in a paper she wrote at finishing school. The ability to use one’s non-negative emotions and connections to intimidate a person into action, or dissuade them from it. A key component in rearing a person to their full ability.
Regardless of the outcome, Diana had just gone up a few points in Trisha’s book.
“If you have an issue with Mistress Victoria, take it to her directly. Don’t resort to lateral griping. Griping goes up, not to one’s peers.” Diana said seriously. When Trisha tried to blow it off, Diana added, “You may be a member of the Leading Staff, but you are the newest person to join that echelon. You have lived here for over a year, compared to Yui and I, who have been part of Victoria’s life for much longer. While Victoria is very, very fond of you, and open to a correctly worded argument, accept that some of Victoria’s eccentricities can not be bargained around.”
Opening her mouth to argue, the navy clad Governess closed it as she took in what Diana had just told her. She closed her eyes and conceded the point, deferring to Diana’s read. “I suppose so…” she eyed the clock on the wall, noting the time as 12:45, “be that as it may, could I stay in here until I have to retrieve Lady Carmilla for her afternoon classes? It’s rare I get to exchange notes with another governess.”
A light lit in Diana’s face, utterly enthused at the prospect. “Of course! I’d be delighted to have my lunch with you. If you can stand the stories of an old Governess turned Housekeeper.” she chirped, bustling over to her bookshelf to retrieve some old documents to show Trisha.
Trisha glowed, “On the contrary, it is always sage advice to listen to one’s peers. I must tell you about my research with Maid Kore.”
Diana let out a peel of laughter which confused Trisha immensely, her face narrowing in intrigue. The steel haired Housekeeper looked over her shoulder with a rueful grin. “What business have you got my good for nothing niece wrapped up in?”
“...WHAT!?”
Oh this was going to be a fun conversation.
While lunch seemed to be the order of the day for the majority of the house, it was not evenly taken by residents and staff alike. For example, usually Yui would be invited to take lunch with Victoria and Sam, taking advantage of the outside locale for a cheeky vape, without Diana glowering at her personal vice. This time, however, Yui had taken advantage of the romantic luncheon to crack on with some more work deep in the bowels of the medical facilities. While she may have had a blase attitude and seemed lackadaisical, she skipped lunch whenever it was pertinent, and it was surprisingly often.
She made her way from room to room with a tablet in one hand, nursing a coffee in the other, her face pleased as the caffeine sharpened her already razor focus. As per usual, her attire was modest, functional, and undoubtedly her. A mauve turtleneck sweater, over which she wore her white doctor's coat, and a pair of tight fitting leather pants with simple black flats.
Of course, while Yui’s attire had not strayed far from her personal favourites, she had a myriad of potential things that she had to attend to at any given moment that could be in any stage of starting, maintaining or concluding experiments, cataloguing her discoveries for sending off to FMC for peer review as well as personal pursuits. The choices were endless, and it was a spin of the roulette wheel for anyone outside of her close knit circle to guess what she was attending to. Right now, she was on her way to contribute to her role as the Manor Physician.
“A sore throat, Dr Ito. I don’t think it’s much of a problem, but Maid Zara insisted I get it checked out,” Maid Kate said demurely, sitting on the white padded rubber cushions of a medical examination table.
Yui noted down the symptoms, then retrieved a penlight from a nearby surgical tray, “Open your mouth and say ahhh,” she instructed, shining the light into the young Housemaid’s mouth. She swept the beam of light to every crevice, her almond shaped eyes taking in every detail. The maid had been brushing her teeth well, and there was no whiff of anything untoward on her breath, but Yui focused on a patch of flesh behind her uvula that was a bit too red for her liking.
A drip of viscous liquid confirmed her suspicions, and she switched off the light. “It seems to be a late onset Hayfever, nothing too untoward.” Yui declared, rolling backwards on her office chair to a medicine cabinet and retrieving a clamshell shaped pillbox, opened it, and popped out a small white tablet from it like a pez dispenser, handing it to the Housemaid.
It was a simple antihistamine pill, meant to curb the symptoms of hayfever or any other overactive immune response. Unlike many of the drugs in Yui’s stores, this one had not been developed by her, but she stocked it for its effectiveness. It was not available on the open market because of how effective it was. One taken in the morning would kill the symptoms for a full 24 hours, compared to most medications that would just blunt them for a few hours at most.
Maid Kate thanked Yui, and made to leave, but the short Doctor held up a finger and wagged it playfully at her patient. “Ah ah ah, sit that silky rump back down. You aren’t dismissed until I say so. Doctor’s orders are a saying for a reason.”
When her patient was once again in position, Yui swiped through several pages on her tablet, before coming to what she wanted to see. The tablet was tilted a little higher to hide it from view, and Yui began to tap away onto it, occasionally looking over the edge at the waiting Maid Kate who was starting to look apprehensive. Mirth filled the Kyoto native as she continued her series of furtive looks, throwing in a thoughtful frown and disapproving hum, watching Maid Kate gulp in worry. It was a performative show of nonsense, meant only to eek some schadenfreude from the servant by forcing her into the hot seat and waiting for Yui to pronounce sentence.
She was having a bit of simple and clean fun. Miad Kate coughed shortly, a visual tic that showed that her discomfort had officially crossed an internal threshold, and so Yui called it quits and began to speak. “You’re somewhat new to the staff here at Eden’s Rest, aren’t you, Maid Kate?”
Kate nodded, relieved that the awkward silence was over. “Yes. Three months at last count since finishing my conditioning. Is there something wrong?”
“Not really. But I noticed a recent filing for misconduct under your name for incorrect posture and falling behind schedule yesterday. I noticed that both incidents were related to times where you would have had to change footwear, so I’m concerned there’s something wrong with your feet.” Yui mused, eyeing the housemaid’s laced up working boots.
“I’m just getting used to my new boots, ma’am. Mistress Victoria gifted them to all of us in preparation for her wife’s arrival.” the Maid explained, her face telling a different story.
Yui didn’t buy it. Not the new boots part, that she knew to be true, and it was a very Victoria thing to do, but it didn’t line up with the symptoms. Eden’s Rest uniforms were built to be flashy, but also functional, meaning all footwear was cobbled to perfection even for the Maids. The fact that this falling behind was a lone case and only cropping up now meant that there was a different common denominator.
“Take off your boots, Maid.” Yui ordered as she set her tablet down on the side.
The order of a Leading Staff member given could not easily be refused. Kate pulled up her skirts and unlaced her boots, pulling each one off, and showing off her shapely legs clad in sheer black silk stockings. Yui tapped her knee, fixing the housemaid with a sultry smirk that made the servant blush, before resting her legs across Yui’s bent legs. The asian doctor ran a hand up the silky black material, and hummed appreciatively at the tone she could see in them. She took hold of the top of a foot, and tilted it up to look at the sole.
“Well there’s your problem,” Yui chirped in amusement as Maid Kate winced in discomfort.
The black silk was sheer enough to see the Housemaid’s creamy skin underneath in clear detail, especially the series of bright red lines that criss crossed over the sole of each foot angrily.
‘Dial B for Bastinado,’ she thought sarcastically. She’d recognize this kind of mark anywhere. “Rattan or neoprene?”
Kate’s ashamed face turned confused. Yui proceeded to flick the inflamed flesh and Kate let out a pained whine.
“Was the cane made of wood or rubber?” she asked, putting things in layman’s terms while enjoying Kate’s delicious jerks, her legs trying to move under Yui’s iron grip, her other hand now tracing one of the thin red welts with the tip of her finger. Her money was on Rattan.
“Wood, Dr Ito,” Kate replied, dropping any pretence of hiding her shame, and wearing it plainly on her face. The dull ache from each of the welts grew with new lines of fire every time Yui traced one with her finger, drawing some esoteric mandala on the heel. She inhaled sharply, the pain suddenly deadening as Yui pressed her thumb against a pressure point in the sole of her foot, briefly killing the pain.
‘Decent work, though sloppy towards the initial strikes. Whoever did it started off in a rage before getting their strokes under control.’ Yui observed, looking at the after effects from an objective domme standpoint. If one exerted too much force too quickly with a cane, then they would succeed in making large harsh welts that would sting, but that came at the cost of subsequent canings within those welts less distinct. The sole of the foot was one of the most sensitive places on the body, a prime space for inflicting pleasurable pain or disciplinary reminders like the ones Maid Kate now wore.
Letting go of the pressure point, she was amused by the wince the Maid gave as the aches and pains suddenly returned to her foot. On any other day she would have happily blown the minutes away coaxing a variety of reactions out of the tenderised flesh, but this time she felt that it was best to keep focused on the task at hand. “How and why were you subjected to Bastinado? I can see cautions and reprimands on your file, but no official charges of discipline by Victoria or Diana.”
Kate’s face fell, shaking her head self-deprecatingly. “I messed up when serving Lady Carmilla when she first arrived with Mistress Victoria. My new boots were starting to chafe my ankles, and, well…” the young woman sheepishly scratched her face, “I was just so excited to be the first to serve her, that I made a few mistakes.”
Yui’s eyes flashed with genuine mirth at that. Diana and Victoria had a way of whipping these Maids into such a genuine belief in the role, that their mentalities were reframed through the singular focus that was serving the house and its residents. It was actually pretty scary… or it would have been if the bob-haired Kyoto native didn’t find it a beautiful showing of large scale domination to an ideal.
Oblivious of the doctor’s internal musings, Kate continued her explanation as she set her feet back on the floor, the cool surface soothing her welts. “Mistress Victoria apparently made her discontent with my actions known, and it filtered back through the Housemaids. A few of my seniors took it upon themselves to discipline me that evening.”
“Ah-ha! We get to the root of the issue,” Yui exclaimed, mentally adding ‘Subs playing at being dommes. Cute.’ Standing from her chair, Yui opened one of her cabinets and began to rummage through it, grumbling to herself in Japanese while looking for what she was trying to find. Maid Kate leaned over in place to get a better look, jumping when Yui leapt to her feet with her prizes in hand, “ Yosh! ” she enthused quietly.
It was a pair of gel inserts composed of white rubber and a sheath of light blue gel that was cool to the touch. The upper half of the inserts had a stretchy membrane that could let the wearer don them as plimsolls for out of shoe wearing.
“Wear these during working hours in your shoes, and as slippers for your offtime. The pain will dull over the next few days, but the marks themselves will take about a week to go.” The short manor physician told her patient, smiling as the younger woman thanked her profusely. She watched as the Maid slipped on the inserts and replaced her boots, exhaling in pleasure as the coolness radiated into her bruised feet. She waved goodbye to the Housemaid as the automated doors to her tertiary infirmary closed behind her. Her tablet was in her hands seconds later, and she made a note of the malady.
‘Punishment induced wear and tear.’
Her duties as the physician attended to, Yui moved on to her next port of call. As she walked, however, her thoughts remained on Maid Kate, or rather, her welts. She did not feel a single iota of pity for the younger servant for the simple reason that this was part of the way of things at Eden’s Rest. ‘Fuck ups need to be punished, or else you’ll never learn a lesson. The only reason I even gave her the inserts was because Diana didn’t sanction the punishment.’ Yui thought, passing into the complex where the servers were kept, the temperature dropping. She was thankful for her jumper.
If the Housekeeper had given an official order of Bastinado, then she was quite content to let the pain abate on its own, and in fact, found the thought of the maid hot stepping in her frills and petticoats to be an arousing and amusing mental image.
Breathing in the sterile cool air into her lungs, Yui pulled up her tablet and checked off what she had to get done before tonight’s festivities.
Three tasks stood out proudly:
Check up on projects in the applied science wing.
Check progress in the Bio-Labs.
Collect a very special piece of kit for Victoria’s use.
With that set, Yui decided to liven things up by adding a little music to walk to. She navigated through several menus on her tablet, before tapping its surface and smiled in enjoyment as light jazz began to play through the Medical Facilities internal PA system. It was a pleasantly upbeat piano track, with the occasional cut in from a rich sounding saxophone. Nodding her head to the beat of the track, Yui continued on her trek. While Yui did like the sterility of a medical workspace, she liked music of all kinds with a particular fondness for jazz. It also meant that she had the perfect soundscape to engage in a little workplace fun if the mood called her to it.
And for Dr Yui Ito, it very often did.
Her face twisted with mischief as she brought up a list of names on her personal tablet, reading the Kanji from 1 to 9 in ascending order from top to bottom. Her Nurse Maids. Each Maid’s numerical designation was contained in a small window that contained their current location, vocation and what they were working on. Within the Medical Facilities, all actions taken by the Nurse Maids were monitored and logged, for the sake of both posterity and the good Doctor’s interest. What they were working on. How long they had been working on it and even transcripts of conversations they had had in the corridors. What this meant right now, was that Yui had intimate knowledge of which of her creations was available to be fucked with without hurting productivity.
Her eyes alighted on Ichi working in the Bio-Labs and saw that her status read as ‘Plugged’. “Perfect,” Yui purred, her mood rising from pleasantly content to actively amused with an edge of hunger.
The Bio-Labs were much like the rest of the Medical Facilities in that they were mostly a sterile white, but had a more cluttered feel to them. They were filled with half a dozen long islands upon which sat numerous pieces of scientific equipment. Centrifuges whirred quietly, mixing compounds with catalysing agents, and adding to the soundscape of science being done. The walls were lined by long desks and shelves that contained hundreds of specimens of flower, kept in glass terrariums or suspended in viscous amber liquid that bubbled silently. Sat halfway down one such desk on a high stool was Nurse Ichi, her eyes pressed to the lenses of a microscope.
Nurse Ichi was a beautiful woman of asian descent, like all eight of her co-workers. With the exception of the Tantric Maids, Yui’s Nurse Maid’s were the most diverse in terms of their appearance. Yes, she had modified all nine of them to bear pronounced oriental features, but had a flair for giving some of them outlandish additional effects to make them stick out from the crowd. Ichi appeared to be in her early 30s with a heart shaped face and plump, pillowy lips. She had a small bust, a trim waist and wide hips, but what drew the eye was her hair. Ichi had nape length seafoam green hair kept in a tight bun under her nurse’s cap.
Matching seafoam green eyes looked through the microscope at a blood sample, watching as the cells within the slide came in and out of focus when she dialled in the exposure to check one red blood cell in particular, noting down her observations. It was a sample of Sam’s blood that had been taken on his initial examination and was being compared against several other slides and control groups to ascertain initial reaction to the types of viral therapy they would be employing to aid in the Lady of Eden’s Rest’s transition.
Ichi removed the current slide and slotted in the next one, another of Sam’s, but this one exposed to an adjutant substance. Intrigue filled her as she watched a white blood cell emerge from the plasma filled gloom, its undulating form ‘crawling’ towards where it could sense the adjutant substance. This was her fourth round of testing the same thing and the enjoyment of simple biology had never quite left her, even all these years, attitude adjustments and modifications later. There was a joy to being of use, especially in a capacity she knew she was a specialist in.
An awareness crept up on her, the corners of her mouth turning up in wry amusement. She did not verbalise her feelings, as she knew there was a chance it would be recorded, and her Sensei might question what was so funny. She had been so focused on her task that she had briefly forgotten the medium sized buttplug sat snugly in her anus.
Ichi felt a scratch of desire rise up from within her body, and decided to indulge it in as subtle a way as she could manage. She gently squeezed down on the plug, and was rewarded with a wave of pleasure that rolled up her body, the bulbous expanse of the plug pressing into the supple soft muscles of her ass. She let out a single continuous exhalation of enjoyment, before squeezing again.
The plug was not especially big- God only knew the size of the plugs she had been forced to seat in her sphincter over the years- but she had come to greatly enjoy the feeling of fullness that came with its presence.
A cruel smile shined from the shadows of the otherwise brightly lit room. Yui waited by the automatic doors that silently slid closed behind her. A perk of wearing flatties was that the sound of her footfalls on the hard floor was dampened, and the good doctor had long ago learned the perks of being able to sneak around an unaware sub without them knowing you were there. She tiptoed to the island behind Ichi, and continued to watch the first of the Nurse Maids play with herself without moving anything but her ass.
She opened Ichi’s window, expanded the plugged icon and swirled a finger around the ‘OFF’ setting, before sliding it to ‘ON’ with a flourish.
Seafoam Green eyes widened as the plug within Ichi began to strongly vibrate. The hard plastic stool Ichi sat on echoed a shadow of the rumbling toy’s tremors, and Ichi bent forwards to steady herself against the edge of the desk, letting out a small mewl of pleasure at the sudden but potent stimulation.
“Ichi, Ichi, Ichi, Ichi~” Yui chorused to make herself known, sashaying towards the green haired Nurse whose head snapped around in alarm. “How’s my number one nurse in the whole wide world doing today?”
Ichi scrambled to her feet, sliding off the stool to stand beside it and properly face her creator, and immediate superior. The glow in her cheeks deepend with every move, sending a subtly different pleasure from her ass into her, the presence of the doctor causing her arousal to rise. “Yui-Sensei,” Nurse Ichi greeted with a polite bow to the Japanese doctor.
Yui nodded at the greeting, not deigning to properly return it to the lessor. “I came to check up on your work.” she said before switching to her native dialect. “ The initial batches of KAH should be prepped for introduction to the Carmilla-Sama’s genetic markers for a first generation synthesis in two weeks. The results of your adaptation tests need to be done by then.”
“Yes, Yui-Sensei. Of course, Yui-Sensei.” Ichi replied submissively, doing her best to keep a handle on her building arousal. The ripples of pleasure lapped at the supporting pillar of her will but she stood as firm as she could, even beating down her blush. She turned curious, “Have you come up with a name for the strain that we will be proceeding under for Carmilla-Sama?”
“Unlike that sapphire eyed sapphic we call a patron I don’t have an issue with naming things, even if we have to work within her cliches .” Yui replied before hopping up onto Ichi’s stool and taking a look through the microscope at the blood samples. “ FMC-VT-KAH-’BC’. ” she said, snickering at the emphasis she put on the last two letters.
“BC?” Ichi queried, another wave of manageable arousal rising over her. The plug had been set to go in ramp up cycles with progressively higher and higher vibrations.
Yui bit her lip in amusement, turning her head away from the lenses and giving the green themed Nurse Maid a mirth filled stare. “Bloody Countess.”
Ichi’s mouth opened in a surprised and appreciative ‘o’. She nodded, and sang the doctor’s praises for a fitting name even if truthfully the joke didn’t reach her. The Nurse Maids lived knowing that if their creator spoke something with conviction, then it was an immutable fact full of wisdom. The doctor and nurse continued to exchange work related smalltalk for a while before Yui smelt the unmistakable scent of arousal in the air.
Keeping her eyes mostly pressed against the lenses, Yui looked sideways past the rubber eye shields to where Nurse Ichi stood. The green haired woman was inscrutable, having gotten her reactions to the pleasure that rushed through her under control. The only tell she could discern was a slight tightness in the way her skirt gripped her thighs, meaning she was tensing her lower body to keep the plug inside her from rumbling too much. Turning a collapsing dam into a leak in the dike situation.
‘And here I am to stick my finger in the dyke’s hole,’ Yui thought candidly. It was time to have some workplace fun.
“Ichi, come here and look at this antibody deployment,” Yui said, leaning on the stool. Ichi moved forwards but Yui kept her knees resting against the hard surface of the cabinet under the desk and when Ichi looked at her with an unsure expression, Yui rolled her eyes. She tapped her knee invitingly, her intention and unsaid order clear.
Ichi slammed down on the urge to gulp, her arousal nearly breaching her professional shell at the simple suggestion. She inclined her head in a half bow before swinging a leg over Yui’s short but toned legs and perched herself on the doctor’s knee, the leather clad leg pressing through her skirt and pressing toned muscle against the rumbling base of her plug. Pleasure that had been for now tightly corralled into a ball lanced into Ichi’s core, purring in pleasure as she looked again at the microscope.
Yui slipped a hand around Ichi’s waist and trailed a hand up her front, feeling the soft fabric and tense muscles beneath, adding to the sensorial symphony in the altered maid. “ The control batches are always necessary and compared with contemporaries and prior iterations. It's how best to establish control reactions.” She said, whispering into the nurse’s ear.
“Yes, Yui-Sensei.” Ichi breathed out, feeling moisture begin to bead at her nether lips. She tried desperately to focus on the abstract cells in front of her, but the more the deft hand rubbed into her stomach, the more she began to see a fantasy in the glass. Red and white embracing in a devouring dance, one propagating while the other receded.
Hot breath tickled Ichi’s neck, Yui danced her lips over her skin, close enough to trigger a kinesthetic reaction but not close enough to truly touch. When Ichi moved away, she advanced, when Ichi turned into her embrace she pulled away. Her hand began to drag down and continued south after passing her nurse’s hips. “Control reactions are innate, but then comes those that have been conditioned ~”
As Yui’s right hand continued its downward trek, her left hand took firm hold of one of Ichi’s hips, squeezing it purposely and drawing a shiver of pleasure from the older woman. Using a practised control over her muscles, Yui tensed her Quadriceps Femoris and the front thigh muscle stood out proud, pushing the plug deeper into her nurse’s asshole. Ichi moaned loudly, much to the bob haired woman’s approval, her brown almond shaped eyes capturing every detail. Of all her Nurse Maids, Ichi was the most modified and conditioned, and training her ass to be as potent an erogenous zone as her moistening pussy had been high on the priority list.
Short and sharp exclamations of pleasure emerged from the Nurse over the next few minutes. Yui continued to pump and relax her thigh, shifting it slightly this way and that to send the vibrating toy into new directions. She fell into sync with the vibrations of the plug, timing her penetrations so that Ichi was ping-ponged back and forth between spikes of pleasure and unfulfilling probings that left the Nurse hungry for more. Finally, the conditioned response came. Seafoam green hair began to jostle in front of Yui, Ichi was now bouncing her hips to try and expedite her own pleasure. She pushed her nose into the green hair and inhaled deeply, offering encouragement in thickly accented Japanese, slipping into Kansai-ben as her own controlled lust rose.
This was just playing, it was not true toe curling arousal, but workplace fun she was enjoying.
“And then comes…?” Yui asked coyly, fingers curling around the hem of Ichi’s white skirt.
Ichi was panting now, her hands holding onto the desk and microscope for support. She mewled in need when Yui’s left hand cupped her small breasts through the uniform and began to tickle her engorged nipples that stood out proudly from the white cotton. “Catalysed reactions, Yui-Sensei.”
Catalyst, noun: a condition, event, or person that is the cause of an important change.
Yui’s right hand slipped under the skirt, and began to quest inward, rubbing the thigh and feeling perspiration beaded along the supple flesh. Heat rose the deeper she made it, and the sweat dampness grew slick, offering a clear red carpet for the dainty fingers to glide towards their target. Ichi’s snatch was glistening with arousal now, the set puffy lips covered in a film of Cyprine wetness. The tip of Yui’s middle finger touched the slick slit, causing Ichi’s nipples to harden. The doctor parted the sensitive flesh with a perfectly manicured nail, causing the wetness to increase along with her slut’s breathing. She fed it into the pussy millimetre by millimetres until her index and ring finger joined it, just the tips within the slippery folds.
No further penetration came, just a trio of fingertips parting the pleasurable womanhood. Yui flexed her fingers and ran them up and down the inside of Ichi's Labia, playing her reactions like she was an instrument.
Each pass grew more lewd, a wet sound emerging from between Ichi’s thighs as more and more of her lustful secretions began to leak out and stain Yui’s leather pants.
“And that is important for the matter of change,” Yui cooed, switching back to English. Ichi pulled her eyes away from the equipment and looked at her domme with half lidded and lustful seafoam green orbs. Yui’s smirk grew, the side of her index finger kissing the bottom of the Nurse’s clitoral hood without touching the so-called fun button. Ichi moaned in need but Yui had fashioned the woman into a fine instrument, she could hold this note for hours. “And you would know all about change, wouldn’t you, Nurse Ichi.”
It was not a question.
From her place on the plastic stool, Yui poured over Ichi’s face and body, taking in every single detail and musing on how different they were from what they had once been. There had been a time when that face had held different features, ones more haughty and miserable, set in an angry scowl of denial. Those lips had once been thinner and lacked their cupid’s bow pout. And the hair… ‘ Were you a brunette or a ravenette? It was so long ago it’s hard to recall.’
The eyes had definitely been green though, perhaps a different shade before Yui had tweaked them to her liking. That had been an entirely different methodology. One of capture, breaking, training and rebuilding. From haughty rival to idolising instrument of her work and pleasure. A perfect little pet. An eternal nurse for a doctor most high. Nurse number one. Nurse Ichi.
She tweaked a nipple, the dripping snatch massaging the tips of her fingers, and used her left hand to take hold of Ichi’s chin, turning her face to thoroughly inspect it. No scars or amateurish work, a flawless reconstruction. Questions flowed from Yui in a teasing tide, falling over Ichi like warm summer rain. She asked how she used to look, used to sound, used to act. Each question made the balancing Nurse Maid feel more and more humiliated, and in turn more enraptured, to the pleasures of the flash and mind.
“A stuck up bitch with too much to prove,” Ichi answered Yui’s last question, clenching her plug to push her closer and closer towards the distant peak of climax. Yui was leading her up the mountain by leash and taking the most meandering and insufferable path imaginable. She knew what her name used to be, but she had been strongly conditioned to never be able to speak it. At this point though she didn’t care. She was Nurse Ichi now, and her Sensei had use of her.
Yui nodded emphatically, “You’re much better off this way,” she told the seafoam haired woman, offering another millimetre of her fingers as reward.
A notification chimed from Yui’s tablet and the moment was shattered.
Both women craned their head around to look at the tablet and glared daggers at it. Yui made a disgruntled noise and let go of Ichi’s face to snatch up the tablet, but her gruff annoyance melted away when she saw the sender’s tag. Two Kanji with the name in parentheses.
鴉郎 (Arou)
Any compunction about her fun being interrupted evaporated, and she pulled her fingers from Nurse Ichi’s pussy with a wet pop. Ichi bleated in needy denial, leaning trying to bounce her plug deeper but Yui instantly switched it off. Ichi made a pleading look, but a heated look from Yui had her bow her head in submission. Expression softening, Yui offered her arousal soaked fingertips to Ichi who took it as a grudging consolation prize. She brought the fingertips to her lips, and began to lick and suck them clean of their sticky glaze while sliding off Yui’s knee.
The Doctor hopped off her stool and shook her head to clear the fog, walking towards the exit and called over her shoulder. “R&D testing. My office, 15 minutes. Bring a condom!”
Ichi blinked owlishly, unsure what to do. Her expression settled on a bittersweet rictus. She was happy her coital escapades with her Sensei would continue, but now she had to deal with fifteen minutes of dealing with her pleasure being abruptly cut short, ‘ There is happiness in misfortune ,’ she internalised, begging to look for a cloth to fix her wetness situation. And the bio-labs once again were filled with the sound of centrifuges whirring with Sam’s blood.
Meanwhile, Yui was briskly making her way to applied science to pick up Victoria’s required piece of kit. Her former annoyance had morphed into happiness, as she began to type response to the one who had interrupted her workplace fun.
“You know you just left me high and dry, you inconvenient piece of shit!” she typed before sending the message back to ‘Arou’.
‘Arou’ was known to the world at large as Dr Anthony Robertson, a famous, if reclusive, doctor of software engineering and mechanical engineering.
He was also Yui’s elder cousin twice removed. The incandescently smiling Ito had always simply known the man as Arou.
His reply came moments later, “WWWWWWWWWW” the first reply read, the Japanese text equivalent of a LOL. “Well sorry for wanting to start the day off well with a good morning. Need I remind you it’s 6AM over here?”
Yui snorted, her reply typed out seconds later, “ You haven’t poked your head out of that bunker in 6 months, I doubt you remember what a sunrise looks like that far north.”
The banter continued as Yui entered the applied science wing, passing Nurse Kyu without a comment and taking the box she held up reverently. As time passed, the tone and content of Arou’s messages began to change and Yui’s face morphed to suspicion as she made the trek back to her office.
“-so anyways, I got the mail in last week, need to find a new way to compensate for size of the pneumatic pump that brings it from the surface down into House,” Arou wrote, the triplicate dots flashing before he added, “ Maintaining a near total vacuum is hard for bulk cargo movement.”
Yui could have made a scathing comment about how billionaires' obsession with pod transport was a blight upon the world, but instead she cut to the chase. “Alright Arou, what are you searching for?”
A single “?” was the only response she got.
She replied with an emoticon depicting a hand tapping a watch.
…
“Fiiiine, geeze, don’t want to have the fun game with your cousin.” he griped before continuing. “I remembered that you said you were starting up your Magnum Opus soon, so I just had to get some of the deets on how it's going.”
“Fukin’ mecha otaku,” she grumbled under her breath.
While their methods differed, they ran in similar circles in terms of using ingenuity to make things of people. Each one had their own specialty and both were ploymaths, but while Yui favoured biology to manipulate the world, Arou favoured machinery and tech.
“Unlike you who live a cushy life on your lonesome, I have to work to get my kicks.” the scoff dripped from the letters. However, Yui immediately opened a link to her personal server and forwarded a data packet of some of her notes for Arou to read through. He was a trusted collaborator after all.
The conversation was paused while the distant incorporeal cousin was doubtless scrounging over the details so Yui returned to her office, set the box from applied science down on her desk and transitioned to her desktop to continue the conversation. A few minutes elapsed before the three dot precursor of speech heralded the return of her cousin.
A clapping and cheff’s kiss emoji came first. “You certainly put a lot of thought in. But for your consideration:”
An encrypted file slotted into place and Yui opened it, the title causing her to grin. It was a trestease on anal wall elasticity, and the applications of silicone supplements to increase what an asshole could take. While flipping through the pages and diagrams she continued the chat. “ How’s your own project going? ”
To say Dr Anthony Robertson was a recluse was an understatement, much like it was to say Victoria had a thing for her namesake era. After making his money with his work, he had chosen to shack up in a converted luxury doomsday bunker somewhere in the Yukon where he could pursue his own depraved projects much the same as his cousin. While their methods differed, they would often swap notes for the sake of peer review and inspiration.
“Going good! Emma is taking to her new implants well, the idea to use silica filaments to map brain activity to a log was inspired!” he told her, making Yui preen. “I’ve started work on the ocular implants to replace her ‘old models’” he wrote, making Yui purse her lips at the prospect that flesh could be considered ‘old’ when she walked on the bleeding edge of it.
After a few more minutes of chat, the older Doctor informed his cousin that he had to leave due to ‘Emma coming online’.
Yui signed off with a chipper “have fun playing with your metal maid,” and closed the tablet for the last time.
Amorality towards one’s own wants was a common occurrence in Yui’s family, but it was only in a few of their number that they had cultivated a brilliance with which to act upon it to such monumental extents.
Yui relaxed into her chair and took note of the time. She still had a few more minutes until Nurse Ichi would arrive to help with R&D, so she should probably at least look at what they would be testing. She slid the box towards her and opened it, revealing the long black shaft of a very special dildo.
The phallic simulacrum was not a visibly impressive specimen, just under six inches long, and not overly wide, but it was anatomically correct to a turgid member. It was made of a semi-rigid silicone base, around which was packed rubber synthetic ‘muscle’ designed to simulate the processes of a healthy young man’s member. It could be teased to harness or allowed to grow soft. It could even ejaculate, if it had been loaded with a seminal payload, of which there was an excess always available for the denizens of Eden’s Rest. It could even match body temperatures and textures, to allow for a perfect first time for man, woman or sissy.
And that, of course, was what this particular phallus was for. Victoria had commissioned this piece and all its extras for a singular romantic purpose.
“It’s the cock with which I shall take my blossom’s first time. Induct her into the pleasures of the flesh and make a woman of her. If it’s not an authentic but pleasurable experience then something shall be lost. I want my wife’s first time as my woman to be one she shall never forget. There will be pain, there always is. Price of admission. But I will be damned if I don’t make it pleasurable for her as well. Think you’re up to it?”
The fantasy that Victoria’s words had conjured had been a powerful one. The image of her best friend lost in a tangle of limbs, pouring all her dominance, pleasure, passion, and above all, love, into her intended had been quite the mental image. It had lit a fire under Yui, to excel in her design and craftsmanship so that that fantasy came true for the both of them in a sweaty and sticky coital fuge.
That thought made her idly consider going swimming before Game Night later on tonight, because things were bound to heat up one way or another and she wanted to go in fresh.
Nurse Ichi knocked at her door then, which slid open a moment later. Yui eyed the packaged prophylactic and got to her feet, picking up the dildo and gesturing for Ichi to kneel. She slowly peeled off her tight fitting leather pants to reveal her shapely legs and panty covered privates. Her doctor's coat and sweater remained out of personal choice. She dipped her finger into the box and withdrew a strapon harness that she stepped into and tied off tight at the waist. The rubber cock was pressed against its mounting, and locked into place with a metallic click.
Pleasure hit Yui in a dull thump and she gave the piece a few experimental pumps, feeling it come to life in her hand, soon as hard as any other strapon she’d had the pleasure of using. “Can’t use the haptic feedback surfaces or get your spit on the shaft, Ichi. So let’s go with the blow up doll routine.”
“Yes, Sensei.” Nurse Ichi replied, opening the condom wrapper with her teeth and pulling out the transparent latex wrapper.
Yui considered, for a moment, how ‘Ichi’ had a lot of different meanings ranging from being a demeaning loss of former identity, to the fact that Ichi always tended to be first in line to have new things tested on her.
Ichi lifted the condom up in front of her face, the tip facing inwards towards her mouth. Pouting, she made a small ‘o’ with her lips and fit the edges of the latex rubber ring around her lips, then widened her mouth to a large ‘O’, the tension holding the bottom of the condom perfectly in place. She looked up at Yui excitedly.
The good doctor rested a hand atop Ichi’s head and gently gripped the older woman’s green hair, looking down at her with a sultry expression. “We both like being helpful, after all, we won’t let our beloved Mistress and Lady try something without first thoroughly testing it.” she said huskily, pressing the mushroom shaped head to the base of the condom. “Nice and sanitary. And here. We. Go.”
A single thrust was all it took, the condom rolled up the rubber length of the strapon and began a slow but thorough blowjob, with the good doctor making it her mission to thoroughly test out her new creation to ensure tonight went perfectly for both parties involved. If her work held up, and it always did, tonight would be quite the experience for Victoria and her beloved.
Trisha had returned at 1 o’clock on the dot and as promised quickly pushed Sam into his afternoon lessons, and so called enrichment period. The now white haired sissy had dreaded the older woman’s return and the physical pain her punishments would likely bring. However, to his surprise and delight, the afternoon was almost entirely composed of reading from the syllabus that Trisha had introduced that morning, with the enrichment period taken in a drawing room which surprisingly had been yet more reading, this time covering Eden’s Rest and the Florence family’s deep and storied history.
And frankly, that was a turn that Sam was 100% okay with.
His conversation with Victoria and subsequent walk around the full circuit of the house’s perimeter could charitably be called a ‘ Lux in Tenebris ’ experience. Sam’s rebellion had been cowed back into submissive placidness that made him go along with what was expected of him, as a means to avoid the situation getting worse. So when the young man was presented with the prospect of several hours of quiet reading and academic conversation with a well educated woman, that was a world better than what he had been dreading.
It did not mean he had accepted what was happening to him, just that he reluctantly went along with the bad stuff until he could try to formulate some new plan to escape. There was going to be a way out of this, even if he did not know how yet. Until then all he could do was endure, and enjoy the scant creature comforts.
This was still not ideal, because the young man’s temperament prevented him from fully taking in all the dense knowledge without the hammering knowledge that this was part of an apparatus designed to take from him who he was and reshape it into a demure yet depraved woman.
Some of the information slipped off his brain like so much water ,and what constructs of cognition stuck were sand sculptures, their distinctness blown away by the harsh wind of his own boredom. Boredom was something that was beginning to tickle at Sam’s waking mind over that afternoon, a metaphorical rock in his shoe. Now back within the bounds of his mental safe zone, he found himself naturally wanting to use his usual fallbacks of tech. But his phone was in Victoria’s hands and he got the feeling that asking to use a computer would make Trisha throw a book at him. Which left the only way to sate his boredom interacting with the house and information he hated.
It was an insidious cycle.
Thankfully, the lessons had eventually come to an end, and he found himself returning to his boudoir accompanied by Trisha and Dellilah to get ready for the game night. A pit of uneasiness formed in Sam’s stomach at the prospect of the game night. On the one hand, it presented a much needed balm of entertainment. On the other hand, he couldn’t help but imagine he’d end it an embarrassed and blushing mess as the ‘games’ turned out to be nothing more than thinly veiled innuendo.
His dirge of thoughts stopped at seeing Lily in front of them, the shorter of the two Lady’s Maids pushing a wooden cart loaded up with books. “How the heck did you beat us back here?” he asked, more to himself than to the redheaded maid.
Lily had stayed behind in the drawing room to gather the books and bring them up to his boudoir. That meant she had to leave after them,and the fact she had managed to beat them here, with a fully laden book cart to boot, was astonishing. She looked at Sam with a happy expression. “I took the lift, your Ladyship.”
“...the lift?” Snow white brows knit together.
“Enough of that, we have a deadline to keep. In, in.” Trisha pushed Sam through the door to his boudoir. That kind of information wasn’t needed right now. Lily rolled the cart into the boudoir and Delilah closed the door behind them.
Books were quickly pulled off the cart and put on the small shelves and writing desk that Sam had been afforded. “All available for you to read in your spare time should you find yourself with idle hands and tuned to your role. Enrichment and entertainment depending on your fancy for a night in.” Trisha indicated the books, running her fingers along the spines. There were more than just academic and history tomes. Trisha had picked the selection in advance to include classical literature- Dickens and Poe at the forefront- but also more raunchy tales and instruction manuals. Her eyes lingered on the words 'Kama Sutra’ running down the spine of one of the spines in gold letters, then shifted her focus to a thick hardback with jagged red letters listing its title.
Blood Meridian
A reading suggestion carrying malignant intent as mellifluous as the book’s standout character. The game of associations was Trisha’s forte, or as the youth called it, Gaslighting. She hoped that some of her book choices would instil a belief in the young Lady that life beyond the strict control of Victoria and the house was something to be avoided, and to do that she would have to begin planting stigma in Sam’s mind where he least expected them.
Oblivious of all of this, Sam stood awkwardly looking around the room, the light shining into the mostly pastel setting making him blend in with his surroundings. He stumbled shortly when Trisha quickly took him by the arm and pulled him behind the changing screen, beginning to quickly strip him of his schooling attire. “o-Oi!” he griped, leaning against the desk while the Governess pulled at his skirts.
“Come now, Carmilla, you and I both know you don’t want to be in your schooling attire any longer than you have to. We have a much more comfortable ensemble for your game night.” Trisha told him. Sam’s response was some weak flapping, his corset keeping him from being able to weakly swat at Trisha. The steel bones were still stiff, and did not give him much range of movement, and soon he felt the cool air of the room on his stocking clad legs again, causing him to shiver.
While not as well trained and elegant in the art of dressing as the Lady’s Maids, Trisha made a quick job of her work, and Sam stepped out of the pooled white skirt and petticoats, the bodice following. Lily and Dellilah nodded appreciatively from the sidelines, the spat boots finally coming free and leaving Sam in nothing but his undergarments.
He instinctively hugged himself to hide his body from view, hands covering his white lacy panties. He looked down and pulled his hand half away from the delicate fabric and cringed at the sight of the caged cock poking out ugly against the fine silk. It was so angular and hard looking that it spoiled the image, and made him wilt in embarrassment and shame.
A gloved hand was held out expectantly. “Panties.”
Sam baulked, “What, but-”
“You’ve been wearing the same pair all day, drenched in your sweat. I might be uninvolved in this social event, but you will not be going to it with sweaty lingerie.” Trisha said sternly, flexing her hand in an order.
Sam winced at that, trying to muster up the courage to fight back, but when it did not come, he took his hands away from his crotch and looped his thumbs through the lacy waistband, shimmying the panties down his stockinged legs. Stepping out of them, he passed the undergarment to Trisha who instantly took it and tossed it into an open laundry basket. “Attire her.”
Sam shrank away as Lily came forwards with a triangular piece of white silk between her hands. She held Sam still and quickly jammed a hand between his thighs, pressing them apart until his feet were a shoulder width apart. His caged cock was on full display, the plastic of the CB3000 reflecting in the light of the room. The Lady turned his head away in discomfort, his pride taking another suckerpunch. Lily looked up at him sympathetically, but continued her job.
The cloth was what appeared to be a thong without the usual waistband, a trio of rounded hooks affixed to each of its vertices, the first two she hooked to the front of Sam’s garter belt before stringing the cloth up between his pale ass cheeks. Sam let out a yelp of discomfort, the cool and slippery fabric slipped between his cheeks and rested right against his asshole. Maid Lily attached the third hook to the back of his corset, and the strapless thong was in place.
It was a tight hold, much tighter than his prior underwear, pushing his caged cock backwards between his legs and achieving a null-bulge. He stared down at his crotch, and was hit by the uncanny feeling of how androgynous he looked now.
Trisha noticed it too and kept her features schooled, approaching Sam from behind and slipping her arms around her ward’s waist.
“What?” Sam exclaimed, fearing that his personal space had been invaded. Trisha’s hands began to roam over his silky form, openly groping his faux bust and null bulge. He blushed when Trisha began to rearrange his cage.
“Maintaining one’s undergarments is as important as the outer garments, sloppy posture could loosen laces and sweat tarnish the silks.” the shorter woman cited before stepping away. She had tucked Sam’s cage between his cheeks, and the tension of the thong kept it there, presenting a flat crotch.
Lily moved in and removed his lace hider to tighten his corset, compressing his waist further as Delilah prepared his evening attire.
“A Tea Gown is a much more laid back affair compared to your usual bustles. But I expect you to wear it with the poise of any other outfit.” Trisha told her ward, as the first of the two garments was pulled up for him to see.
It was a floor length white wrapper with a high collar and buttons up along the side. Given his nakedness, he was quick to slip his arms into it and let his mocha skinned maid do the buttons up the side so it held fast to his compressed waist, framing his faux features without accentuating them. The front of the wrapper had a piped and lace detailing with starch stiffened ‘breastplate’ that drew the eye. All things considered, he was surprised at how… unrestrictive it was compared to the usual affair.
Trisha was quick to fill in the blank in his knowledge. “While they vary, they are good looking garments to wear around the house or at social gatherings, usually formed of a wrapper and an over gown.”
Delilah held up said gown, and Sam had to admit it was a striking piece even with his small knowledge of fashion. It could best be described as a segmented dressing gown formed from heavy satin, white with a pearlescent shimmer. Its entire length was quilted with ‘open’ sleeves and a layered train running from the back of the collar. The Florence family crest was sewn with pride in place over what would have been the navel. It slipped over Sam’s wrapper, and belted closed at the waist, drawing the entire ensemble together.
All that remained was final touches. His hair was freed from its bun and allowed to trail naturally down to between his shoulder blades, while his fringe was combed to be arrow straight. Sam squinted when he was given black mascara that popped against his pale complexion, the weight unfamiliar on his eyelashes. Lastly, Lily uncapped a tube of glossy red lipstick, and expertly applied it to Sam’s pouting lips.
The dog and pony show was brought to an end by Sam being reintroduced to the comfortable rose themed slippers he had worn on his first day. Trisha made a framing gesture with her fingers, and finally satisfied, sent him on his way to the game night.
A room on the first floor had been prepared for the festivities, picked and prepared at Victoria’s fastidious direction and Yui’s occasional pieces of sage advice. It was deeper into the heart of the first floor compared to Sam’s boudoir, and was quite close to the living room that he had waited for dinner in on the first night. Coming to the threshold of the chosen room brought with it the expected amount of trepidation in Sam. It was the first time he had been thankful for his outfit, as it gave him something to focus on on the trek rather than letting his fears build.
The Tea Gown was probably, next to the night dress, the easiest to move in outfit he had worn since his wardrobe change. It was not without its learning curve, what with the stiff bodice on the wrapper, or the weight of the layered train behind him, but the cotton and satin gown seemed to glide across the carpet and hardwood floors with a momentum Sam could not fully grasp. It put him in mind of how a cloud must feel, so much volume and real weight, but framed in such a way that it made him think it was weightless. Or maybe that was just the slippers.
It was probably the slippers.
He actually chuckled aloud, amused by just what his mind would latch onto to avoid paying attention to the doors in front of him. He finally looked up and acknowledged their imposing presence and the reality there was no avoiding this.
“Ready, Lady Carmilla?” Maid Delilah asked as she came to stand on Sam’s left. The silver pin on the bow at her neck caught Sam’s focus as it glinted. In fact, Delilah’s whole demeanour seemed much brighter without the Trisha looming over them all like the grim spectre of doom.
Sam took a deep breath before replying. “Please don’t call me that.”
Delilah’s smile dimmed, “I’m afraid I can’t. As you-”
“Look just-” he snapped before reigning in his anger. She wasn’t at fault here. He pointed between both Lady’s Maids who looked at him with reluctant interest. “When we’re alone, no Victoria or Trisha, drop the Carmilla. It’s not my name.” he pleaded before desperately adding, “fuck it, keep the Lady part, I don’t care. But don’t call me Carmilla when we’re alone.”
Both Maids exchanged looks before their expressions softened and they nodded. “Yes, my Lady.” both said in unison.
Sam felt his heart warm at the honesty both women spoke with. He wanted to say something to them but couldn’t fathom what, instead he schooled his features and signalled he was ready, opening the doors.
What kind of debasement was he about face? What fiendish contraptions from the minds and hands of madmen was he…about to… wait, what?
It was a large living room littered with every single item of recreation one could imagine. It was dominated by a huge 70 inch TV set into one wall, sat atop a custom stand made of cherrywood built to house what appeared to be every single games console from the Atari 2600 to a joint exhibition of Xbox and Playstations latest offerings. ‘Hang on, is that my PS5!? ’ Sam thought, recognising the custom black and gold wrap around the ‘popped collar’ of the Japanese console.
And that was just the beginning. There were long tables with PC’s already linked up in a LAN configuration. Every single one of them was packing a large graphics card, and by some impossibility, they all had 4090 written on the side of them, despite the fact it was not set to go on sale until September. And that was just in the digital sense.
VR headsets hung from mountings on the wall, all custom pieces with FMC and Florence family logos. A rack of neopixel lightsabers hung over the mantelpiece with a dedicated section of the floor for mock fencing with them. Pool tables. Poker tables. Baccarat. Table tennis. Roulette and even a gods-damned air hockey table.
Despite the glut of entertainment vectors, it still fit the Victorian aesthetic of the rest of the manor. Paintings of Victoria’s forebears hung from the walls and looked down on the scene with imperious grace. The space was broken up by period accurate couches, chaise lounges, wingback soft chairs and half a dozen tables of varying height that contained decanters of spirits, wines and crystal soda dispensers. Somehow, it all just… worked.
Raking his eyes across the scene, Sam settled on the couch where the upside down head of Yui Ito greeted him. “Yo!” she greeted him nonchalantly.
“Wha!” Sam bleated, shocked at her appearance. He hadn’t been expecting company. Yui was spread out over an L shaped couch with dark cushions and pillows, one of which she rested on her lap, a Nintendo Switch in her hands. Yui had forsaken her usual doctor's coat, and without the white garment she practically melted into the darkness of the upholstery in her turtleneck and leather pants.
Victoria’s best friend sniffed in amusement and rolled over to right side up, leaning an elbow on the armrest. “Keep your panties on. I’m not a ghost. Though you’ve seemed to get the white as a sheet thing down to pat in my place.” she said dryly, enthused at the annoyance she saw in his eyes before she took in his full look. She nodded in genuine appreciation, she’d be lying if she didn’t think his feminised look wasn’t attractive to her. “You polish up great in that dress.”
Sam gritted his teeth at the mix of unwanted comments and mocking chuckles, “What are you even doing here?” he demanded.
Yui shrugged. “Came to see if Victoria still has her game face and if you can hang with us in the big leagues. Ain’t that right, Victoria?”
Across the room at the far end, something moved. Sam had initially thought it was a painting of a woman in blue, only for the figure to slowly turn around and reveal herself to be Victoria. His heart skipped a beat taking in her outfit, her look, and her beaming smile. She wore a Tea Gown like his, a matching set, but its outer gown was a striking lapis blue. Her hair was up in a high ponytail, tied off with a matching ribbon, but her makeup differed. Where Sam’s lips were outlined in glossy red, Victoria’s had been painted with a simmering black lipstick that paired well with her deep blue eyes.
“I can guarantee that my wife can knock your woeful byplay into a cocked hat and then some, Yui.” Victoria said truthfully, earning her a middle finger in reprisal from the doctor. The aristocrat had eyes only for Sam. “You look wonderful, love. You were born to wear that dress, I’m sure of it.” She sashayed towards him, leaning up on her tiptoes to peck him on the cheek.
Blushing at the affection, Sam looked at his captor deeply. “No trick?”
“No trick. This is no idle muffin walloping,” she giggled at being able to use a period accurate turn of phrase, “I asked you here to game the night the way just like we used to. So let’s play.”
Sam still looked unconvinced. Victoria tutted and pulled away, holding Sam’s hand and pulling him towards one of the tables that was set for two people.
“Let’s start small then,” she gracefully sat on one side of the table and pointed at what was set upon it. “An oldie but a goodie.”
32 pieces. 64 spaces. A monochromatic rendering of the three estates in their most basic form.
“Chess,” Sam said glibly, shooting the black haired aristocrat an ‘are you serious’ look.
She tilted her head to one side and grinned.
The white haired sissy did not say anything for a while, holding Victoria’s stare before finally he sat down, cracking his knuckles. “Touch piece move. 2 minutes per turn. Mate only win condition.”
“Let’s goooo~” Victoria cheered, watching Sam move his first piece with a satisfyingly resonant clack.
And for once, Sam did not feel any worry. Because there was a fact that he knew to be true, a reality that could not be surmounted. For all the four years they had known each other, Victoria had never once beat Sam at chess.
Yui kept her attention on her Switch for a long while, finding her replay of Breath of the Wild by the spousal dick measuring contest playing out between Victoria and Sam. Tension began to fill the room and she looked up, forced to do a double take at the speed the two were moving their pieces. Sam’s white knight L shifted to take a pawn only to be taken by a black bishop. Victoria’s nascent smirk didn’t clear her lips before Sam’s right Rook swept in and took the bishop off the board.
The longer the game went on the clearer it became that Sam was taking an early lead, grinding away at Victoria’s pawns and snagging power pieces. “You look so much more in your element here, Carmilla,” Victoria groused, thumbing her Black Queen out into the field, “Perhaps a mat-”
“Checkmate.”
“...” Victoria’s mouth fell open, gawping at the board. And Sam began to giggle at the silly expression, fitting even with the regal clothes. Miffed that she had been cut off, she poked a finger at Sam and loudly proclaimed, “You!”, her arm went wide and indicated the PS1 under the TV. “Time trial.”
Sam swallowed but nodded.
Yui was baffled. Thoroughly entertained but baffled. She watched both Victorian attired figures saunter over to the PS1 and turn on the TV, a title screen soon generated with a blocky yet attractive face next to the words TOMB RAIDER in block capitals. “What kind of time trial?” she asked, setting down her switch.
Sam selected Croft Manor and loaded into the level, the well endowed but slightly pointy aristocrat framed against the real one sat beside him. The latter was happy to indulge Yui’s curiosity.
“Carmilla and I are fond of retro games, when backwards compatibility is an option anyway,” she added under her breath, glaring at a few of the Sony consoles. The overlap of her glare at the consoles and Sam’s glare at being called Carmilla was quite comical. “And time trial is shorthand for a time trial for getting a certain familiar face into the freezer.”
The sound of aged grumbles emerged from the TV and the star of the hour shambled into the scene, a shuffling and tall old butler holding a silver tray. Sam passed the controller off to Victoria and she began to run through the manor, kiting the old butler towards the Croft manor where his cold fate awaited.
Realisation dawned on Sam, “Wait, how can we have a time trial without a stopwatch?” Now that he thought about it, he didn’t have a watch at all.
“I’ll time. Anything that can make her stick her tongue out in concentration is worth my attention!” Yui giggled, using her phone to time the passage.
In this game, Victoria was the victor.
Minutes crawled by and became hours, the late afternoon morphing into ealy evening as the three residents blasted away the time through any game they could get their hands on.
“LAN party?” Yui suggested, and just like that the three were booting up the PC’s to play the latest build of Baldur's Gate 3 . Sam wondered if the game was ever going to get released on time, though he sent an amused look at Victoria spending 20 whole minutes on character creation, being anal about every little detail. Yui grabbed a service bell to call in for some refreshments in the form of wine and white chocolate.
“Are you going to be done with character creation before the game gets gold mastered?” Sam asked his girlfriend dryly, a single eyebrow raised.
It paid off in the end as they launched into the first hour of the primary campaign, and got lost in the simple joy of an RPG with…. Well Sam wouldn’t say friends. To be honest the current personal dynamics were non-euclidian and made his brain hurt to think about. Slowly but surely, despite everything, he lost himself to the familiar fun and actually found himself laughing and verging on rude language as Victoria led their party through thick and thin.
“How did you not spot a mind flayer!?”
“It’s not my fault I rolled badly...”
“YOU WASTED A NAT 20 ON PUNTING A SQUIRREL! YOU HAVE NO EXCUSE!!”
“Pfffthahahahahahahahaha”
Sam bit into a block of white chocolate as they transitioned back to the sofa, Yui booting up a game of Smash Ultimate. He grimaced at the salty aftertaste of the chocolate, but paid it no mind as they selected their characters. He took Cloud, Yui took the Wii Fitness Coach and Victoria fittingly picked Bayonetta.
Divorced from everything, away from conscious thought or physical feeling, an ‘itch’ began to take root in Sam. It went unnoticed and uncommented on, but it was there.
Tension fell over the trio as they began to get invested in their brawl, their chosen characters hopping and clambering between platforms. Low smash, High Smash. Neutral special. ‘ Gotcha bitch! ’ Sam shouted mentally, taking one of Yui’s stocks before backsliding away from an opportunistic kick from Victoria. His breathing deepend and mouth dried, he frantically searched for an item box and prayed it was the hammer gripping his Joycon in annoyance when it was a flower.
The Joycon slipped. Sam made a small noise in alarm and regained control of his controller to avoid Bayonetta’s heel grinding Cloud’s face into the dirt. He looked down at his controller and was confused to find the thing caked in sweat. He slowly turned his palms face up and saw that they too were sweating, and he hadn’t been consciously aware of it.
“And that’s that!” The white haired sissy looked back up and watched as Victoria’s final smash took his final stock, but her clapping celebration was on the periphery of his awareness as something else was there. He closed his hand, feeling the sweat and then he could feel it. An itch. A niggle on the edge of his senses that he could not say was connected to anything.
Yui leaned back into the couch and held up ten fingers to Victoria behind her back. Victoria’s joy grew with excitement and she happily suggested they should switch to the ‘greatest friendship ender.’
Sam focused on the screen, Mario Kart loading up, and quickly tried to pick Waluigi. Victoria adjusted her position on the couch and brushed against Sam, and he jumped like a scared cat, his skin suddenly growing incredibly sensitive at the touch.
“Everything okay?” Victoria asked him, feigning sincerity perfectly.
“Y-yeah,” he replied, shaking his head to rid the feelings but found they only grew stronger, spreading out from his arm to his full body.
“Okay. Cultured pick by the way,” she smirked, poking her finger towards the screen and revealing that the spasm had made him pick Rosalina, “I’m sure you’d look just divine in that racing suit, blossom~”
Sam bit down on his tongue to stop his retort, which turned out to be a big mistake. The pain was so much brighter and in turn made the itch grow, giving it form and direction into the core of his being. The races began and he did his best to keep focus, ignoring the itch and keeping on the beat of the moment. But the moment was not in his control, and he was soon overtaken by the sound of blood rushing to his head and a throb rushing towards his nethers.
Arousal. That’s what it was. Pure, bodily and entirely carmel arousal. Sam grit his teeth even as his cock began to grow hard in its plastic prison. Time became loose then, the races passing by in a blur of rumblings and roars quickly being outstripped by the sounds in his body and mind. This was not a natural reaction, he knew that. But he tried his best to control it.
The signs were so blatantly obvious though that Victoria had spotted it out of the corner of her eye and felt her own horniness rise in chorus. She kept her exterior perfectly schooled and said, “When do you think things should reach their climax, Yui?”
The good doctor gave them both a sideways look and took in Sam’s deteriorating will, “Should be ready to pop by the time we hit rainbow road.” she said, making an educated guess.
Sam didn’t care, just kept his finger on the accelerator as his one anchor point. The races went on as the sun sank below the horizon and in between the banter, Sam was slowly dragged and pushed into realms of arousal he desperately tried to control, beginning to sweat from his forehead and take shallow breaths.
Victoria watched the show, her eyes only for Sam now, long drawn fuses finally burning into the red zone. In truth, from breakfast this morning, to the white chocolate he had nibbled on earlier on tonight, Sam had been unknowingly micro-dosed with several slow burn and time release aphrodisiacs. Each one had a different ‘fuse’, taking different times to go into effect, a time frame Victoria had set in advance and now, one by one, those aphrodisiacs were driving her wife into a frenzy.
The camera zoomed in over Rainbow Road’s startline with Sam’s panting now so loud it was carrying over the audio of the speakers. Yui hummed in thought, then decided to add a catalyst to the reaction brewing in the Victorian petri dish sitting to her left. “You okay, Carmilla? You don’t look so good.” she asked conversationally.
“Wha-” he turned to look at Yui and felt his mouth was dry and throat scratchy while slick as his forehead. “Just… I just need a coffee.” he fell back on his drink of choice, a long standing cure to all his issues. His heart thumped in his ears, the edges of his vision starting to pulse.
Victoria weighed the pros and cons, checking the clock before nodding, “I’ll allow it.” she said, signalling for the Maids to prepare her wife his desired draft.
The race began, and Sam growled in annoyance at his Kart burning out on the startline. He had been holding the throttle down so hard he’d cooked the engine into a misfire and paid the price, now at the back of the pack. The four Lady’ Maids worked to quickly brew the coffee, bringing water to a hissing boil and filtering it, distilling the intensity of the dark roast for a maximum heat.
In Sam’s mind, nothing made sense, the only thing that was tangibly real was the knowledge that he had to urgently win this race or else… or else… ‘ Oh god, my cock, ’ he licked his lips, hazel eyes locking in on the tight white riding suit that Rosalina wore, his thoughts added to the fire, his brain starting to boil over into animalistic need. He was making up places, jerkily managing to keep control of his Kart and even pulling ahead of Victoria.
The golden brown coffee, finally complete, was poured into a fine china cup, and brought across the room by Maid Delilah. The taller of Sam’s maids crossed in front of Victoria and she hit the breaks, dropping back to 4th. The finish line was in sight, Delilah was but a shape in his peripheral vision.
And then Victoria hit an item box. Time seemed to slow as the wheel was rolled, settling on a spiky blue shell. “Bombs away!” Victoria quipped, throwing the shell.
‘No,’ Sam thought, ‘ No no, nononononononono NO!’ he raged. The Blue Shell blared its warning klaxon, sounding to him like enthusiastic laughter. He reached out a hand and grabbed the coffee cup-
Pain.
Sam’s hand recoiled from the boiling hot coffee cup that had seared his hand, his hypersensitivity turning the hot china into molten steel. But riding on the back of the pain was an entirely new feeling, a bolt of pure masochistic pleasure racing up his arm and into his core. His eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, and just like that the process became self-sustaining.
Rosalina let out a dainty cry when the Blue Shell slammed into her, stopping her dead in her tracks. It was over. 7 racers rode past her across the finish line, leaving her still as the timer counted down to a DNF. Her controller was in no state to save her from the indignity.
The sensory double whammy of pain and unknown masochism had succeeded in kicking Sam’s aphrodisiac induced arousal into its next level, growing steadily stronger and dragging his senses along for the ride. He froze up, becoming hyper aware of his surroundings. Everything seemed sharper and deeper including his own pleasure. He tried to get up but only managed to brush one stockinged leg against another before the wave of lust the move caused sent him flopping into the couch like a puppet with its strings cut.
He twitched sporadically, his jaw working on nothing and eyes rolling around the room, everything so much more than normal.
Victoria watched the display with a pleased smile, committing every little move to memory before addressing the trained doctor in the room. “Yui, please check what’s wrong with my wife.” she drawled, unconcerned.
“Slave driver making me work on a game night,” Yui grumbled in false discontent, her interest and excitement shining through her eyes as she stood. She manoeuvred Sam’s legs up onto the sofa, and laid his head in Victoria’s lap before begging to examine him. She took his pulse, looked in his eyes and checked the temperature of his forehead.
Every touch, no matter how slight, sent a fresh explosion of needy pleasure through Sam’s body, causing him to moan and groan. He wasn’t able to form a coherent sentence as his vision swam.
Yui finished her mostly for show tests and gave her prognosis in a joking voice, “The body seizing up and the loose lips is simple sensory overload. Think like Catatonia but backwards, that will pass in a bit. As for the root cause,” she squatted down to peer into Sam’s face, smirking as she spoke loudly and slowly to make sure her words penetrated his fugue, “I think her body has finally realised what it's supposed to be, with a little prodding.”
Victoria ran her fingers through Sam’s long white hair and cooed, applauding Yui for her fitting choice of words. Sam shivered at the overwhelmingly pleasurable and calming effect the movements had on him, and used that to get some level of control back over his body. Finally his lips began to form into words.
“ ...y-you cunts drugged me again!” he seethed, his words coming out as a feminine and breathy falsetto, much to his embarrassment.
Yui slapped a hand to her cheek in mock outrage, “What a baseless and hysterical claim!” she defended before smirking, “It was the cooking staff at best. My hands are clean in this.”
“Bullshit! ”
“What would you prescribe to fix this bout of wifely hysteria, Dr Ito?” Victoria asked, fully leaning into the pantomime.
Striking up a thinking pose, Yui replied, “My medical opinion is that this fainting Ojou-Sama needs her cherry popped.”
The other two gave two very different responses, for Sam he grimaced in horror, but for Victoria?
She looked down at her wife with a love so sincere, haloed in the fires of lust, that it took Sam’s breath away. “I guess it can’t be helped.” she whispered. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes then opened them. “Lady’s Maids of the House of Florence.”
“Yes, Mistress!” four voices called out as one, the maids arranging themselves beside the couch, eager to serve.
“Take my wife to my room and prepare her. I will be up shortly.” she ordered. Victoria leaned down and planted a kiss on Sam’s forehead, then slipped away as the four Lady’s Maids moved in. Each took hold of a limb, and lifted Sam between them despite his token flailing, and hoisted him from the room.
Victoria stood by the TV, hand over her thumping heart, looking towards the door. Yui remained politely silent, knowing that now was not a time to speak. The Viscountess turned her head and her eyes alighted on the chess board. Striding over to it, she gently cleared the board and reset it with two pieces side by side.
A pair of Queens, one white, the other black.
And she found that good .
The four maids worked as a team to carry their aggravated cargo between them, trying to move him as fast as they could, while not making any part of the trip overly uncomfortable. Sam did not take this lying down, and turned the air blue with cursing and foul language that made his personal Lady’s Maids blush at the scope of his lexicon. Their more experienced gold pin wearing peers ignored him. He tried to waylay his passage with kicks and twists of his body, but they blocked any attempt by redistributing his body weight, robbing his struggles of most of their strength with nothing to push off against.
Several other Maids passed them, but did not comment on the passage even when the prisoner directly called out to them. They simply stepped out of the path of the party and returned to their tasks once they had passed. They reached the central staircase and began to bring him up the stairs, their pace slowing.
“Where are you taking me?” he demanded, gasping when another wave of sharpening awareness washed over his senses.
Maid Chloe of Victoria’s Lady’s Maids deigned to answer him. “Mistress Victoria’s Master Bedroom on the second floor.”
“Perhaps the Mistress Bedroom is more appropriate?” Delilah chipped in, seeking to add humour to hopefully abate her Lady’s foul mood.
Maid Jeanne giggled, “Fitting, but it doesn’t roll off the tongue quite so well.”
“Gphnrrrrrrrr!” Sam growled pathetically, his inverted head feeling dizzy.
They reached the double doors to Victoria’s room, left ajar in preparations for this moment, and pushed them open. Master Bedroom proved to be a grossly inadequate title for where Victoria chose to rest.
The bedroom took the form of a luxury set of Victorian apartments with multiple large rooms all leading off from an entry antichamber. The antichamber held three sets of doors, one for each of the other walls. The far one had been left open and Sam was carried through it, only catching scant glances at the other two doors and wondering what lay beyond. A similar arrangement was at play in the next room, a medium sized lounge area with its own three door multiple choice. Passing through the far door saw them enter into the true bedroom that deserved, nay, commanded the title ‘Master Bedroom.’
It was well and truly gigantic in scope, four and a half times the size of Sam’s already massive boudoir. It was a trio of colours, rich wood and cream filled nook and cranny from the plush carpet to the masterwork furniture. If they stood shoulder to shoulder, it would be possible to fit the majority of Eden’s staff in this one room. Forced to look up as he was, Sam was mesmerised to see himself reflected in dark stone far above. The entire ceiling was carved from mirrored onyx that reflected all it captured with sensual shadow. He looked away from his form and looked ahead.
He wished he hadn’t.
The bed .
For the sake of scale, the biggest bed Sam had ever seen was the Queen Sized bed in his boudoir, bolstered by its massive canopy and curtains. Victoria’s bed made it look dinky by comparison.
Victoria’s bed was an Alaska King Four Poster. Nearly double the width and length of a normal Queen Size. It was hewn from aged oaks taken from the deepest parts of Eden’s forests that had been carved into four thick corinthian style pillars inset with gold leaf to form vine patterns, terminating in a huge canopy some ten feet off the ground. The headboard was equally showy, but a simple affair. Tall and padded with quilted cushions in addition to the plump ones set at the top of the bed. Six adults could happily sleep in comfort but the sight made Sam want to crawl away.
For hanging down from the canopy was a pair of slender silver chains, ending in padded cuffs, steel manacles sheathed in supple leather padding of white. Each one was marked by the Florence sigil in black. Two more, thinner cuffs hung from the headboard, waiting for him.
The white Lady twisted violently in place, not caring for his own safety. He HAD to get away.
“My Lady, please don’t struggle as much. This is something to be celebrated.” Maid Lily tried to caution. Their seniors’ experience showed through and began to quickly and methodically strip him of his Tea Gown, leaving him in his lingerie.
Now correctly attired, they hefted him onto the bed, the soft mattress cushioning his impact with a muted thump. Maids Jeanne and Chloe climbed up onto the mattress, and cleanly dragged Sam by his wrists towards the headboard. They had discarded their shoes to not leave marks on the slippery silk sheets, an act their juniors mirrored. Sam kicked his stocking wrapped legs on the bed, but could not stop his wrists from being cuffed above his head to the headboard.
Jeanne and Chloe walked off the bed in opposite directions, and Sam’s silver pinned maidens clambered onto the bed. He tried to kick at them, but they caught his legs and worked them into the steel grip of the ankle cuffs that hung from the canopy. Sam looked up, the chains were fed into a grid set into the canopy which allowed them to be repositioned.
“No, leave her ankles free.” one of the elder maids ordered, making the silver pinned ones look askance. “Mistress Victoria will want to do it herself.”
They looked between themselves and their thrashing lady before dropping his legs and hopping off the bottom of the bed, turning to look at him. Sam kicked and screamed but the maids just curtseyed and left, closing the door behind him.
He shouted into the ether, no one to hear.
The room was full of a number of other things to take up its massive space. Draws and small shelves contained a number of curious and nick nacks as well as a changing screen that was similar to the one he had in his boudoir. A rack of BDSM implements lined one of the walls, containing whips, canes, paddles, dildos, cuffs and anything else for a light Bondage fueled romp shout the need to ever take Victoria. A tall and narrow table had been placed near the foot of the bed with a black box and several more bits of sensory paraphernalia. What stood out the most was the DSLR- a high spec digital camera- and tripod, its lens trained squarely on Sam.
Sam did not have time to turn away from the camera’s gaze when the second round of slow acting aphrodisiacs hit him. He gasped, the sharply inhaled air turning to icy fire in his lungs, his back arching as much as his white panelled corset would allow. Sweat poured from every inch of exposed skin, soaking into the slippery sheets beneath him, the sensations so wonderful they hurt, hurting so much they felt wonderful.
Time flowed by with the consistency of honey, sickly sweet and sticking to him. He fisted his hands in their cuffs, and regretted it as the enforced masochism made his caged cock scream in need and aches of denial. It could have been ten minutes, it could have been an hour. Sam moaned on the bed, the cool silk sheets a balm to his boiling body.
Victoria arrived in the antechamber of her bedroom, and immediately heard the sound of Sam moaning in need wafting through the wood of her doors. She felt heat rise in her nethers but affected her domme self, slipping off her slippers to silently pad through the antechamber and lounge, coming to the door to the true bedroom.
“Aahh…fffffuuuuucckk.. Oh God,” Sam mewled pathetically, making Victoria smile. Each room had some level of soundproofing, but it was not total as to let her know what was going on in any given room, which let her have tantalising moments like these. She was about to turn the twin gold handles and enter when an idea struck her. She stepped to the side of the door where a brass control panel could be seen. She found the correct switch and flicked it.
Within the room, the chandelier switched off and in its place, a dozen or so lights modelled on old gas lamps clicked on, each casting a golden orange light across the massive room. Sam jolted at the sudden change, his sharpened senses being hit with a hammer. He looked around, his eyes aching at the shifted colourscape of the room. Still well lit but now more grand, shadows playing amidst the light.
The doors slowly opened, and Victoria entered her room with her wife laying on the bed. She seemed to melt from the darkness, her lapis blue outer gown moulded from midnight blue shadow with a heart of alabaster. Her eyes bored into his soul, causing him to shiver, returned a thousandfold by his body. She was smitten by the sight of him ,but maintained a predatory languidness to her movements as she pushed further into the room, her layers shifting over the ground like a great serpent.
“Sorry for the wait,” Victoria purred, Sam offered up to her like a present to unwrap.
Panting due to his state, he sucked air in through his nose and guttered out, “p-please don’t do this. Let me go.” Need and passion filled his tone, even if it was mostly physical.
But it was the mote of genuine arousal and fear that Victoria replied to, her face softening. She gently sat on the far end of the bed, “I know you’re afraid, and I will not deny that feeling. But take perspective, blossom, this could have been so much worse.” she said sympathetically, rubbing a circle into the silky sheets. “Had I wanted to, I could have made this humiliating, painful and everything you fear it could have been.” She allowed herself a moment’s creative liberty to stoke the fear, knowing the genuineness of his emotions would rise with it. It was not enough for a physical victory, she needed to own her body, mind and soul.
“I could have strapped you over a barrel and made every single member of Eden’s Rest’s staff run the train on you.” Sam whimpered, and Victoria quickly capitalised. “But I didn’t . I don’t want that. I want your first time to be special and will do all I can to make it that way.”
Sam grimaced, his face a mosaic of complex emotions shadowed by his long white hair. “Why?” he stuttered.
Victoria let every iota of her emotion fill her tone, declaring clearly and honestly, “Because I love you, Carmilla Florence.”
Pushing off the foot of the bed, she sashayed to the table at the foot of the bed and took up the first item, a gold dunlop lighter. She clicked it on, its little blue fire mirrored in the black ceiling above, a polaris amongst the orange stars that the lights made. She brought the flame to a genuine oil lamp on the table and lit its wick. A thick and rich aroma began to fill the room, full of half remembered spices and sweets woven from dreams last moments.
“All that I have prepared here is to make sure your first time and every other time after will be special.” she put the lighter down and pointed at the DSLR, “The camera to capture it, turning the moments of our coupling into tangible memories that shall inspire us both every time we see them.” she breathed deeply, taking the scents of the room into her lungs. “The scent, the sense closest tied with memory so the memories of my pleasure that you inspire in me are never to fade away.”
And with that, she turned, presenting her back to him. Sam lent up, heart thumping when Victoria slowly and deliberately began to pull at the belt of her outer gown. “And now, time to teach you the pleasures of the flesh, my sweet Carmilla,”
The belt came loose and she turned to half profile to part the bodice away from the wrapper slowly. The thick satin slipped slowly, before the turn in Victoria’s waist made it fall away from her like a flower coming into bloom. She stepped out of the gown and let it fall to the floor like a beautiful snakeskin, continuing her turn to head on where her hands snaked over her body, searching for the buttons and cupping her covered breasts, dragging her nails across it like she wished to be free of the constraining raiment. The white themed young man was so mystified by the show that he stopped his kicking, shallow breaths shaking his thundering chest.
Victoria found the buttons on the left of her torso and began to undo them. Sam leaned forwards off of the pillows, enraptured as the black haired woman continued to turn, the buttons only coming loose when her back was to him. The sissy was surprised when he felt a stab of restless longing that he did not see what he wanted to. No! He did not want to! He did not! The ponytailed aristocrat tipped her head back, and looked over her shoulder at him, sending him a teasing smirk. Her straight back hair swayed like a metronome between her shoulder blades, or perhaps the pendulum of a clock, ticking towards Sam’s doom, or his salvation.
The last button came loose and Victoria opened her wrapper, but kept her front facing the door, her bared body clearly exposed but its features hidden from view. Sam’s breathing continued to grow faster, caught between his wish for freedom and the slowly growing voice that wanted to see. That wanted to explore. To be led to that glorious sight, and all that came with it.
She swayed slowly from one side to the other, inching the open wrapper further and further towards the tipping point. At last it began to fall, slowly slipping downwards to expose her neck and shoulders, and the twin straps of her bra. But where Sam’s bra was a virgin white, Victoria’s was slippery black.
Breath caught in Sam’s throat as the wrapper slowly fell, revealing more and more of Victoria’s stunning body and sinfully delicious lingerie. At last, it rested as a stole on her elbows, and the Viscountess held her arms wide. From behind, Sam saw the crisscross pattern of a bra and a beautifully laced corset. But again, it was a world of opposites. Where his lingerie was fabric and white, Victoria’s corset and bra were made from polished black rubber. The wrapper made stole dropped, and Victoria rounded on him, fully exposed.
She was his mirror in latex. Black bra, corset, garter and stockings. Though the young sissy instantly zoned in on where they differed. Victoria’s normal latex pantiesoutlined her pussy in perfect detail, and she bared her glistening core to him without reservation.
“V..v…vi…” he could not bring himself to say her name, the glow of gold shining off her latex underwear and the drops of moisture on her thighs like diamonds.
“Shhhhhh,” Victoria hushed him, pressing a finger to her lips, and Sam was galled that he obeyed. She returned to her table, and picked up a pair of matching black latex opera gloves that she began to roll up each arm, their stretchy material creaking loudly to Sam’s enhanced ears. “I suppose the first taste of my, well, ‘tastes’, should be one of my favourites. You see, I love latex,” she let a glove snap loudly against her arm and explored her body with her now rubberised arms. “I love its look, sound, smell and feel. I love the way it holds to you like a second skin, always cool, but never unpleasant if you know it’s touch.”
Then the Mistress pressed her hands to the sheets and climbed up onto the bed on all fours, beginning to slowly stalk towards her captive wife like a panther.
Sam felt the neurons in his brain to form the thought to run away, felt his mind come to consensus that Victoria was about to violate him irrevocably. He knew that, but the hazel eyed young man stayed still as the beautiful creature crawled up the bed towards him, not resisting when she climbed over him and straddled his chest. She sat on his corseted waist and ran her gloved hands over his chest, delighting in how he twitched in pleasure, knowing that it was her latex touch that caused it.
“We shall start with what you already know,” She breathed out softly, slowly lowering her head and capturing Sam in another searing french kiss. Glossy red meshed against mirrored black as they loudly made out, their lips pushing back and forth as Victoria dominated his tongue. Her arms slipped around her love’s neck and he shivered at the touch of the latex and the way it creaked, adding noise into even the smallest movements. His kissing was submissive but reticent, still holding reservations even as he felt his girlfriend’s pert rump grinding against his corseted waist.
‘ Click’
The first image of many was captured.
Sam moved with each feather light brush or blatant grope, Victoria showing that she was the domme here even as he moaned out half formed words to the contrary.
Breaking the kiss, she leaned back away from the panting sissy and giggled, “You see? While silk may have its place, I find latex makes everything better.” she said huskily as she ran her hands up her own corset and pressed her rubber clad breasts together. “Don’t you think, oh high and noble Lady of Eden’s Rest?”
Hazel eyes narrowed to slits when Victoria began to rub circles into his pale exposed flesh, the glide of the latex driving his arousal into a frenzy.
“You do see! I knew you would. Now, I’ll show you why it can be the perfect medium of passion.” she said, before skirting further up the bed. Sam tried to move away, but she was too quick; both of her legs straddling either side of his head and her latex covered snatch not an inch away from his face. “Lick it,” she ordered, her eyes full of blue fire.
He opened his mouth to deny it but no words came out. He was in a world of black latex on three sides, the tantric monolith of his girlfriend’s pussy painfully close. He had never gotten this far before, it was a step that he had always chickened out of. He breathed in deeply, lungs filling with the heady cocktail of spiced incense, latex and female arousal. His head was fuzzed, and before he knew it, his tongue was free and pressed against the soaked rubber.
A hum of pleasure left Victoria at the touch, feeling the warm wetness of her wife’s tongue against her covered pussy. She kept her thighs perfectly in place and did not move forwards, he would have to come to her. The strong taste of the rubber hit Sam’s palette, tasting… well like rubber. While it was harsh and unfamiliar, it was not entirely unpleasant. So despite his better judgement he gave his partner’s crotch a long and slow lick, the taste saturating deep into his memory. Victoria closed her eyes at the feeling, her arousal contained behind the shield of rubber being stoked by her sub’s efforts. But she would not rely solely on him. Her hands roamed her own body, ticking off erogenous zones to fan the flames of her arousal until her wife could drink from her nethers like the waters of life.
He continued to lick and lap at the rubber, his saliva making each pass all the more loud and lewd, adding noise to the sensoria. He could feel the warmth of Victoria’s snatch through the mirrored black latex. It was… intoxicating. Having all five senses played with, accentuating the process without direct contact.
Victoria took a steadying breath and ran a gloved hand through Sam’s hair, the polished black digits looking truly wonderful against the starkly white threads. Yes, she had made a good choice there. Using all the skill and experience a tenured domme like her could muster, she pulled her thighs away and retreated down the bed.
Her paramour made a subtle noise that she took as discontent. Not quite disappointed, but she was working on it. Sam was awash with the jitters as Victoria came beside his crotch and let her ponytail dance over his tucked package. She held up a hand and slowly slipped it between his legs, finding the back hook of the thong and pulling it free. She quickly yanked, undoing the front two points and tossing the thong aside in one fluid movement. Sam gasped in pain tinged relief as his tucked and caged cock returned to its correct position, the artificially awakened masochism not knowing how to deal with the ache coming from the caged member.
“Awwwwwww,” Victoria cooed sardonically, seeing the flushed pink cock as erect as it could get within its little plastic prison. “Does your cock hurt?” she asked.
Sam nodded, need in his eyes.
“Do you want me to unlock it?”
“Please.” he begged, it was so sensitive.
“Call it your clit.” Victoria ordered with a smirk.
Sam’s face faltered. “Wha-”
Victoria rested her chin on his thigh and gave a laugh. “It’s average at best, but my wife has no need for a cock. If you want to get out of that little, painful cage, you will call it your clit. For that is what it is now.”
Sam’s jaw snapped shut with an audible click. “No,” he told her with as much force as he could manage.
It succeeded in amusing Victoria. She knew there would be some resistance, but that was part of the fun, to show a sub that they were a sub, there was some playful breaking down of resistances. She snorted in amusement and placed a chaste kiss on his cock cage, her black lipstick leaving a mark before rolling off the side of the bed.
“Where are you going?” Sam asked, hackles rising at how animated Victoria was compared to the sultry panther from before. The aftertaste of her pantties hit him with a bucket of cold water that was the shame in what he had done. “Oh god, I…”
“You gave into your sub nature, nothing wrong there. But you need a bit of direction and knowledge.” Victoria replied, picking an appropriate implement from her rack. She settled on a simple black riding crop and hopped back over to the bed, tapping its slapper to her palm.
“N-no, Victoria no!” the sissy twisted on the sheets as Victoria again squatted over his waist, a hair's breadth between her lithe ass and his caged cock.
Rolling the crop from one hand to another, Victoria traced it along Sam’s neck and arms. “A good wife should know her own erogenous zones, and anything can become one given enough time and focus. I’m going to show you some of my favs, blossom.” she said, starting with his lips. Every tiny tap was accompanied with a trill of pleasure in his microdosed body.
“Lips are fun and very versatile, with good backup from tongue technique,” she lectured, then highlighting the neck and shoulders, noting that they were perfect for hickies. “I won’t be permanently marking your body too much, but hickeys are so very aesthetic.”
“Permanently-” she swatted him across his faux bust, the cushioned cups absorbing most of the impact, “Umph,”
“Mistress Victoria is talking, dear wife. Keep your ears keen.” Victoria scolded, then expounded on the poked chest. “Breasts are some of my favourites because of the sheer range of what you can do to them, and when yours come in…” she stared down at him hungrily, “I will be making firm use of them, slut.”
The word stung Sam, causing him to wince in humiliation. Victoria stood again and tapped the tip of the crop to the cage, and the man froze for fear. “This thing is a clit. It is not a cock, and despite the fact I’m going to train you to find the clit while gagged, deafened, blindfolded and dancing the tango, I will not treat this one as an erogenous zone. It is a convenient reminder of how far you will have come once you are uplifted in body. Any pleasure you feel from it is a happy accident. And who says I am not tolerant of happenstance?” she asked rhetorically.
A million questions burst to life in Sam’s mind, swarming like angry bees in his greymatter but before he could give voice to any of them the third wave of aphrodisiacs hit. “Mmmmaahhgggh~” he gasped, shaken to the core. This was the strongest round yet, the prior echoes of the prior rounds joining in a sonoros chant of the bacchae, driving him close to lunacy as his body became a slave to his own unwanted desires. He moaned loudly, unable to stop as more and more aroused lust crashed against him.
The sounds coming from Sam were so loud and lewd that Victoria’s quim was soon sodden. She swished the crop through the air, imagining it a conductor's baton and hoping to command that physical excess into emotional desire. Sadly, his moans were quickly proving a distraction she could not allow to continue. She slipped a thumb around her waistband and stripped off her latex underwear, the stretchy material coming loose from her snatch with a wet sounding ‘schlip’. She dropped to her haunches again and leant forwards before, without any warning, stuffing the pussy slicked pantied into her wife’s mouth.
The sudden intrusion gave clarity to Sam’s thoughts and a point to focus. Then the taste hit him, “Oooouggggh!?” he garbled around the impromptu gag. The taste of wet latex was so much stronger than before, filling and dominating his tongue but every move of his mouth sent a small gush of cyprine wetness that washed over him. It was a unique flavour even in this concentration, slightly salty with a sweet undertone. It was unlike anything he could put a proper name to.
“That’s it.”
Sam looked up at Victoria, stepping away from his form towards the bed but still speaking with absolute command. “Gughhghggh?”
“Suck and savour. Taste all that I am. Let the latex be the grail of the feelings you inspire in me. Drink hearty, my love, and let your palette never forget my flavour.” she purred.
His jaw tremored, unintentionally squeezing more of Victoria’s particular flavour from the rubber. His masochism sang at the humiliation and egged him on to do as he was asked, as he was told.
As he was ordered.
‘ Gulp ’
Victoria grinned and dropped off the edge of the bed, returning to her table and slowly opening the box to reveal Yui’s creation. She smiled, drawing the black rubber member and its mounting, turning it over in her hands. It was perfect. She looped the harness around her waist, enjoying the presence of the bottom strap thonging between her cheeks. The front of the harness was a black latex pad, like most strapons with a mounting ring, but what made it different was the hole in the ring that perfectly outlined her pussy. So too was the base of the dildo itself. In addition to a pair of rubbery testicles and a rigid scrotum, it had a mohawk shaped rubber ‘brush’ that ran along where it would mate with the harness, and slide into her perfectly slick snatch.
But first, prep work. She pulled a blunted syringe from the box, and a clear full jar. To keep her wife involved, she continued their prior topic. “But Carmila, you snow coloured erudite of all things submissive and cute!” she teased, energy filling her voice in her ‘memorable professor’ air, “If your clit is off the table, then what oh what will be your primary medium of pleasure?” she cupped her ear. Sam groaned in annoyance from the bed, the panties in his mouth rendering him cutely unintelligible. “Why yes! Correct! As with any wife, the pleasure is gained through your womanhood! The nether lips. Pussy. Twat. Minge. Take your pick of your preferred nomenclature but to tell the truth I’ve always had a soft spot for ‘secret garden’.” she wiggled her eyebrows at him enticingly, but then frowned, “But yours is, for a long time to come, a work in progress.”
Ice shot up Sam’s spine, his eyes widened and asshole puckered as he caught onto what she was implying.
“But your ass, that is a perfectly suitable love canal, and I have just the tools to help cultivate it, and make this first time genuine in that primordial way.” She held up the dildo, as she depressed the syringe full of sticky white liquid into its balls.
“AAAHGGHGHG!? UUUUGGGOOOOFFFF” Sam screamed, trying to backpedal away from his tormentor and domme, but the cuffs kept him securely in place.
She rolled her eyes as she refilled the syringe, “Please calm your as yet unformed tits, dear, you will be happy to know that this is not semen. It’s a substitute I had Yui whip up by condensing my squirt down to a more viscous state. It’s the same consistency as the real thing. Your first time should only come from me.” she tried to keep a straight face before she began to chuckle, “Not that you wouldn't be able to tell if it tastes right you little cumguzzler! Pfffft Hahahahahaha!”
‘What the fuck is she even talking about?’ Sam thought, trying to push the panties out of his mouth, and then he felt a familiar feeling. The awareness that he had cottoned onto a bit of information he had not been consciously aware of. Except this time it made him feel like he was doomed. Like a monster was coming up the stairs that he had avoided all the signs of.
Deciding to baste the sub in the deeper waves of humiliation, Victoria decided to leave a few breadcrumbs. “Porridge,” she said simply, seeing fear begin to glint in his eyes, “Mayonnaise,” the young sissy paled, “White chocolate.”
Sam’s gorge rose like an inflating balloon.
Victoria’s grin lit the room. “You see the problem with writing off foods before ever actually eating them is you can be tricked into thinking one thing is another unless told otherwise. Because last I checked, Mayo and white chocolate have never been especially salty~”
The scream of utter humiliation that ripped itself from Sam was so deliciously submissive that Victoria had no problem slipping the now filled dildo into its mounting. She shivered in delight as the brush slipped within her secret garden. Victoria gave the piece a few experimental pumps, and was delighted with the result.
Haptic control surfaces. While direct nerve connections of a pseudo organ was still sci-fi even for Yui, she had designed the dildo to be something as close to that dream as possible. When the strapon experienced an external stimulus, a chiral facsimile of that feeling would manifest in the brush shaped Haptic Surface. As the cock grew to life in her hand, the brush vibrated her quim pleasantly. She could even feel a shadow of her glove’s coolness reflected inwardly and it was making her hot under the collar. She jumped back onto the bed and began to slowly stalk towards him as the DSLR snapped pics of her, standing proud like a protagonist from one of Sapphos’s poems.
The hard length of rubber kicked Sam into fight or flight, and he tried a kick at her, but she snatched his ankle and locked it into one of the hanging cuffs easily. Deftly, she did the same to the other, leaving her beloved fully helpless with his pink hole fully exposed. She retrieved two bottles of Lube, each with colour coded caps, one pink and the other blue. Uncapping the pink one, she let its contents dribble out over her finger, letting it coat the black rubber digits of her right gloved hand. Her face lost its taunting edge as she dropped to her knees, and climbed between his.
Sam thrashed as much as he could, but Victoria had him at her mercy. She looked him in the eye and slowly lowered her right lubed hand, parting his cheeks and begging to circle his sphincter with the lubed fingers. The glove digits spread the cool gel all around the rosebud and rested the tip of her finger against it once it was evenly distributed. She gave his thigh a comfort squeeze before slowly slipping the slick rubber finger inside.
‘WrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongWRONG!’ Sam’s mind screamed, the reaction far stronger than his experience with the enema. He twisted as much as he could, but Victoria was up to her knuckle in no time, swirling it inside him to evenly distribute the lube. His body reacted, and he moaned in discontent, painful intrusion mixing with the aphrodisiacs to keep his masochism well fed.
Once she was sure his insides were correctly prepped, she slowly slipped her fingers out and uncapped the blue coded lube, coating her strapon in the slick substance.
Sam closed his eyes, expecting pain, penetration and then… nothing. He dared not open his eyes, pretending the sights beyond did not exist.
A warm wetness landed on his forehead in a single loud drip. He slowly opened his eyes, and looked up at Victoria standing over his face, her lubed cock dripping its coating slowly. She squatted down, and when Sam tried to pull his face away, she cupped his cheek. Then the rubber length touched down, laying across Sam’s forehead.
“Look at it,” she commanded gently, and despite himself, he did, the wet hardness of it resting against him, leaving him unable to deny its existence. “You are my wife, I am your spouse. I have the cock, you do not. Your duties are clear… but I want you to want it. So tell me. My beautiful sub, my darling Carmilla. Do you want me to make love to you?”
Sam… Sam didn’t know. He knew objectively he did not, but right now, in this moment, did he want to be taken… no… give himself to a woman who loved him. He didn’t know…. And that terrified him.
He gave his answer.
Victoria smiled, pulling her latex panties from his mouth and returning herself back to between his legs. “Then, my sweet blossom. Let me hear you sing.”
She brought the mushroom shaped rubbery head to the tight ring of muscles and touched it, a spark of haptic feedback in her nethers. Sam squirmed at the alien feeling, but Victoria knew the first time was always rough, and so she kept still, letting him settle before slowly pushing again against his asshole, the wrinkled flesh gliding backwards. Sam yelped in pain, overwhelmed by the width so different from the finger or enema. “It's okay, it's always rough the first time, but I’m here with you every step of the way.” she encouraged him, rubbing his thighs soothingly.
“...o,” he gasped, he needed focus, “...okay…”
Her smile was magnanimous. She pushed further, the head of the fake cock slipping inside the sub’s burgeoning love canal.
“It hurts!” Sam hissed, shaking his head.
For every single complaint or fear, Victoria was there to tell him it was okay. To focus on her, that she was going slow, and he was doing well. His heart fluttered at the care, then he immediately hated himself for thinking that. It was maddening. She pushed further and further, sometimes pulling back before gaining more ground, until finally their hips met.
“It…it…” Sam felt full to a painful extent, he hated that this was happening, but he could not deny he could feel the care in his lover…. lover. Not a girlfriend, but a voracious, insatiable lover, a paramour taking him with such joy.
“It’s going to be a lot of work,” Victoria breathed out. For every pressure Sam’s tight hole expended down on her strapon the brush stood out proud. It was definitely a fun spice. “First time is always hard, but the least I can do is make it sexy and pleasurable. Now I’m going to fuck you, dear, and I’m not going to stop until you see stars.”
She pulled back, and began to slowly and passionately make love to Sam, who moaned in discomfort and pain, the masochism his only consolation prize. But the longer they coupled, the more things began to shift away from pain. The strapon wetly pistoned in and out of the white haired sissy, its spun shadow owner letting her own pleasure be far more vocal.
“Oh yeah, there we go. That’s the woman I waited years to be with, God, you’re so fucking beautiful, you pathetically adorable slut!” Victoria cried out, licking the sweat from Sam’s neck, “too salty, I’ll make sure you’re so full of girly things you’ll sweat sweetly, you hear me, Carmilla!?”
“My name’s not-” he was captured in another raunchy kiss, and let himself dissolve into passion. And as time passed, he began to feel an induced pleasure sporadically pulsing from his body. It was random and unfocused, but he began to groan and moan every time the odd bolts licked at him. “Fffffuck,” he moaned, helpless against his own body’s pleasure.
“Yes, fuck! That’s what we’re doing, and what you’re going to be a pro at, my darling. Men will want to be with you, women will want to be you, but they cannot, because you are Carmilla Florence, my one and only!” Her hips began to slap wetly against Sam’s ass, new shocks and tremors sending him reeling.
It… it felt good. He hated that, hated her. Hated her stupidly sexy lips and the way the latex shone with her sweat. Hated the noise and smell of her. Hated…. What exactly? The situation, he hated the situation. And that's why the pleasure burned in his blood. Because in another world maybe this could have been an ideal. But not this reality.
But Sam had forgotten.
Reality was whatever Victoria Florence damn well said it was.
Victoria noticed a shift in Sam’s legs and made a slashing motion with her hands, hitting the release on the ankle cuffs. Sam’s legs fell, but the serial domme caught their fall and guided them to wrap around her waist, now fucking with reckless abandon for a singular perversely altruistic reason. She was going to make her wife cum, even if she had to drag her over the precipice to get there.
“Look me in the eye, Carmilla. Look me in the eye, as I cultivate your hole for its purpose!” she shouted, their nethers smacking together, and Sam pressed out onto the seas of unwanted pleasure, feeling the flow beginning to take him upwards.
“Fuck, Victoria I’m…. I’m close” he whined, it was so much more intense than he’d ever felt playing with himself, and the cumulative effects of the day's events were bearing fruit. An enema cleaned asshole, a body rife with aphrodisiacs that had awakened latent masochism, a dildo prepared especially for a first time, covered in paired lubricants meant to mix within him to catalyse pleasure, and of course, the master currently burying it in his ass.
Victoria guided his pleasure and prolonged it while working with her own, inadvertently edging him. She wanted their orgasms to be united, “You don’t get to come without my permission!” she ordered, smacking his ass and making him shiver in arousal, near the edge, tantalisingly close, but noy yet there.
His eyes watered, smearing his mascara, but his lover brought him into another kiss, drowning the frustration in her own passion. He felt relief as his arms were freed from the headboard, and he immediately wrapped them around Victoria as she fucked him, holding on for dear life as his pleasure reached towards its ceiling.
Victoria growled throatily, and felt herself nearing her natural conclusion, “I’m getting pretty close myself…” she moaned to him, the tantric clap of their nethers adding their own sights, sounds and smells to the medley. “First step offer, one time only…”
Sam panted, his cock was roaring in protest in its cage, “I’m…listening.” he managed to groan out between her thrusts, a spectrum of his former snarkiness in this new guise.
It made Victoria laugh. “I’ll let you cum if you can remember the family words.”
Sam’s eyes widened, feeling Victoria’s pace increase, he desperately searched for the words amidst the chaotic fog of his mind, but they alluded him, like so much smoke, “I-”
“Yeah?” Victoria kept herself on the edge, her toned abdomen tensed, same as him.
“Innectis..” he whispered, his voice hoarse in pleasure, “ad…
“Yeah!?” The woman slapped her pelvic home, the brush promoting her edge but keeping her on it.
“Per-fec-tum…” he grasped the last word and yelled in a pitchy, feminine voice, “FLORE!”
“Fuuuuuuck!” Victoria screamed, sheathing herself fully in her wife and letting the orgasm take her, she squirted her essense against the brush, and it triggered the now twitching strapon, causing it to release its girl-cum into Carmilla’s ass, aimed just so that the stream of warm jizz struck the prostate directly.
“AHHHHHNNNN~!!!” Sam’s eyes bulged, the feeling of heat spattering his over sensitive inside pushing him over the edge, his caged cock spurting its surprisingly large load through the slit at the end of the cage and all over his own corset. The pleasure was out of this world, sending him to cloud nine, briefly blacking out. When his senses returned, the two of them were panting into one another’s ears, drenched in sweat.
With the physical thresholds exceeded, so came the emotional ones, and he finally began to let tears flow. But as he cried, Victoria was there to offer him words of comfort. Hugging him and stroking his hair as he cried into her shoulder from the sheer emotional overload of the ordeal.
“You did good, Carmilla, my sweet muse.” Victoria whispered, kissing the sissy on the cheek as his tears came to an end. “And after the first time, anything is possible.”
Sam did not reply, for there was still so much wrong with all of this, and while the emotional waves of this moment would take some time to ferment, for now he was content to let Victoria gingerly pull the sheets over them both. Falling asleep in the arms of someone who, even if in a way he did not accept, loved him more than anything in the world.
Notes:
Wham, bam, thank you ma'am and that's another chapter done. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter and hope you all have as much fun reading it as I had writing it.
Once again, massive thanks to Annabellum for the beta work. Next chapter should go into production in January as I'm working on a Fairy Tail Ponygirl story for December.
Word of advice for aspiring smut writers. Don't try to write over 11,000 words in one day, your hands will rebel on you.
Please take a look at my BlueSky for story updates and occasional gushing over elegant dresses and latex.
Toodles!
Chapter 6: Chapter 5: Denying Reality
Summary:
Several days at Eden and Sam is put through his paces to mixed results.
Notes:
*Places the milk down on the side*
I have returned!
To succinctly summarise my supremely slow sabbatical, I direct you to the events of the current year and the hellscape that it is. Had to battle through some depression from endless doom scrolling and the loss of a close friend. In some respects this chapter, which might as well have been the procrastination demon, helped me pull out of the doom scrolling by having something to focus on.
But enough of that morose talk, and on with the story.
As you can tell from the size of the slider on the screen, this is a veritable chonker of a chapter, so read in bits or grab a bite to eat to enjoy. I’d say it’s about 60% kink and 40% sapphic fluff. The additional length is sort of to make up for the fact this took so long for me to put out, so please enjoy.
Special thanks to Annabellum for the beta work and my close friends for their help.
Be sure to check out my Bsky if you want to see a lot of me shaking my fist at geopolitical clouds. Or you can find me on KingNothing1996’s discord server chuckling at all things latex.
Alonsee!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The first floor of Eden’s Rest was home to those who claimed residence at the glorious manor house, be that temporarily or on a more permanent basis. With a few notable exceptions in Diana and Victoria, the first floor was the greatest concentration of people with power at the Florence’s second ancestral home, even if one of those people was currently powerful in name only. But that sissified exception aside it was an almost surefire rule that if you wanted to find a sleeping resident then you’d find them on the first floor. Yui for example maintained apartments in the back right corner of the first floor, apartments that were just now being struck by dawn’s golden rays.
As had come to be expected of the building, Doctor Ito’s bedroom was luxurious and homey but not in the same way as the rest of the house. While almost everyone else ascribed to Baroque and Victorian stylings, Yui’s room lent itself to something a little more modern. It was an open-plan domicile with polished hardwood floors and a queen-sized bed that sat very low to the ground, pushed up against the far wall. While hardly acetic by any measurement, the bedroom part of the apartments was defined by its open space, from the circular indent in the cream wall behind the bed to the wall of wardrobes that made up the opposite wall.
Two doors sat opposite one another, one to the left of the bed leading to an en suite bathroom while its chiral partner was beside the wardrobes, a passage into the living room and office space that the good doctor made use of. It was functional over form, each space compartmentalised to what Yui used it for but dotted with shelves and drawers for anything that the Kyoto native was particularly proud of. The sun's rays crawled into the room from the large windows in the right side wall, falling upon one such nicknack of import. A framed photo sat on the bedside table depicting Yui arm in arm with Victoria, both looking much younger but eyes glittering with mirth as they laughed at the camera, having fun with their chosen attire.
The woman herself slept soundly in her bed, her bob of black hair tussled by a night of good sleep that had capped off the most common form of ‘fun’ at Eden’s Rest. Then slowly, her face began to shift, stirring from her slumber as a languid and warm stimulation roused her back to the land of the living. Her first inklings of thought were of warmth, but it was not from the golden brilliance of the sun leaking into the room. As her eyes finally slid open, her lips curled into an enjoyed smile, looking up at the ceiling and subconsciously giving direction and description to the warmth. A weight at her side and a pleasant wetness in her nethers.
Two other shapes joined Yui in bed, clustered around her intimately like moths drawn to a flame and held in place by the throws of sleep. A length of seafoam green hair marked Nurse Ichi’s presence, still sound asleep with the covers drawn tightly against her naked body while pressed into the athletic doctor’s side. Drawn towards alertness by the feeling of a wet and very skilled tongue tracing the outer boundary of her snatch, Yui favoured her first nurse with a look, watching the small rise and fall of her chest, knowing that even if the Nurse Maid’s face was turned away from her that the features would still carry an echo of last night’s fun.
The tongue upon her pussy completed another loop and Yui felt the softness of a lip brush her cliteral hood. Her smile widened a fraction, amused at the cry for attention in the feeling. She considered making the tongue’s owner wait; to ignore them and make them more bold in their attempts to get her attention before pulling back. Letting out a pleased sigh, Yui looked down at the noticeable lump in the bedsheets and slowly lifted the covers to look down at the dutiful tool at work.
The gold eyes of Nurse Kyu looked back, glinting even in the diffuse light from under the covers, the flat of her tongue tracing a long and slow lick up Yui’s pussy.
As with every single one of Yui’s Nurse Maids, she had been modified to the doctor’s specifications and desires, sporting beautiful Asian features with long golden blonde hair and matching eyes. The nine of them had proven to be truly wonderful tools and testbeds for her techniques to twist and mould the body of another into the traits that were required and desired. She shifted her weight lightly, opening her legs a little wider in unspoken invitation and as expected, the point of Kyu’s tongue hooked into the inner lip of her labia, sending a fuzz of pleasure into Yui’s core.
“Hmmm,” Yui hummed appreciatively at the pointed attention, admiring the sight of the ninth and newest of her permanent helpers lapping at her nethers. Kyu’s unnaturally striking eye colour had been achieved through minor viral alterations of her 15th chromosome, specifically gene pair OCA2, responsible for the actual colour, and HERC2 which governed the implementation of said colour. Eyes were one of Yui’s favourite things to alter because of how they could drastically change almost every interaction in even the slightest way.
She lifted a hand and slowly traced her fingers across Kyu’s cheek, slipping in between fine gold hairs when the slippery muscle made her shiver mentally. But she did not let it show physically, instead probing the devotion in those glittering gold eyes, thoughts turning briefly to the hawk she had seen that inspired Kyu’s striking orbs. To know her creator and mistress’s enjoyment was a gift to an instrument, even one so finely crafted as Kyu or any of her Nurse Maids.
Each of the nine bore her changes, most of them unseen and functional for her wants and needs but always at least one or more phenotypic traits. For her aesthetic enjoyment and to remind the Nurses every time they saw themselves that they were marked and owned. It reinforced their submissive obedience and made them strive to serve her and their respective craft better.
Their value in so many fields ended up making them ideal partners for blowing off steam after a long day of work or to simply cuddle against when she desired the touch of another in sapphic repose. And as the Kyoto native scrutinised the feeling of the spun gold running between her fingers, she admitted to herself that that came up quite a lot.
Yui dropped the cover and let Kyu continue her fine work, instead sinking deeper into the cool and high tog pillow she so appreciated. ‘I enjoy my private rest most of the time, but having a high libido and plentiful choice,’ she turned her almond-shaped eyes on Ichi’s bare back, admiring the swell of her sideboob from behind as she slept, ‘leaves me quite spoilt for choice.’
Letting the wave of pleasant sensations fill her slowly, Yui reflected that in their absence she would have still been amply provided for, and she didn’t mean the plethora of toys and stimulators waiting in either the wardrobes or her private office through the far door. The House Maids would never turn down the request of a member of Leading Staff and were all easy on the eyes and gifted in the sack, ‘ for subs anyway .’ And of course, there were the Tantric Maids whose very purpose from look and abode to skill and attire was sex. But…
Raven hair ruffled around her face when she allowed herself another hum of contentment feeling Kyu probe deeper into her snatch, slowly running her hands up and down Yui’s thighs in a massage. ‘ There is a certain joy in playing with my own personal Nurses. Something… fitting.’
The feeling of fuzzy euphoria persisted for a scant moment before what she had thought finally caught up with Yui. Her eyes opened and deadpanned at the featureless ceiling, which unsurprisingly remained blank. She pinched the bridge of her nose and suppressed the urge to huff, mortified at realising what she had just done. ‘ I’m starting to sound like Victoria .’
Kyu’s ministrations pulled Yui from her brief brush with ignominy, nuzzling her clitoral hood and sending a spark into the dry tinder of her true arousal. Moistness beaded from her womanhood in appreciation before getting ahold of herself. “ Enough .” She said in her native tongue, and instantly the licking stopped. Yui raised the covers to look at Kyu again who looked up at her leader with curiosity-tinged duty.
“ Sensei ?” Kyu queried, sending another wash of warm breath over Yui’s moistness.
“That’s enough, Kyu .”
The blonde Nurse Maid’s met Yui’s look, not turning away but did not hide her disappointment, “ Did I do something wrong? ”
The edges of Yui’s lips twitched upwards in cheer, cupping Kyu’s cheek in her hand again. “You get a gold star for eagerness and technique, but only a flower for following orders. I asked you to lick me to wakefulness, not to eat me out and waste the morning.”
Last night’s lingering order to Kyu dawned on the Nurse Maid, her face turning dejected and remorseful in Yui’s hands. When the hands were pulled away there was a single moment of eye contact before Kyu slowly closed her eyes and shifted position, pulling her knees up under her and placing her hands on the mattress either side of Yui’s legs. And then, with a submissive and dignified grace, Nurse Kyu turned her face downward and lowered her head until her forehead brushed the hairless skin of Yui’s crotch.
Yui’s smile widened to a smirk at the superbly performed pubic Dogeza.
She let Kyu stay in that position for some time, letting the seconds eke out into an eternity and let the feelings and thoughts ferment in that pretty blonde head of hers before finally patting the Nurse Maid on the head.
“Good girl. Diligence and eagerness are best paired with submission and humility, and for that, you’ve earned 5 more minutes in bed.”
Kyu’s head shot up from its place, beaming up at the doctor with a puppy’s excitement. “ Really ?” she asked excitedly. Yui’s bed was exceptionally comfortable and usually she didn’t like it when people were using it without her.
A nod was her only response as Yui sat up. Kyu instantly slipped down deeper into the bed to give her Sensei the room to get out of the queen-sized bed without being impeded. Yui shimmied to the edge of the bed, her camisole sleeping top covering her upper body, “ 5 minutes, no longer. And you have to wake the others from their bunks.”
“Yes, Sensei! Thank you, Sensei!” Kyu whispered jubilantly in reply.
The moment Yui’s pert bottom left the mattress, Kyu slithered like a serpent into the space the doctor had left, slipping her arms around the still dozing Ichi and beginning to spoon intimately. Yui tossed a little of the sheet to cover the two and found Kyu’s happy chirp of appreciation downright sweet.
Free from the confines of the large bed, the short doctor immediately began a series of feline stretches, her bare feet padding on the hardwood floor. Yui had been sure to inject a bit of her old home into her little slice of Eden’s Rest. Because as much as she ribbed on Victoria for being a weeb she was very proud of her heritage and homeland and made sure to indulge in it in various ways. Sometimes nuanced and sometimes nuanced. The entire right-hand wall was modelled on a Shoji Screen design with inset windows in addition to an actual Shoji dressing screen near the wardrobes.
Of the wardrobes, one was slightly ajar with the drooping sleeve of a yellow ochre-coloured kimono poking out invitingly.
‘Maybe I could slip into one this afternoon,’ she mused, arguing that it was summer after all, her smile brightened when her thoughts were joined with the mental image of a certain black-haired viscountess being fitted with Obi in a nice box tie. Now that would be great fun because wearing kimono was much more fun when done with your frankly stunning friends. Ah Victoria, without any shadow of a doubt she was Yui’s closest and best friend and had been for the better part of a decade.
And a beautiful, graceful friend. At that. One that she loved? Perhaps. It was difficult to put their exact relationship into words given both of their atypical nature and family histories but she would be lying if she said that the dark blue-eyed aristocrat didn’t light a fire in her loins when her blood was up. She smiled softly, pulling back from the overtly romantic thoughts that she chalked up to Kyu’s over-eager job. Of course, Victoria was absorbed in crafting Carmilla into the perfect wife at the moment.
And in truth, so was Yui in her own way. Her magnum opus in body, down to the last strand of DNA. The thought of laying her seeds of creation and moulding deep into the sissy was as erotically enthralling as ever, and once again she wondered how long it would be before she could get to know Carmilla in a much more intimate light. But knowing the way things stood, she wouldn’t have to wait long until she would be invited to join the married couple in a tantric tryst rather than just watching from the sidelines.
And speaking of watching from the sidelines:
“Mmmmmmnnnnn,” a groan emerged from the corner of the room where the wardrobes met the far wall. A moan of need and attention but quiet enough to still be what a domme would think polite.
Yui smiled, slowly padding across the room towards the changing screen, the light of the sun casting a silhouette upon it. The shadow was large and while fuzzed with vagueness, one could still see what appeared to be a large chair and someone seated on it. Coming around the end of the shoji changing screen, the half-naked doctor laid her eyes upon a pair of needy heterochromia, begging for attention and release in garnet and sapphire.
Nurse Go shared many of the same features as her Nurse Maid sisters. A beautiful and trim oriental woman in her mid-20s, she possessed artificially induced Heterochromia of dark red and dark blue along with two-tone hair of the same colour split down the middle, falling in a square chopped bob much like the mad doctor herself save for the large black gag fastened to her head by a thick latex strap. But in truth, it was not her physical features that grabbed Yui’s attention compared to her attire.
And her equipment.
The two-tone Nurse sat strapped into a large black padded chair that was high-backed with a built-in head and leg rest. And from near every surface were there rings and mounts for all manner of restraints. To call it a bondage throne was not exactly right for 'throne' implied some level of dominance.
But then again, you are the sitting queen, aren’t you, little Go?’ Yui thought, her body dripping with predatory energy as she ate up every morsel of the sight.
The bound Nurse Maid wore a high-cut cut short-sleeved black leotard made from matte black latex. The leotard possessed a crotch zipper that was fully open and pulled wide to the point the stretchy material crinkled either side of the freshly bared pussy, a set of four modest pink egg vibes tapped to each lip of the sopping wet snatched and needy-looking clit.
Nurse Go’s nostrils flared from the deep, steadying breaths she was trying to take amidst the obvious sensitivity. And it was no wonder that the suffering servant was so flustered because there was no way that Yui would let her reach a climax on her own. Because Go was the Cuck Queen, ‘ Lady of the Edge, but never taking the plunge unless someone takes pity .’ Doctor Ito thought evilly, far more interested in the rest of her Cuck Queen’s ensemble.
Each wrist was loosely chained to an armrest and a pair of straps were clipped to O rings that hung from the leotard’s purposefully stiff shoulder pads, her ankles in a heavy wood stockade. Each hand was bound in a balled mitten but oddly each had a thumb free and the right one was even stranger. Yui approached until she was close enough to hear the buzz of the vibes along with a slow and solitary drip, drip, drip. Beads of prolonged arousal flowed freely from the sodden snatch and into a steel bowl set into a cutout in the chair’s upholstery.
Bending over slowly, Yui looked hungrily at the maid’s engorged clit, fully slid from its hood and pleading to be touched. Her eyes rolled up to meet the red and blue of Go before making an ‘O’ with their lips and blew a stream of cool air onto the abused bundle of nerves.
Pleasure and gut-wrenching arousal flooded Go’s body, the drip of her moist pussy growing faster instantly at the sudden ghost of attention. Despite the years of practice and hours of no change to her edging, Go convulsed, attempting to gird her muscles over the edge of the sweet abyss. But Yui had provided plenty of failsafes. Her mittened hands stopped just shy of the zipper, the scrabbling arms held fast by wrist chains just loose enough to create the illusion of reach, but not enough to do any more than waft air onto her metaphorically fizzing slit, sending the fire of need roaring like bellows to the furnace.
Go pitched forwards, spittle dribbling from her gaged lips and landing on the matte rubber of her leotard, questing to curl her body in such a way as to get just one more besotted touch to send her into bliss, but the equipment was well chosen. The sharp lurches and lunges yanked at the straps hooked to the leotard's shoulder pads, pulling out a breath of length before snapping tight and giving no further no matter how frantically she thrusted or attempted to hump the air. Inertial real belts, the same technology as a seatbelt, turned into a stern had that would broker no mercy for the visually rabid nurse and would not let their bite go until she had calmed herself of her own accord.
And watching on, listening to the symphony of submission, Dr Yui Ito could only think ‘What a wonderful show to start the morning.’
Yui straightened up smoothly, letting the frantic Nurse Maid ride the agonising wave of pleasure through its course, knowing that release would not crash down on her. The padded stockade that held her ankles remained firm while her toes curled, chained and mittened hands questing for some form of bodily expression to either push her over the threshold or, more realistically, keep the teasing sensations going. Go’s heterochromatic eyes looked pleadingly at Yui, but found only sultry appreciation in the short woman’s visage. A gagged mewl of frustrated need crawled from the sub’s gagged mouth when the temporary inferno began to abate, eventually slumping back into the chair, left with only the ache of being unsatisfied.
When Go’s breathing had returned to normal she returned her arms to rest on the chair’s armrests, a silent show of compliance; returning to a neutral state from which she could be commanded.
“Did you enjoy the view last night?” Yui asked conversationally.
“Hmmmmmmmm,” Nurse Go mewled whilst giving a nod.
“ Good ,” Yui’s smile widened at the confirmation, enjoying the reality in ways beyond the pleasures of the flesh.
Kinks and fetishes were the bread and butter of Eden’s Rest. The idiosyncratic eroticism might as well be baked into the walls with every person who lived there having some kind of kink that could be tiny and nuanced or huge and incredibly vulgar. And of the Residents and Staff, Yui had a particular interest in voyeurism and cuckoldry. But not the ‘usual’ kind.
Yui enjoyed forcing women to Cuckqueen for her or others' amusement and enjoyment. To exclude them from the physical festivities of coitus and be forced to watch the show as a trapped and enraptured audience. Variably some bondage was involved but to what degree was up to the doctor herself depending on her muse and arousal in the moment. It sent her insides quivering to bind a cuck in the strictest bondage imaginable and leave them to the mercy of their own bodies, enduring watching lurid lovemaking without so much as a finger to move.
But more often she liked to give her Cuck Queens some ability to self-pleasure, able to play themselves and approach release but never the satisfaction of orgasm. Those were hers to give or ruin. While the power dynamic was unflinching, the illusion of control in the hands of the controlled sub set a spark racing in Yui’s heart.
Go’s free thumb flexed beside the mittened right hand before tapping the edge of a rectangle set into the padded latex. Closer inspection revealed it to be a smartphone depicting a pair of digital arrows. She tapped the up arrow a few times, causing egg vibes taped to Go’s pussy to pulse, the glistening nether lips trembling from the vibrations. Trying to push the vibration of the egg vibes up to either coax herself to orgasm or make Yui take pity on her.
Yui shook her head ruefully before reaching a hand out towards Nurse Go’s head, finding the buckle to remove the needy slut’s gag. The strap slackened and Yui pulled back slowly, revealing the silicone shaft of a cock on the gag’s reverse. Four inches of anatomically correct turgid dildo slipped from the Nurse Maid’s lips with a satisfyingly wet ‘pop’.
“G-good-” Yui’s eyes turned flinty at hearing the first word, and Go took a moment to swallow thickly before continuing in Japanese, “ Good Morning, Sensei. Thank you for the wonderful show last night. It was exquisite. ”
The doctor’s look returned to amused satisfaction at the correction. “Good, good. As you know, Ichi has a particularly greedy asshole so Kyu had to keep her cunt stuffed while I pounded her rear. Nothing quite like fucking someone into unconsciousness, is there?”
Go’s cheeks - already flushed from the night of cuckqueening, teasing and denial- grew redder at the memories of the vigorous sex she’d been witness to. “No, Sensei.”
Blushing was a good sign, it meant that no matter how far she had pushed her subs and tools they were still not desensitised to the pleasure of her games. It made them forever fun to tease. “ Schedule and emails, ” Yui ordered.
To Nurse Go’s credit, the look of frustrated disappointment that the conversation had not been a setup for her to receive the Ichi treatment lasted less than a second. Her free thumb reluctantly tapped the home button on the phone and navigated to the calendar.
Being a Cuck Queen didn’t change the fact that Nurse Maids were supposed to keep Yui’s schedule and take messages, thus the other reason to have free thumbs.
“Thursday, 14th of July, 2022.” Go began, effecting a professional cadence. The two-tone-haired Nurse Maid swept the tip of her thumb up the phone, refreshing the details of the day. “You have the first physical and psych evaluation with Lady Carmilla this morning.” There was an asterisk and a ‘T’ next to the time block on the day's timetable, “ Governess Moore has asked for a request during the evaluation. Shall I tell you now or should I simply forward the email to your devices? ”
“The latter. I can read it on the way to medical, ” Yui replied, rolling her shoulders until a thought came to her, “Whose handling batch iteration this afternoon?”
“Nii and Yon. San will be occupied with fabrication most of the day.”
“Well that works out perfectly, ” Yui chirped, thumbing her back over her shoulder, “ Pencil in a touch-up with Victoria along with the results. Knowing her she won’t turn down the chance to be artsy given how good of a mood she’s been in as of late. ”
“Of course, Sensei.” A few taps of her thumb had sent the appropriate messages and appointments. She listed out the other things that awaited Yui that day ranging from clinical trials to a request from a university in St Louis to take part in a seminar on therapy next February.
Contentedness lapped at Yui like a cool spring and in she felt the desire to be charitable to the dutiful Nurse Maid. “ Oh, and Go? ” she said, getting the red and blue girl’s focus.
“Yes, Sensei?”
Yui stepped forward and daintily hopped up onto the bound woman’s lap, her bare derriere suspended between the Nurse Maid’s surprisingly well-toned thighs. She ran a hand up the sub’s inner thigh feeling the sweat glide beneath her fingertips as she got closer to Go’s crotch. Excitement burst to life in those red and red and blue orbs.
“Good job being such a quiet but attentive audience. I’ve no crown for the Cuck Queen today but…” she rolled her index finger back, “Good things come to those who wait~”
‘Flick!’
Even though Go had seemingly quit out of the app, it did not stop the vibration of the pairs of egg vibes taped to her pussy. When Yui had locked her gag sporting fifth nurse into her chair for the night she had set a timer on those vibes. Regardless of how many ruined orgasms the hours of edging would stroke out of Go, the vibes would not turn off a second before 6am.
And the clock currently read 05:50.
Despite Go’s mostly calm face, the vibes had kept her glitteringly wet pussy warm and ready so that even the tiniest stimulus too much would send her over the edge.
When the rounded nail of Yui’s finger flicked Go’s starved-for-attention clitoris, she may as well have set off a nuke.
The crescendo was instantaneous. A sharp bolt of violet lightning struck the synaptic rod and conducted sensory rapture into Go’s nervous system, erupting into a raucous orgasm. Her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates while her pupils shrank to twin pricks of coal in pools of ruby and sapphire. “Huuuuaaahhhhhhh~” she moaned huskily as the climax tore through her in a torrent of pleasure, causing her body to twitch and buck against the bonds. Once an impediment, now a lifeline to hold onto and not be washed away by the flood.
With nothing more to hold back, the puffy petal of Go’s dripping sacred flower gave up their treasure. She squirted the clear nectar of her orgasm in several fitful and shivering streams, into the waiting bowl below her.
Yui road the bucking girl like a master cowgirl, her balance shifting perfectly to keep level even as the thighs under her tensed and coiled as the girl’s orgasm trailed off, leaving her panting amidst the sound of the still buzzing vibes. Her hand, still extended, traced down over the slippery lips and into the bowl that had caught the squirt, feeling its lukewarm wetness around her fingers. She was pleasantly surprised to find that the vessel had been filled to her second knuckle throughout the night.
‘Good girl ,’ she thought, bringing her hand back up to look at the clear beads of manifested lust roll down each of her fingers. Yui brought her fingers to her lips and slowly began to lick each digit clean, tasting Go’s orgasm in each drop. It was a rich flavour, a combination of diet and a little tampering on the doctor’s part, adding just another layer to the erotic intimacy of the act. ‘Tasty ,’ Yui observed simply.
She made a show of swallowing the little nectar loudly to rouse the one who had offered it to her medical goddess.
Getting off the chair, the black-haired woman informed the panting Nurse Maid that she was going to have a shower and get dressed. “ Kyu will unlock you once your timer runs out. Tasty as you are, it’s not enough to earn a second off your watch, little minx .”
Yui strode away, making for the door to the ensuite bathroom, the strangled but deeply satisfied voice of Go following her. “ Thank you, my most wonderful Sensei .”
Nearly an hour later, Yui walked purposefully through the sterile white halls of the medical facilities looking perky and enthused, her personal tablet under one arm. In addition to her usual white doctor’s coat she wore a cream rollneck top and a black knee length pleated skirt; her legs clad in semi-opaque black pantyhose tucked into matching black calf-boots.
While usually Yui’s attire matched the cool hallways of the medical facilities under Eden’s Rest, she had decided to wear something a little thinner given her upcoming meeting with Victoria that afternoon out in one of the outbuildings. The good summer weather was holding for now and while she was more used to higher temperatures than most, Yui wanted to dress appropriately for her later jaunt. Don’t get her wrong, she loved her tight fitting leather pants, but sometimes you had to vary it up.
Arriving at her primary examination room, Yui set down her tablet and switched on her computer, hitting a keyboard shortcut to send all the advanced equipment in the room into a shakedown run. The mostly white room came alive with the sound of whirring servos and chattering control surfaces. Most visibly, Sukuna’s Hand descended from its ceiling mount and rotated, deploying its arms in sequence from basic manipulators and probes to hyper specialised tools used for keyhole surgery.
It wasn’t needed, because there was no surgery on the docket for today and any intrusive actions could be fit onto a small metal surgical tray rather than some of the large and expensive equipment at Yui’s disposal. But that didn’t change the necessity of needing to check that everything was still working properly, because Yui Ito was a highly competent doctor and despite her at times lackadaisical disposition she would not tolerate ill kept or subpar equipment. Sukuna’s Hand retracted its arms and rotated back into its ceiling mounting with a definitive click. Several dozen status updates flashed on Yui’s monitor, all reading green. Satisfied that her workplace was as she had left it, Yui finally allowed herself to sink into her office chair behind her desk and begin prepping for the upcoming exams.
The computer’s clock rolled over to 6:50 AM, meaning she had about ten minutes until her Ladyship would be gracing her presence with her pale white visage, probably grumpy given the hour. She had her questions and notepads ready for the psych eval while her Nurse Maids would prep the necessary tools and furniture for the physical. Then she recalled what Go had told her, opening her emails and taking a look at Trisha’s request.
A perfectly plucked eyebrow arched in intrigue.
‘Please obtain a clear recording of Lady Carmilla saying her former name.’
She pondered the governess’s request for a few moments, wondering just what the bespectacled 32 year old planned to do with such an ignominious bit of data. Yui could think of several potential outcomes with most skewing to the mental side of domination, which was interesting given that Trisha had told her that physical shocks and conditioning would take precedence during this formative period of breaking down Sam, ‘ Or the late Mr Hayes, I should say, ’ Yui corrected, and building up Carmilla.
Another minute of pondering and she eventually shrugged, deciding to acquiesce to the request. It wasn’t like she wasn’t planning to record the psych eval and knew the governess was eager to review her findings to incorporate them into her tuition of the aspirant Lady. She smirked with excitement, ‘ Plus I wanna see just what she comes up with.’ She sent a reply email that she would do as asked, but chose to not pry further as to why in favour of the wait and excitement of whatever fun teaching or torment the educator would come up with.
The automatic doors to the examination room slid open at 7AM on the dot and revealed a trifecta of visitors, an image in monochrome. Sam, flanked by both of his Lady’s Maids who looked bright and alert. The sissy in question? Not so much. He wore his white high collared Victorian dressing gown and the comfortable rose marked black slippers he was made to wear when footwear was not mandated. His hair, recently washed at the hands of his personal maids, framed a face like thunder, glaring at Yui like she’d forced him to walk on a carpet of flaming lego.
‘Damn, she looks like an Onryō in here,’ Yui observed mentally, seeing shades of the vengeful spirits of her homeland in the tall and pale white haired Lady; blending in with the almost entirely white exam room. She didn’t let that show on her face and instead rose from her seat with a wave at her patient. “Good morning, Carmilla. Sleep well?” she asked relaxedly.
Sam’s silent glare could have melted a star. But it had no effect on Yui beyond emboldening her genuine good naturedness. She gestured to the comfortable seat opposite her and indicated for him to sit. “Take a seat and we’ll get started in no time,” she said warmly, fully expecting him to tell her to stick her laid back happiness towards his subjugation up her ass.
His lips thinned into a narrow line, hazel eyes practically screaming at her but he remained silent, choosing not to speak as he crossed the room. Lily gracefully darted in front of him as he walked, pulling out the chair for him without a word. He sat down opposite her while Lily returned to her place besides Dellilah, still trying to make Yui spontaneously combust with gaze alone.
“Hmm,” Yui sat down as well, hands flat on the desk while taking Sam’s measure. She had been expecting fireworks out of the gate, not quiet, seething semi-compliance.
Sam had just come from his morning wash, meaning he was probably walking off the effects of his daily enema. While she knew some people who had come to enjoy the invasive cleaning process, Yui knew that the new sub was in full rejection of this controlling aspect of his hygiene routine. He looked it, the waves of angry presence vibrating out from him silently.
And that was just it. Silent.
‘Interesting .’
A beat of silence passed between patient and doctor with Sam holding Yui’s eyes as much and as long as he could. In comparison to angry hazel, Yui’s almond shaped brown eyes took his measure with an analytical scrutiny worthy of her title, dissecting every physical, mental and emotional tell. It unsettled Sam how she could maintain such a look with that same laid back smile, like she was about to discuss the weather with him before gutting him like a fish. He maintained the staring contest for as long as he could, beginning to crack until finally he looked away, wilting under Yui’s stare.
A glint of sparkling light twinkled from Sam’s ears before being covered by the curtains of long white hair as he looked away.
Happy at the silent contrition, Yui decided now they could get underway. “Maids.” The pair of Lady’s Maids stood a little straighter at being addressed by the manor physician, “You can go now, please wait outside for the duration of the psych exam.”
That caught Sam off guard, quickly looking at his enforced companions and back to Yui. Lily and Delilah both curtseyed before retreating from the room, leaving Sam alone with the doctor.
Seeing the edge of confusion in Sam’s face, Yui hald her hands up in a gesture of sincerity. “Doctor/Patient confidentiality.”
Now even more caught off guard, Sam did his best to keep his reaction contained, but Yui still spotted the small furrow in his snowy white eyebrows. It seemed that he was getting better at keeping his emotions inward, she observed, making a mental note.
As the automatic doors finally slid shut, Sam internalized the break from the norm this seemed to be. He had been told yesterday that he had an examination with Yui today, but didn’t think that meant he’d be sent to her just after his morning shower and enema. He suppressed the urge to shudder, his ass still smarting from the unwelcome intrusion. There was one boon though, ‘At least I don’t have Trisha standing over me all the time.’
Drumming her fingertips on the desk, Yui began with an empathetic tact. “Sorry for getting you up so early for this. As nice as I like to think I am, I know nobody likes being at the doctor’s mercy first thing,” Yui told her patient, trying to persuade him to speak. Her eyes glinted with a dark, almost smarmy cheer. “But I guessed you would probably want to get this out of the way as early as possible and enjoy the perks of being the Lady of the House for most of the day.”
Teeth snapped against one another, Sam locked his jaw and did his best not to grind his teeth at that last part. Especially when the truth of it was so obvious. He kept his mouth firmly shut and did not give the older woman the rise she was looking for.
Yui’s smile shifted slightly, the smarminess giving way to an approving amusement, surprised that some part of him was able to see that she was baiting to get a visceral reaction. She wasn’t sure how much of that was his mental fatigue dulling his emotional thresholds, but that at least would make this fun for her.
She picked up her notepad and tapped it against the desk. “Given you’re still probably all tingly from your morning wash, I think we’ll start with the Psych Eval. Sound fun?” she pushed on when there was no response, tapping a few keys on her keyboard. “I’ll be recording it for the sake of posterity.”
The bilateral UHD webcam on top of Yui’s monitor came to life with a red light, capturning Sam in 4K. Instantly the young man turned his head away from the camera to look across the room, the curtain of his hair hiding the side of his face. Little did he know that the act was pointless as he was being surveilled by over a dozen pieces of sophisticated recording equipment around the room, hidden from view.
The ravenette cleared her throat before launching into her introduction. “Eden’s Rest Physician’s log case: Psyche Evaluation of Lady Carmilla Florence, first consultation dated 14th of July 2022.” Mention of the date sent a nauseating stab of turmoil deep into Sam’s chest. “Attending is Dr Yui Ito:” Yui pointed to herself nonchalantly, “Manor and Family Physician, Leading Staff and FMC employee. Hello world!” she introduced genially, enjoying the flourish within procedure, before focusing her attention pointedly on Sam. “As well as one Lady Carmilla Florence. Could you please identify yourself for the record, Lady Carmilla?”
As had been the case since he first walked in, Sam did not respond to Yui, remaining silent as a means of protest.
“Lady Carmilla?” Yui prompted, “We can’t begin until you identify yourself for the record. And if we can’t begin then we can’t end.” She wouldn’t usually use Sam’s full title as the Lady of Eden’s Rest because she got on surprisingly well with the kidnapped and sissified aristocrat. It was very amusing to poke at his ego with it and hope to carve out a reaction. Emotionally dead subs were just boring!
However, Sam remained despondent to any and all of Yui’s initial questions. The one way conversation only yielded the occasional glare from half profile from the silent sissy. But Yui didn’t let her mood dip, instead taking the dead air time to take in Sam’s countenance. Physically he looked in perfect health, no bags under the eyes or sallow skin, his long white hair looked full and healthy. But his eyes looked weary in the way that only the mentally and emotionally overwrought could, she had coaxed such looks from subs before and while a total collapse was always fun to watch she would need to aim for something closer to a controlled explosion.
Yui affected a convincing sigh, tapping her pen against her notepad, “Okay, seems we’re at a bit of a roadblock here on account of a one way conversation.” the pen twirled elegantly between her fingers from one hand to another, eventually resting against her lower lip. Her eyes brightened as an idea hit her. “Oh, I know. Is there anything else you would like to identify yourself for the camera? Because I doubt you want to be stuck in that chair all day. Somehow I don’t think you’d take kindly to me rubbing your numb rear as Trisha chews you out for missing lessons.”
Silence reigned and Yui felt the ghost of annoyance for the first time. Not because of Sam, but because this much dead air would be tedious to spool through at a later time. But then she saw it, a twitch at Sam’s lips, his pale face turning to look at her. His mask let slip notes of unsureness before closing his eyes.
“How about you call me Sam, because that’s my damn name .” he said in a low, quiet voice.
Success, Yui thought. Doubly so given she had fulfilled Trisha’s request. Ticking off the request tickbox on her pad, she shook her head empathetically. “Sorry, Carmilla. But that’s not what’s in my records.”
A growl rumbled from Sam’s throat.
Lips quirking up in amusement, Yui tapped her pen to her temple, “I was thinking maybe adding a cute honorific. If you’re as much a weeb as your spouse I think you’ll find it quite flattering, Carmilla- Sama.” She purposefully dialed up her accent, enjoying the scowl that he gave her. “Too formal? I guess that puts Camilla-San out as well. What about Carmilla- chan ?”
Every single honorific adjoined utterance of his assigned name served to put another crack in Sam’s barely holding faculties. In truth, his impromptu vow of silence had been nothing more than the lingering mirage of agency and desire for them to not make him act like this. So as the ire within escalated, the cracks slowly but surely grew into fissures.
“-can’t use Florence-Chan, Victoria or the rest of her family might get mixed up. Plus, I think we’re definitely at first name basis and then some,” Yui’s accented english was bordering on gleeful now, rolling her R’s playfully. “Ojou-sama is fun. But, I don’t think you’ve got the ‘oh-hohoho’ laugh down yet,” she covered her mouth with the back of her hand as she pantomimed the cliched laugh with delight.
Sam could feel the vein in his temple throbbing, so very close to popping. It didn’t know what it would be, but he was going to blow, and what bothered him was that he wasn’t sure if the eruption would even be impressive.
“... Carmi-ya-”
‘THAT’S IT!’ he raged, opening his mouth to yell but silently gagged, the words never forming. Yui’s eyes were still locked onto him, boring into his and appraising his very soul. The annoyance hit a plateau that it could not pass, for in those mirthful yet analytical brown orbs he could see a million possible reprisals for bad behavior, and none of them were good. He looked down at his hands. “...can you please just call me Sam?”
“No, I can’t.” Yui shook her head, “But if you can just confirm that you are Carmilla, then we can get going. Are you the Lady Carmilla Florence, wife of Viscountess Victoria Florence and Lady of Eden’s Rest?” the doctor made sure to drag out each name and title.
“Ugggghhhh,” he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Fine. Yes I am.” saying the words felt like being kicked in the ribs, but it was better than saying the name itself.
“Excellent.” Yui replied, ticking off another box.
Shaking his head as he felt his placidness exerted its reign over him, Sam elected to get some info out of Yui as payment. “Why am I even here? Victoria told me you have all my information, you probably know more than me.” And wasn’t that a sour thing to admit.
The self-deprecation was taken in stride, Yui quickly replying, “I’m the family and manor physician, so it's my job to see to your physical, emotional and mental wellbeing. If you need to air your grievances then I’m a port of call.”
‘More of this ‘for my own good’ bullshit.’ Sam’s hands balled into fists, knuckles showing white against his pale skin. But then it clicked, looking more closely at Yui, ‘ Doctor/patient confidentiality… and airing frustrations ,’ he thought before putting it to words, “So you’re telling me, I have a blank check to vent and it won’t get back to Trisha?” he asked, consternation and catharsis at war in his voice.
Yui nodded, satisfaction a figurative vapour around her. She watched the fire relight amidst hazel pools, channeled to a singular point in what was shaping up to be her desired controlled detonation.
“Where. Do I. Even. Start?” Sam said, a steely heat in every word. He didn’t like feeling like this, the anger and prolonged frustration were like a poison he so desperately wanted to drain.
“The beginning is usually a good place,” Yui answered, a cheeky smirk fixed squarely on her lips.
That smile was the last thing needed to push him over the edge and he launched into a searing diatribe. “Well, then let's start at the beginning. Just over two weeks ago my girlfriend talked me into not only going to the graduation I didn’t want to attend but also coming to her unseen home to celebrate. She surprises me we a trip, a big house and oh, I don’t know, THE FACT SHE’S A FUCKING NOBLE WITH MORE MONEY AND LAND THAN MOST SEE IN THEIR WHOLE FUCKING LIVES!”
The sudden increase in volume all but shook the room. Outside, Lily and Delilah exchanged looks, hearing their Lady’s voice so loudly through the soundproofing was certainly a sign that things might not be going well. However, the running of his mouth felt euphoric for Sam.
“And then after revealing this house of horrors, hither to beyond the laws of sense and size, I find out she’s probably cracked.”
The ‘probably’ was written into Yui’s notes, joined with a few of her own thoughts. ‘Use of probably in an incensed state indicates that she still subconsciously accepts that Victoria is in her right mind. Despite the anger this means that the emotional tether between them is still intact, damage can be recouped and reconstituted into the new dynamic of spouse and wife.’
“She goes on this speech about how its her ‘family legacy’ to ‘uplift’ the people they love, and her version of that is wanting to turn me into a fucking Victorian housewife at the head of this place. Then she drugs me, cuts off all my body hair, forces me into a fucking corset, and does THIS to my hair!” his hands reached up and grabbed fistfulls of his layered silvery white hair, jostling it to illustrate his point. “Then she throws me at the feet of an insane riding crop wielding governess who has a degree in making the insane into a syllabus, and the only moment of respite I got, where I could see my girlfriend was still in there, she drugged me…AGAIN….and then,” powerful emotions swam in Sam’s eyes, “she…” he gritted his teeth, the truth crawling its way from the darkness like a foul demon of shadow, “ SHE RAPED ME!!!”
The explosion echoed through the room and Yui’s face didn’t move an inch, satisfied she had drawn the crux of the emotions from her patient. Before her eyes he seemed to visibly deflate after having got that off his chest and while he continued to talk about his various grievances it wasn’t as venomous as that initial deluge of verbage. She threw in her own words from time to time, interjecting and probing for greater information to get his view on certain things over the week that had passed since his and Victoria’s first ‘coupling’.
It was that sordid, dominating and deeply erotic first time that gave Sam so much trouble putting into words, because his emotions and thoughts were a gordian knot that he could not hack. And in that respect, the good Doctor Ito was ready with a scalpel in hand to extricate the truth, slicing through strands of sentiment and cognito hazards to reach an understanding.
He called it a rape because that was how it had felt leading up to it and the morning after. He had wept into Victoria’s chest the morning after, fists balled and full blown ugly weeping against a person who in that moment he hated but was his only life line. And part of the reason why he chose the simple, poignant description of rape and hate, was because they were so much easier than what he truly felt. When he had thought back on the altercation, he would be remiss not to point out how she had taken so many steps to ensure he would enjoy it.
Prepwork, foreplay, words of encouragement, aphrodisiacs to exacerbate his desire and even aftercare once the deed was done. It had felt wrong, he hated it… and yet he had felt pleasure. Forced into him and at the whims of another, but it had been there. Her scent, her taste, her presence and control over him, her divine right to move him as she pleased to give them both pleasure. In those final moments, ‘ I wanted it… ’ he thought, though he would never tell Yui that.
Hate was easier than the truth, but in reality that hate was a pastiche of aggravations, frustrations and every other negative to hide from the fact that when Victoria had taken him in that deepest, claiming way, he’d enjoyed it.
Along with the two other times the pair had had sex since then.
“That’s nothing to be ashamed of. A healthy sex life is a good sign of a strong marriage.” Yui said, causing Sam to gurn as he grappled with the embarrassment and shame of his own body and emotions betraying him.
“It’s not right.” he replied stubbornly, resting his chin on the palm of his hand.
“You take issue with Victoria enjoying your submission.” Yui observed calmly.
Sam scoffed, “Try sheer bloody glee! She all but plays with herself at the thought of permanently altering my body…” then he remembered something and pulled his bangs back, revealing his ears. “She already has permanently changed my body!”
Where once his ears had been bare and untouched, each lobe now sported a medium sized diamond stud earring that glittered in the harsh fluorescent lighting. “The moment I stopped crying that morning after she strapped me to a chair and pierced them,” he said, wincing at the memory of the sharp prick of pain in each ear as Victoria gently pierced each of her immobile wife’s ears. “She said ‘‘ a memory of a glittering moment deserved a matching gift.’”
Myriad feelings plucked at Sam’s heart as he reiterated his girlfriend and captors words, deafening him to what he should be feeling, leaving him to zone in on the homogeneous foul note that was the loudest. But Yui was a keen study, an observant and talented domme and doctor, able to identify commonalities and potential causes.
“Try to trace all the negatives to the root cause. The singular thing that most of what you feel bad about can be led back to.” Yui’s empathetic words caught Sam unawares, making him blink owlishly at her.
“What?”
“You’re obviously struggling with two or more emotional wire crossing, so what’s the common denominator?” Yui asked semi-rhetorically, she had a good idea but it helped for Sam to work it out himself.
The tall Lady sat in thought for a few minutes, accepting a cup of water when Yui poured him one to soothe his somewhat raw throat. Venting was exhausting. Eventually he settled on what he ‘thought’ was the core. “I feel like I have no control over my life right now, and for some reason that hurts. I’m being dragged along to a mould that is being prepped by a group of insane women and no matter what I do, I have no agency.”
That was fascinating. Not entirely unexpected but still deeply interesting. Yui knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that Sam was a placid submissive, even if at times he had amusingly creative outbursts of anger and rebellion. That was a by product of the breaking process that any subjugated sub went through, especially if they were unaware of how deep their own submission went. So what was the exacerbating agent giving the sissy issues?
“Can you give me some examples?”
Getting over the spike of incredulousness that he was being asked to give an evaluation on his own enslavement, Sam decided he may as well do what the doctor asked. Many of them involved Victoria and Trisha. Quite a few of them involved the house and role expectations as well as even some grievances he had with himself. As he spoke, Yui began to notice an underlying pattern.
“-and then she wished me a good night, knowing all I had was a chain around my ankle and desk full of boring books to fill that night with.” Sam finished with a huff, retelling an instance of Trisha having given him a spanking over her knee before bed. “What do I even actually have, Yui? All I have is this madhouse, this fake reality interspersed with spoiled joy and endless boredom. I want to play games and read comics, watch a bad movie and enjoy a beer.”
Realization hit him and he barked a wry laugh. “I haven’t even felt the need to have a shit in over a week. How fucked up is that? I’m missing the nice feeling of relief taking a crap brings. The best I can manage is pissing into a chamberpot.” he commiserated.
But from there, the conversation had begun to take an odd turn, a laying bare of himself that only Victoria had ever seen. The rare aspects he had enjoyed, stoked by annoyances and that ever present feeling of boredom when not being interacted with. It felt good to get it off his chest even if his only audience was the grinning cheshire cat that was Yui.
Yui made reems of notes and paid attention to the fact that the underlying issue appeared to be lack of out of routine enjoyment and pastimes was exacerbating the mental strain of the more physical discipline and teaching. It was an acceptable and in many respects wanted catalyst to help break down Sam and make the job of building up Carmilla go smoothly. ‘But there needs to be enough carrots to strive for compared to sticks to avoid.’
One item of particular note she was able to uncover by how Sam skirted around it. The defensive and dismissive non-answers left a hole that Yui knew to be something deeply embarrassing Sam, even if as a sub he should be kissing the ground that he had it. The fact that he begrudgingly felt pleasure from the sex even without the aphrodisiacs prior to truly cultivating his asshole into an erogenous zone meant that Victoria had awakened his latent masochism.
‘The hormones, testosterone blockers and the other supplements could also be having an effect on the scattershot emotional state,’ she reasoned thoughtfully. Hormone therapy of any sort had a habit of… well mood swings was not the correct term. It was more accurate to say that the thresholds for emotional moments like this venting would be lower than normal. She would check the bloodwork later but somehow doubted that was to blame yet. The drug regimen she had crafted for him was there to insure that the real mood swings would not be too violent, balancing everything out with minimal negatives. She would endeavour that her magnum opus had a stable frame of mind, even if he did moan about how he was still getting used to cock.
Back outside in the hallway, the Nurse Maids moved through the corridors to their intended positions, getting stuck into their packed days as usual. Nurse San appeared at the doors to the examination room with a silver platter bearing Sam’s Ladyship Tonic in one hand. She nodded in silent greeting to the Sam’s Lady’s Maids standing sentinel at the doors, her eyes lingering on the silver pins at their neck bows. Both higher ranked maids returned the nod politely before the doors slid open to admit the third of the nine.
The sound of the doors opening caught Sam’s attention, quickly looking over his shoulder to see the new arrival of Nurse San. His nose wrinkled the moment he caught sight of the off green liquid in the glass she carried. But he suppressed the urge to show his greater revulsion when memories of what had happened the last time he refused a Ladyship Tonic came vividly to his mind.
“Your Ladyship, Sensei,” San greeted, earning a silent wave from Yui. The tray was deposited on the desk in front of the captive who stared at it for a moment before reluctantly drinking its sour contents in one long draft.
Yui raised an eyebrow at the lack of resistance to the tonic, “Finally becoming a big girl, Carmilla? Drinking your medicine in one gulp.”
Sam visibly cringed at the backhanded compliment but knew that it was better than active resistance when it came to the Ladyship Tonic. Several days ago he had been in a far fouler mood during a lesson with Trisha on memorising parts of the female anatomy when the Tonic had been delivered. He blatantly refused to drink the substance at the time, his anger emboldening him but leaving him with a hair trigger temper. The straw that broke the camel's back had been when his governess had once again referred to Victoria as his ‘spouse.’ Not wife, and never girlfriend or husband. Only ever his ‘spouse’.
It had been wrankling him for well over a week at that point and he had popped, throwing the glass on the floor in a fit of peak.
That had earned him the incredibly unpleasant experience of being tied to his chair and having Trisha force feed what was left of the medical supplement using a feeding tube. Sam grimaced reflexively, that was something he did not want a repeat of. ‘ And I still never got an answer on that ‘spouse’ shit. ’
He reflected then on the two different outbursts he’d had between his governess and now doctor, find an observation there he really did not want to admit to. Despite the annoyance and openness of his grievances with the situation, he was essentially running on emotional fumes. Sure he got annoyed at things and still abhorred what was happening to him with every fibre of his being, but it wasn’t in his nature to get physically mad over things. If he didn’t like something he would fight back, but sustaining that was almost caustic. The litany of micro-issues and the boredom of his ‘off time’ was keeping that wound from scarring.
The core kernel of not wanting it would never change, but his ability to not simply put his head down and take what was being done to him was a reality becoming harder and harder to deny.
And this consultation with Yui was only proving that.
Yui silently directed Nurse San with a hand gesture, her focus still on him as the Nurse Maid left the room again. Thinking about it, there was something about Yui that always set Sam ill at ease. She had never been physically dominant to him like the others and she was not the lightning rod of discipline that Trisha was, but there was this air to her that was abject in the way it gave him the wheelies. ‘It’s her smile,’ he thought, looking at the laid back and amused smile, on the borders of being a smirk but not quite there. It was almost like even without paying attention she still had enough means and intelligence to make anything happen but didn’t; in favour of enjoying the show. ‘ Just like Victoria. ’
Everything he said and did was being watched and analysed by both the equipment and Yui who drank in every little detail. While she had dabbled in Psychoanalysis, her observations came from the domme in her, supplemented by intuition and scientific knowledge. Her notebook was at this point full of observations she had made about him. But now was time to pry a little deeper.
She set her notepad down on the desk and addressed Sam, “Thank you for that, Carmilla. You’ve given me a lot to think about, but I want to get to know you on a deeper level, find out the why as opposed to just what you think.” She flipped a switch on her keyboard and leaned into the microphone beside the computer. “ Ichi. Please grab a reader clip and come to the main exam room,” she rattled off in Japanese.
Lanky shoulders squared in confusion of the sudden order, hackles rising when Ichi arrived half a minute later. Sam did a double take seeing Ichi, taken aback by her seafoam green hair and shifted uncomfortably as she approached him. She held an object in her hands, what appeared to be an oversized plastic peg with LED’s set into it.
“Don’t mind Ichi, Carmilla. I just want her to take your sats now while we do stage two of the evaluation, one less thing to do during the physical.” Yui said in an attempt to assuage any worry her patient had.
An attempt that was only partially successful as Sam’s face sported a look that practically had ‘internally screaming’ written on his forehead. ‘ There's a stage two!?’
Green filled his peripheral vision and he turned, jumping in his seat because Nurse Ichi had practically telet[ported to his side and looked at him intensely. “Lady Carmilla,” Ichi said, making Sam swallow apprehensively.
“Y-yes?”
She held out her hand, a small white electrode sitting on the open palm. “May I attach them?”
Seeing no point in arguing, he offered his hand and Ichi quickly clipped the sats reader onto his index finger. He had never had his sats taken before, but he knew the general idea if not the specifics. His knowledge base there was fuzzy enough that he didn’t question when she also stuck the electrode to his temple. He was still caught by the oddly coloured hair the woman had, though when a stray lock of his own white hair brushed into his vision he realised the irony of such thoughts.
Yui meanwhile brought up a program on her computer and turned the entire screen to face Sam when Ichi was finished hooking him up to the reader. “I want to do some basic word association, document your initial reactions to what I say or what you see. Literal first thing that comes to your head. Don’t overly think about it. I want the raw basic emotional response.”
The screen was a simple blank blue landscape plane save for a singular yellow dot in its centre. Sam tried to glean what he could from the dot because he was quickly learning that there were always multiple levels with this place, but found he could turn up nothing.
“Okay…” he said tiredly.
Yui nodded as she began, “Colour.”
“Blue,” Sam replied in a dry voice.
“Food.”
“Complicated.”
“Warmth.”
“Be-” he cut himself off, the answer changing, “Sun.”
One hand came to rest under Yui’s chin. “Cold.”
“Rain.”
“School.” Yui said neutrally, but her eyes danced with sparks of amusement.
“Done,” He shot back, but the relief was hollow given he knew he was hours away from the new educational hell wielding a riding crop.
Tipping her chin upwards, the Kyoto native pronounced her next prompt of choice. “Home.”
Sam’s aura seemed to dim. “Complicated.”
“Parents.”
Sam’s hazel eyes turned flinty.
“Parents.” Yui repeated, her voice losing none of that neutral geniality she was known for.
Sam sighed darkly. “Dead end.”
Meanwhile, as doctor and patient continued their exploration of mental and emotional reaction, an unseen world of documentation and stimulation was taking place centered around the sats reader on Sam’s index finger and the electrode at his temple.
To put a bow on if she had told him a lie or not, the ‘reader’ was in fact checking his oxygen saturation, but that was just the tip of the iceberg. Pulse, temperature, skin and sweat chemical analysis, skin pour and sweat gland contraction. A veritable treasure trove of information being used to map how Sam’s body reacted to audio-visual and intellectual stimuli. And underpinning it all was the electrode at his temple recording synaptic brain response.
The electrode was in truth a micro-EEG used to register brain activity, as good as any commercial cutting edge EEG but nowhere near as intrusive as what would usually be a hair net full of disc shaped sensors pressed to the skull. It was measuring the physical tells of conscious and unconscious emotional or mental reactions to cognitive stimulus, much like how a polygraph was used to detect a liar but to a much higher and accurate degree. Yui wasn’t using it to tell if someone was lying, but she could if she wanted to. Instead she was being truthful in that she was gauging reactions to certain stimuli. Ones that he didn’t even know he was being subjected to.
Yui’s tablet sat on her lap, out of Sam’s view but open and depicting a control panel. While keeping her main attention on Sam and making sure he only looked at her face or the screen, Yui used her other hand to subtly make changes to the stimulus using her tablet. All of which were subtle and went unnoticed by Sam’s higher functioning brain. But his subconscious noticed, reacting in turn to produce that wonderful dataset she would pour over.
She inset patterns into the images or videos, play beats of infra and ultrasonic sounds through the speakers or sequence certain stimuli in order to see if she could get a particular reaction from the screed of data, and so far she was surprised to not see it.
Eventually the final word association slipped from Yui’s smiling mouth, “Dark sky.”
“Bad time.” Sam replied with finality.
A pleasant lull fell over the examination room then, both occupants seemingly relaxed, but Yui was not done.
She smirked at him candidly, “We’re done with word association for now. These next questions should be the last but I’m gonna preface them by saying they’re a little more personal than you might be used to.”
‘Used to’, Sam noted, not ‘comfortable with’.
Yui tapped her hands on the desk with a little excitement. “Let’s talk about your masochism, Carmilla.”
Sam’s sigh was inevitable and heavy. “We’re not doing this. And I'm not a masochist for god’s sake!” He started defensively, his voice raising as he went on. “I get enough of that from Victoria. Has it sunk in yet that I don’t like any of this?”
“Oh girl, you’re about as subby as it gets. You might as well ask Victoria to swap out that silk choker for a collar already,” Sam scowled like an angry kitten, but his hand did trace the neck of his dressing gown, feeling the choker underneath. “Plus, according to Victoria you squirted like a fountain on that first night she opened the doors to this world for ‘ya.” Yui joked.
Sam’s cheeks went nuclear at the vulgar description, sounding very much like a joke Victoria would make. “Anything I’m made to feel isn’t of my own free will. If I’m forced to feel good, that’s not feeling good. And definitely not something I enjoy!” he ground out, the blush no less bright amidst the sea of white.
Despite that bold exclamation, both of them ended up having the same thought, one with glee and the other quiet humiliation.
‘You don’t really believe that.’
Conversation continued for a few more minutes with Yui walking the typerope of being inflammatory and genuine probing questioning. Sam didn’t like it but after his prior pop off he couldn’t muster anything more than arguing logic, a fool's gambit when the logic of this hidden world was entirely alien to common sense. Finally, Yui wrapped up and indicated the start of the physical.
“Ichi, Go, prep Exam Room B. Lady Carmilla and I will be over in a moment for her physical.” Yui called over the intercom before standing from her desk with her tablet. “If you follow me, we can get you sorted.”
Complying, Sam rose from his seat to his full height, towering over the comparatively diminutive Yui. Despite the difference she projected a neutral dominance that made the nightwear clad young man step out of her path and gingerly follow her to the exit. His slow steps broadcast the fact that he was spooked. Understandably so. When Sam had first been led into the medical facilities he had been shocked at how different it was from the rest of the house, a welcome reprieve from the Victorian decadence above ground. But now he felt the coiling in his insides that waiting in hospitals brought, like waiting for the dentist on steroids.
Yui was a woman of apparent peerless skill, means and budget; given the task of fundamentally changing him by his undisputed -for now, he told himself- owner, Victoria. So walking behind her like this it felt like being led to the gallows. The doors slid open and a pair of monochrome sentinels appeared at his either side. Lily and Delilah met their Lady with compassionate and professional smiles and strangely Sam felt oddly relieved to be reunited with them. At least he knew that he had some leeway with them. They brushed past him and brought up the rear on the short walk to Exam Room B.
It turned out to be another similarly sized medical room made of harsh whites and some steel, the walls lined with several cabinets full of tools, medicines and other medical paraphernalia. The room was divided into two overall, separated by white plastic medical curtains that were half pulled open. And then he saw the object of his soon to be latest debasement. Pressed against the left wall was a sturdy gynae table made of medical grade stainless steel and padded in plush white rubber. The ‘seat’ had a rhombus shaped cutout in it for better access to a patient’s privates while the adjustable backrest was at an obtuse incline, ready for the occupant to lay back into its embrace.
Then there were the extras. It was festooned with tough white leather and rubber straps that for now hung off the sides like ornamental tassels. Two padded U shaped stirrups were mounted on telescopic arms at the foot of the table to hold up the legs and twin padded boards with straps could be flipped out from the sides of the backrest to bind the arms even more securely.
Nurses Ichi and Go waited on either side of the medical hell-device, adjusting their nurse cap/maid headbands and snapping on sterile blue latex gloves. Sam made to step backwards, daunted by the table but the doors were already sliding shut.
Yui sauntered forwards and accepted a fresh pair of gloves and a mask from Ichi. “Strip down and get onto the gynae table, Carmilla,” she told Sam nonchalantly, taking a seat on a rolling stool.
“What? I can’t just, uhhhh, no I won’t,” Sam complained, crossing his arms and accidentally creating a Faux bust with how he dragged in the belted waist of the dressing gown.
“Well you’re not leaving here until I’ve done your physical and I can’t do that if you’re bundled up like one of those Russian nesting dolls,” Yui drawled as she put on her medical face mask, keeping it nestled under her chin for now.
Maid Lily, feeling her Lady’s discomfort,spoke for the first time. “If it’s permitted, Dr Ito, may we use the curtains to give Lady Carmilla some privacy?”
Sam looked at Lily in surprise, the shorter redhead sending her a supportive smile that touched him.
Yui waved a gloved hand dismissively, “Whatever floats your boat.”
Not needing to be told twice, Maid Delilah took Sam’s hand and led him to one side of the room while Lily pulled the white medical curtain across the room. When the shorter of the two maids once again faced her Lady she was graced with Sam silently mouthing a ‘Thank you’ to her. Her bright green eyes practically glowed in happiness at the small show of affection.
Taking a steadying breath, Sam reached for the corded belt that held his dressing gown closed and pulled it loose. Coming open, he slipped the dressing gown off where it was taken into Delilah’s arms, leaving him naked save for the hard plastic trappings of his caged cock.
He looked almost exactly the same, an lanky to androgynous figure rendered feminine by his hairless skin. The harsh fluorescent lighting seemed to bring out the creaminess in his complexion, a possible result of his hygiene regime. He cupped a hand in front of his caged cocked, despairing at the feeling of the CB6000’s cold and unyielding surface, a tactile reminder of his subjugation.
“Carmilla, are you indecent?” Yui called from the other side of the curtain.
The growl of annoyance at the barbed question rumbled with a feline quality. He was about to correct her to what she should have asked but knew it was quite intentional.
Practically seeing the scowl on the obscured sissy’s face, Yui sniffed in amusement. “Come on, Carmilla. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” she quipped, meaning that on more than one level.
The curtain was drawn back with a nod from Sam to Delilah and Yui gave her patient a once over from top to bottom. He shivered under her gaze but she offered no comment. Any changes to his body for now were purely superficial, Yui knew. She wasn’t disappointed because she was being realistic even with her bleeding edge tech and means. Even with the Maiden’s Bouquet to push the boat out and Ladyship Tonics as top ups, under two weeks was not a time frame for metabolic change. She was relieved really, because it meant his body was taking to the process within acceptable tolerances and timeframes.
She eyed the hand he held over his crotch protectively. Giving Sam an expectant look, Yui’s smile widened when he finally pulled his hands away with a blush. “It’s not even big enough to be worth hiding, Carmilla.” she commented, making Sam feel self conscious. She patted the gynae table before he could recover it. “Hop up.”
Sam looked at the furniture dubiously, “Is that what I think it is?”
“Yup. Guess they don’t have women’s health magazines in France.” Yui chimed, enjoying his questioning look. Giving him no answers, she shrugged. “Well given that you’re a woman, a married one at that, you should get used to a visit to your gynaecologist.”
He scowled and Yui smirked, patting the padding again. Sam was made aware once more of the other four women watching him expectantly. He knew that if he resisted he would be manhandled into place. Wanting to preserve some of his pride he gingerly sat on the edge of the gynae table.
Cool padded rubber sent waves of chill fingertips trailing up his back, barraging him with the mute choir of his banished body hair. His skin still rose in goosebumps, but without the tactile awareness of thousands of small hairs, it was simultaneously a vague but more potent reaction. Ichi and Go took up positions either side of him and folded out the armrests. Cool blue latex clad hands pushed him into the backrest and began to manoeuvre his arms and legs into their respective armrests and stirrups.
“Is this really necessary?” he asked as his wrists were slipped into cuffs that were tightened before two additional straps were drawn over his arms, ratcheted until his range of movement was reduced to just his wiggling fingers. The stirrups were much simpler, each only having two over-the-top straps to keep his calves from rising out of the U shaped brackets, the very mechanics of his knee caps only bending in one direction making escape exceedingly difficult.
“No. I just like having people at my mercy.” Yui admitted planely, flipping her mask up to cover everything below her amused eyes. She adored the look of incredulous alarm on his face that the comment produced.
Sam’s heart rate began to tick up as the three medical women busied themselves around him, he could hear the clear and sharp thuds of it rattling against his chest as his anxiety rose. Blood was pumped around his body in faster and faster cycles as the reality that he was totally in their control sank in. He was going to be taken advantage of. Sam squirmed as much as he could on the table, the padding squeaking under his back and bottom, adrenaline sharpening his perception to a razor’s edge.
The harshly anti-septic smell of too much sterile cleanliness filled his nose, eyes darting between the trio of asian women, the nurses strange hair colours popping amidst the sea of white. Something small and cold was pressed against one of his tiny pecs and Sam jolted in weariness.
Only for his face to be painted with surprise when it turned out to just be Yui with a stethoscope.
“Try to take a deep breath to calm down, Carmi-ya,” Yui chided, shifting the stethoscope to listen closer. “It sounds like a little bird in there. Just relax and let us take our readings.” She gave her Nurse Maid’s a sideways look. “ 85 bpm. She’s spooked. I know the British aristocrats are big into fainting pale women but this is a low bar of shock to trip over.” she tittered to them in Japanese.
Both Ichi and Go offered small giggles of their own, confusing Sam to which the fast paced and heavily accented language was impenetrable.
His panic began to slip back into simple discomfort as Yui began rattling off facts and figures from her observations. She brought down a mounted light and switched it on, blasting Sam in the face with a cone of bright light that robbed Sam of most of his vision. He grimaced, squinting to look past the light into the partial silhouettes the three women had been reduced to.
“Hey, Carmilla. Victoria says you’re kind of a movie buff right? Put a lot of time into world cinema.” Yui began, making smalltalk to keep him responsive. “Mind if I pick your brains for some recommendations? These two could rewire a nervous system but have about as much media literacy as an IGN review.”
Yui’s out of the blue joke actually succeeded in making Sam sniff in amusement. The pros and cons of engaging with the doctor were obvious because like Victoria she would likely use his answers to extort some torment from him. ‘But if she’s like Victoria then she might genuinely be asking to talk about movies…’ he admitted mentally, eventually rolling his eyes at what he was about to do. “Giri/Haji was pretty good.”
“That’s the British/Japanese cop drama I think. Came out just before COVID.” Yui remembered the program, though it had been a few years since she had watched it. “Yeah, it was pretty good. I like how they showed off how most modern Yakuza are kinda rotting in dead end offices.”
“And how people get obsessed with working with Japanese groups because it’s the ‘exotic other.’ of barbarism meeting civility…” Sam sank a little deeper into the cushioning. Suddenly his face turned worried, eyeing Yui’s silhouette in the bright light. “No offense.” he added, hoping he had not just offended the woman.
She smiled behind her mask. “None taken. It’s more of a western issue to be honest. Not able to understand that ‘different’ and ‘contradictory’ aren’t necessarily wrong. But the show did a good job in showing the flaws of both our countries. Make no mistake, I love Japan. But part of saying you truly love something is to love it despite its flaws, not just pretending they aren’t there.”
Surprised at the thoughtful words, Sam allowed himself to be drawn into the conversation as the three worked. The smalltalk was good to take his mind off the vulnerability of his position, blunting the edge to the knife of embarrassment held to his throat, forced to endure the feeling of people he still barely knew looking at him in a vulnerable state.
“13 Assassins, that was a good film.” Yui said, fiddling with the light, “Shame about the translation issues depending on version. One translation ruins the impact of the survivor’s note.”
The light dimmed, flashed and pulsed periodically, hoping to trip some subliminal triggers she had tried to implant during the word association game.
But she was again pleasantly surprised when Sam didn’t respond to the cues of light and sound. “It should have been nominated for best international feature film at the oscars. But knowing the audience they’d probably have cried bloody murder if it was. Look at how many people lost it when Parasite won in 2019.”
“Oh, Korean films. Now you’re speaking my language!” Yui said with some enthusiasm, finally switching off the light. Sam blinked several times to banish the bright green ‘ring’ that the light had left on his perception while Yui continued to talk. “Bong Joon Ho is very talented but I’ve always been more of a Park Chan-Wook girl. The Vengeance Trilogy is just cinema.”
“I’m guessing you didn’t take well to the American Oldboy remake then?” Sam asked rhetorically. The subsequent look of disgust in Yui’s eyes was so strong that he was sure he could see the scowl behind her facemask.
“Don’t even get me started.” she waved her hand, trying to swat away the phantom of the sub par remake.
Sam nodded, but deep inside him he could feel something amiss. He shouldn’t be making conversation with this smiling monster. She was just as bad as any fictional femme fatale spawned from the minds of people trying to impart stories and cautionary tales of obsession and derangement… and yet.
‘She’s just a person. She has likes, dislikes, wants and grievances. ’ he thought, working to reconcile the dissonance between her actions and what he knew she had done and condoned. And perhaps that was why the conversation gave him a melancholic enjoyment, distracting him from his vulnerable position bound to a mark of his own bad situation. Talking about films with someone who liked films. He was retreating into an old enjoyment to give himself stability… and Yui was right there with him, planning on how to make him into Victoria's desire.
She had slipped the lock and cracked the threshold, a latex cad hand reaching into his rapidly shrinking sense of what was real. Normalizing this perverse dog and pony show with mundane conversation. Entertainment was a deceptive cage, and these women held the keys. How long before he couldn’t tell where his wants ended and their desires began?
The existential pensiveness was thankfully brought to an end by Yui’s next words. Sadly the next topic would be ‘on brand’ for the medical domme.
“Personal favourite is gotta be The Handmaiden. That’s a good damn movie,” Yui enthused.
Sam grimaced, ‘ Yeah, that tracks.’ he thought with a mental sigh. Yes, that film suited Yui to an absolute tee. He could just see her munching on popcorn while watching the erotic psychological thriller, absorbed into the movie as much as the men within the movie watched its secondary heroine read erotic literature and demonstrate it’s descriptions in excruciating detail. ‘At least it’s not The Handmaid’s Tale…. God I’m stuck between both fucking stories. Jesus Christ…’
The rest of the physical happened with Sam surprised how normal it was but there was this anticipation in Yui that reminded him of a cat, it told him that eventually a shoe was about to drop and he wasn’t going to like it when he did.
He winced when Nurse Go drew several vials of his blood, the sight of his red lifeblood filling the tubes touching on a primeval part of his mind. He tensed against his restraints as the final vial was set into a small carry case, Ichi approaching with the green ‘Health Spray’. Swabbing where the needle had gone into his vein, she sprayed a liberal mist of the substance onto the minute wound.
His eyes practically bugged out of their sockets when the wound closed in scant moments. “Wha-” he voiced in pure shock.
“Oh yeah, you’ve never seen this while awake, have you?” Yui asked, rolling from one side of the table to the other on her stool. “Welcome to bleeding edge science, Carmilla. Only the best for our dear Lady.” A small table was rolled over to her side with a cloth covered medical tray sitting on top. “And speaking of being on the bleeding edge: Let me set any worries you have aside because you’re hardly the first sissy I’ve ever worked on.”
Sam felt a little bit of himself die inside at that comment. “That’s not really a comfort.”
Yui wouldn’t let that get in the way of her attempt to assuage his worries. Though to be perfectly honest his worry and discomfort were perks for her to enjoy. “Well it should be. The number of people who fuck it up or use crude methods to achieve subpar results is a real downer. Me? I think I was 16 the first time I had to make a sissy. If you were given to me back then you might have had to worry. Now? 11 years of experience and far better tools are at my disposal, so you can just lay back and enjoy the fruits of my labours.”
The masked doctor rolled over to the tray, snapping on a fresh pair of blue latex gloves. “Some of the things you’ll be sampling make that spray look like a rusty bonesaw by comparison.” She picked up her tablet and tapped a button. “But sometimes, the oldest methods of measurement are the best.”
Discreet by high powered servos came to life in the gynae table. A yip of surprise erupted from Sam when the stirrups raised themselves up in a singular smooth motion, his legs pulled up and back to provide unrestricted access to his hole. “Hu- No, Yui NO!”
Yui uncapped a tube of lube and squeezed a liberal dose of the clear gel onto her gloved index finger, warming it as she rubbed it over her hand. Soon the latex was a glistening blue, every movement rendered in creaking rubber. “Now, Carmilla.” she gave an eye smile, rolling between Sam’s helplessly raised legs with her tray of tools. “Let’s find your G-Spot.”
Understandably freaked out by the comment, Sam began to squirm in his restraints with a renewed fervour. The rubber padding and steel construction creaked pleasingly when he began to thrash against the imprisoning stirrups and arm braces, a purely aesthetic sound intercut with the slap of him coming off the backrest, sliding back as far away from the end of the table as possible. It was just a pointless delay of the inevitable, fun to watch but ultimately fruitless. The table was rated to be able to take weights of up to 400 kg without issue and Sam’s humble 66 kg was practically a feather.
The Japanese doctor reached a hand for his rear end only for Sam to thrust his hips up out of her reach. Wanting to get on with her job, Yui decided that she had permitted the enforced aristocrat enough leeway. “Restrain her,” she ordered neutrally. Ichi and Go swept in to set Sam to rights. Ichi placed her gloved hand on Sam’s flat stomach and pressed down hard, pushing him flush with the backrest once again and keeping him pinned there.
With Ichi’s hand succeeding in keeping the complaining pale sissy in place, Go pulled a wide white leather strap over Sam’s stomach and locked it into place. The strap was fed through a concave plate made of high tensile plastic and memory foam. Go tightened the waist strap in a few sequential pulls, making the guidance plate constrict around Sam’s waist, conforming to his unique shape and cutting off his ability to move his torso up at all.
No longer needing to hold the patient down, Nurse Ichi moved to the headrest and took up another, much shorter strap. Sam whipped his head from side to side, shocked that he’d been reduced to just head and neck movement already. “No, don’t you dare!”
“It’s only a necessity if you resist, Lady Carmilla.” Ichi’s words were very professional, her voice upbeat for the most part. But the face mask she wore rendered her a pair of seafoam green eyes and a reaching hand. She gently gripped Sam’s chin, guiding the back of his skull into the headrest before fitting the head strap’s padded cushion over his forehead and married the metal clip to its matching catch on the other side of the headrest. It produced a satisfying click as it slotted into place.
Sam tried to push and pull against the new bondage but any movement he could achieve would not stop Yui’s lubed finger getting closer to his spread cheeks.
“Lady Carmilla.”
Hazel eyes rotated to look into seafoam green. “F-fuck you!” he spat weakly, jutting his chin at her with what little movement he had.
Ichi let the insult flow over her like warm summer rain. Making a sweeping motion with her hand, brushed over a dozen extra straps, belts and harness mountings that hung from the side of the gynae table.
A chorus of clacks, clicks and tacks from the hardpoints on the numerous restraints sounded and almost immediately Sam slowed his impotent struggles. Coldness washed over him as her interpreted Ichi’s implied threat. What he had right now was the minimum needed to be restrained. If they wanted to or he gave them reason to, they could place him in vondage so severe that he’d only be able to move his eyes in fear.
“Good,” Yui commented from the foot of the table, Sam’s long pale legs tensing either side of her. She parted Sam’s asscheeks with her dry hand and smiled at the crinkled surface of his asshole, brown eyes filling with mirth. “Hello, little octopus. It’s been a minute,” she said to the tight ring of muscles, bringing her glistening blue index finger to it and rubbing the clear medical lube along its locus in slow, pressing circuits.
“Gmmph,” Sam hissed, biting his lip. The lube was still cold enough to make him jolt and this was still an alien experience for him. “Please don’t.” he whimpered.
Yui traced an anti-clockwise circle with her finger, applying more and more pressure before finally the rubberised tip of her pointer slipped inside. Sam’s jaws came together with an audible clack, his thighs tensing while his asshole clamped down in an involuntary attempt to expel the invader. Yui made much quicker work than Victoria and her third knuckle was pressed up against Sam’s hole in no time, finger fully seated within him where it began a through sweep.
Nothing felt out of the ordinary for Yui, touring his insides with a practiced ease. She ran the tip of her finger along the silky inner walls of his ass. It felt clean and healthy with an applaudable level of smoothness for such a short time under her enema plan. She knew where his prostate was so this was just playing with her food for the most part.
Sam meanwhile was forced to deal with the unpleasant aspects of the doctor’s rummaging, letting out moans, groans and yips of discomfort from his asshole. His rosebud fought pointlessly to grip and expel Yui’s finger, causing the pink starfish to hiss with an aching pain that radiated up his lower body, double teaming him along with the still unnatural feeling of penetration.
But then there were the ‘other’ feelings. When Yui rolled her finger from one side of his core to another, sparks of dull pleasure would ignite deep in the slippery flesh. He blushed at a fresh wave of prickling pleasure in a sheath of pain, baulking when his traitorous masochism crooned in thanks for the touch. He closed his eyes, begging his thundering heart to not pump and cringing when he felt a stiffening pain from within his cock cage.
And then Yui finally found his prostate. “Haphh!” he exclaimed suddenly when Yui pressed his ‘fun button’, his entire body tensing when the white hot fire of pleasure lanced into him.
Yui leaned her head to one side, resting her cheek on Sam’s thigh and tapped his prostate again. He let out another grunt of pleasure and she could feel his thigh muscles tense proud against her chin. She smiled, amused at the prominent reaction and continued to tap, prod and tickle the dense fibromuscular gland. “Yup, I definitely found the G-spot. Which is a depressingly infrequent thing amongst most men,” She rested her lubed digit on it and rubbed it increasingly in quickening circles.
Sam’s nervous system screamed, pleasure and pain rendered into a claw that had him by the throat, coaxing reactions from his body he was mortified of, that he was enjoying this debasement. It was a world away from what Victoria had done to him while under the influence of the aphrodisiacs but still the forbidden fruit he was being forced to eat.
A feast that could make one quite addicted.
“No!” he seethed, the ache from his stiffening member guiding him back to reality with tainted grace.
“No?” Yui questioned with faux sincerity. Her eyes became half lidded, locking onto his caged cock, watching the way it bobbed in its plastic prison to his heartbeat. She reached her other hand and flicked it with a clack. “I found the clit as well! You’re so lucky.”
Satisfied with her exam, Yui slowly withdrew her finger from Sam’s thoroughly wet hole with a wet noise. “Well as your doctor and gyno, everything feels okay.” she said, holding up her wet finger. Sam glared down at her balefully, but curious of her sudden pose striking. His answer would come quickly and with a fresh wave of bewildered shock.
Nurse Ichi immediately approached her owner and superior, inclining her head to take the dripping finger into her mouth. She sucked on the lubed finger intimately, her hands behind her back as her tongue weekly lapped and rolled around Dr Ito’s finger. She could taste Sam on it and committed the flavour to memory.
Heat rolled over Sam, butterflies in his stomach at the instantaneous act of sexual submission and service. He tried to turn away from the lewd noises but the bonding made it so that he couldn’t look away.
“Victoria’s not the only one with a love for long and deep projects,” Yui said as Sam continued to stare transfixed at Ichi fellating Yui’s finger. “Nurse Ichi here is… well let’s just say I’ve put a lot of time and effort into turning a once stuck up bitch into a more fitting role.” she said, feeling the warmth of Ichi’s tongue diligently scouring her finger free of lube. She removed her hand with no warning and wiped it off on Ichi’s uniform. Her eyes then turned on the other Nurse, the two tone coloured Go.
“I need some more qualitative review of your pussy, Carmi-ya.” Yui vacated her chair and waved Go over. “Nurse Go, please inform your Lady how talented your tongue is.” she ordered.
Nurse Go beamed at the command, eager to fulfill it. She straightened her uniform before offering Sam a bow. “Ito-Sensei made sure I cultivated my tongue into a tool. It is my honour to have you partake of it.” she said earnestly, proud to be able to present her ‘credentials’. “My IPOI rating is 50% higher than the average.”
The two-tone Nurse’s declaration didn’t draw much of a reaction from Sam beyond a vague feeling of recognition, possibly something Trisha had tried to teach him only for it to slide off his brain with a lot of the other ‘Wifely Pursuits and Pastimes ’.
Yui smirked at the stumped and slightly depressed air Go put off when their Lady didn’t respond to the proud statistic. “I think she might understand a practical demonstration, Nurse Go.” she said, putting her hand on Go’s shoulder and gesturing towards Sam’s lightly twitching rosebud. “Please gather some qualitative testimony for me.”
Go looked at Yui and seemed to sway, happy at the request but unsure what she’d done to earn the chance.
Yui sniffed once, removing her face mask, “You did a good job last night and this morning. You’ve earned the privilege to do some prelim work on your Lady’s love canal.”
As if sharing the same brain cell, it took the exact same amount of time for Sam and Nurse Go to work out what Yui was saying and when they did their reactions couldn’t have been more different. Go was quietly ecstatic, removing her own mask and licking her lips hungrily. Sam gaped openly in horror at what he was about to be subject to.
“Analingus,” the phantom of Trisha said from the halls of his memories.
A white, red and blue blur practically warped as Go popped onto Yui’s now vacant rolling stool and rolled readily into place between Sam’s suspended legs.
Panic set in, a doomed forbidden tension setting over Sam. “No, don’t, NO NO NO!” he pleaded, his kinesthetic sense screaming as he felt the warmth of the attractive asian nurse’s face draw near his ass. The strap across his head meant he couldn’t look down far enough to see what was going on and his imagination made it that much worse.
Yui meanwhile had retreated to the side, wrapping her arms around Nurse Ichi from behind, her questing hands exploring the enslaved woman’s body. “Just relax and enjoy yourself, Carmi-ya. I certainly am.”
“Lady Carmilla,” Sam looked at Nurse Go, her glinting red and blue eyes staring back at him from his crotch. She stared at him with a shockingly strong mix of euphoria and passion. Holding a hand over her heart, she inclined her head, “It is my honour and pleasure,” she said before poking her tongue from her mouth.
And god above what a tongue. The wet pink muscle slithered from its home and extended…and extended… and extended…
By the time she had fully stuck her tongue out, Sam’s eyes were the size of dinner plates.
All he could see was the top of red and blue hair with that little white nurses cap headband all the Nurse Maids wore. He felt the tickle of her breath on his defenceless core and quavered at the feeling. It was like a tide of ghost kisses but he was ill prepared for her first slow. Long. lick .
“Uggwaaaa!?” Sam spasmed usually against his restaurants, the long wet tongue sliding against his boy pussy. It was a slow assault from top to bottom, the wet flat of the tactile taster pressed flush to his hole as it slid upwards. His head rocked back away from the feeling, how on earth could something outside of the body be so damn wet!? And the noise was loud, lurid and lustful. Go’s tongue was a curious texture, seeming to flit back and forth between teasingly rough and glidingly smooth in transient bursts depending on what part of his ass it rubbed against, never impeded in getting where it needed to go.
The edges of the talented tongue caressed the inner ‘valley’ of his ass, anointing each side with a benediction in saliva, making the flesh shine under the lighting. And then the tip of her tongue reached the lowest rung of his anus. “Hah!” he yelped, the tip of the tongue rolled around his hole, able to fill and titillate even the smallest most subtle crevice the ‘little octopus’ had.
Go possessed truly extraordinary control over her tongue, able to roll, stretch and bend it to borderline superhuman degrees. She lapped and dabbed at her meal with a variety of moves that Sam could not see but certainly felt. Her tongue ocellated like a wave form, then withdrew almost all the way into her mouth so she could give the rosebud a kiss.
The wet kiss permeated the room, and Yui could feel a warmth building in her snatch, amorous feelings that she took out on Ichi who moaned huskily when the doctor began to squeeze one of her breasts, fingers sinking into the white semi-starched surface of her uniform.
“Wha-what the fuaaaaagh-” Sam shook against his restaurants, able to feel Go’s tongue against his hole, pressing down out of the phalanx of her lips. His brows knitted together in building tension, the lips stiffening around his hole while the tongue remained still. Then Go began to suck, pulling air back through her teeth with enough force that her lips formed a semi-vacuum around his core. The white haired sissy panted with shallow breaths, the sensations in his ass building, feeling the edges of his hole pulling back around the still tongue.
A wet ‘pop’ heralded the breaking of the lip seal and Nurse Go struck, her tongue shooting forwards, plunging as deep as it could with the jumpstart of pressure difference. Sam’s aroused scream lacked dignity, back arching pointlessly against the table when the Nurse Maid’s wiggling tongue was sheathed 6cm deep into the aspirant love canal.
Sam’s toes curled at the deep tonguing, his jaw working around trembling lips unable to give a coherent response. Regardless, the fifth of the Nurse Maids swirled her tongue along and against he Lady’s silky insides, spreading her own ‘lube’ to every corner she could reach and for Go that was a great many places. It heartened the Nurse, not only to taste and feel her Lady’s innard’s but also the beginnings of her Sensei’s work taking root in the nascent flesh. The anal walls were starting to take on some desired traits imparted by the medicated enemas. Smooth and silky, clean as can be and a pleasure to kiss. A suitable love canal in the making.
“How in da f-fuck!” Sam bleated, eyes raking the room. He looked over to the distant Lily and Delilah who watched their Lady with sympathy and Go with…jealousy!?
Watching everything was Yui, her hands roaming over Ichi on the side. She nuzzled the green haired woman’s neck. One hand slipped under the white pencil skirt she wore and began to ghost over her inner thigh, Yui was surprised to touch a moist pair of panties. Her hand pulled back, running a finger over the string of Ichi’s underwear until she toughed the hard and rumbling base of the plug sat deep in Nurse Ichi’s ass. “Bet you wish that was you, don’t you Ichi-chan?” tipping the base of the plug so it pressed against her insides. “Dining on your Lady’s asshole, tasting the greatness I’m gonna make of it. My finest work, your better in every way.”
Shame, lust and submissive acceptance filled Ichi like sacred oil to a potter's vessel, Yui’s words making her more aroused than either the show or plug. “ Yes, Sensei, so much.”
This earned her another squeeze of her tit before Yui broke her silence to Sam who looked at the two in horror and, as she could see on a deeper level, awkward arousal. “Now don’t get too hot under the collar, Carmilla. There’s nothing wrong with the normalisation of what regular people would see as taboo. It’s just about knowing when and where.”
Sam gritted his teeth but couldn’t exactly look away, quivering at another wave of wrong pleasure came up toe-curlingly strong from Go who was now kissing his sissy pussy again.
“Enjoying yourself? I hope so. Enjoying your sexual urges is all a part of a balanced and healthy lifestyle.” She tilted her head to one side, her appearance suddenly alive with a sadistic glee. “But at the same time, that doesn’t mean there isn’t so much fun in bursts of creativity. Take Ichi for example.”
Extricating herself from the seafoam themed slave, Yui tapped Ichi’s face as she pulled away, sidling from the left of Sam’s vision to the right. “She was a real burst of consistent effort. Face, eyes, hair, voice, attitude, sexuality and even identity. It takes a lot of creativity to turn someone into someone else, and sometimes that’s born out of spite. Deserved spite, but still spit.”
She rested her hands on Nurse Go’s shoulders, shoving her even deeper into Sam. “But at the same time, altruism can breed dominant creativity. Victoria caught Go here for me as a 21st birthday gift. Who knows, maybe one day she’ll catch a fresh fish for you and you can tell me exactly how you want her.” she held up a hand to cover her mouth, a mock hush as if imparting a secret. “Telling the truth, I’ve always kind of wanted to make an elf girl, pointy ears are real hot.”
“No, never!” Sam, understandably freaked out at the implications, denied the idea. “Just like you can’t- ump- do this to me!”
“Shhhhhhhhhh,” Yui hushed him with a soothing voice, transitioning back to a caring demeanour, “You will never come to harm under my care, though the definition of harm is a little flexible with me.”
‘APPARENTLY!’ he raged internally, for the only thing that came from his mouth was more aroused moans and groans. Go’s masterful work continued for what felt like an age as his cock strained against the hard plastic of his charity cage.
Yui watched the trapped member bob almost comically before Sam mustered what remained of his faculties. Abruptly barking, “ Enough !”
Go stopped. All motion ceased. Her heterochromia met Sam’s storm of arousal inflamed force.
The strength cracked instantly, replaced with confusion as to why Go had complied with his forceful order.
It made Yui appraise the dynamic with a keen eye. She saw Go direct a non verbal question her way and she decided that the play had been sufficient. “Okay. Enough twat munching for you.” she said, poking Go playfully. The Nurse Maid pulled back, her tongue sliding from Sam’s hole with one last long, slow caress. He shivered when it was pulled clear.
The white haired sissy thought he was about to have a moment’s respite when Yui replaced Nurse Go on the rolling seat, “What?” he stammered.
“Well now you’re properly lubed, I can do the actual exam,” Yui grinned, holding out her hand expectantly. “Speculum,” she ordered, Ichi retrieving a silver contraption from the surgical tray.
‘Oh come on! ’ he screamed internally
It was a handheld piece of equipment made of gleaming stainless steel and resembling a pair of pliers with a seamed cylindrical tube at the end of the wishbone. While the business end of this steel cylinder -a sheath- was a rounded tip, the other end was a ‘bowl’ that revealed the implement to be hollow.
The thoroughly lubed entrance contracted when the cold medical steel of speculum and recoiled along with its owner. “COLD!” Sam shouted. His eyes grew wider and wider as the unyielding metal phallus was pressed inside him until it was seated up to its ‘bowl’. It was cold, sending icy fire through his blood.
And then, with a steady hand, Yui began to squeeze the wishbone, and the speculum’s sheath opened.
Sam let out a silent scream in mostly alien discomfort but some pain as the sheath split into three curved ‘blades’ that began to spread his asshole. The progress was intentionally slow, but that meant the transition from the other to sensory overload was that much longer. He bit his lip, unwanted masochistic enjoyment not enough to quell the discomfort the implement was inflicting. But he couldn’t do anything because for every micromovement he felt a macro shunt in his asshole.
Yui looked pleased as the pink inner walls came into view, though she made sure not to do any damage. She read the tension in the expanding hole’s perimeter and when she was sure she could stretch it no further without causing some extreme discomfort she turned the ratchet to lock the blades in position.
Accepting a penlight from Nurse Go, she shone the narrow beam of light into the opening and checked the walls she could see, finding them pink and healthy. Feeling the call of mischief, she leant towards the opening and cupped her hand, “ Helllooooo, ” she called, faking an echo effect.
Sam was thankful for the straps in that moment because they kept him from spazzing out and further humiliation.
‘The enemas are definitely doing their jobs in irrigating the anal walls towards what they should be. Victoria’s gonna just love using the haptic feedback on her new favourite dildo.’ Yui thought, enjoying the moans and groans from Sam trying not to disturb the speculum. The current batch of enema fluid should last till the end of the month before they turned to more specialised work. Like cultivating erogenous qualities from those supple walls. She asked for a caliper and was handed one by Ichi, taking the diameter of how far they could currently dilate Sam’s hole, or in more practical terms, what he could get plugged with without issue. “49 mm. Acceptable but we’ll get you into the XL range in no time, Carmilla.”
Not wanting to torment him for too much longer, Dr Ito gently closed the speculum and withdrew it from Sam’s thoroughly aching hole. “Congrats, Lady Florence, you’ve got a clean bill of health.”
Wilting in embarrassment at the comment, Sam closed his eyes for the pull of the restraints was comforting in comparison to the Yui induced torment. He felt a softness on his stomach and a dull chill of aching arousal from his cock, opening his eyes to see Yui resting her head there, a stray hand manipulating his chastised cock.
“You’re real fun, Carmi-ya. Same time next week?” she said with that characteristically laid back smile.
Sam simply closed his eyes and let the restraints take him.
Afternoon sunshine bathed Eden’s Rest with summer glory, a fleeting breeze causing the wide sweeping plains and distant trees to sway, sending wind shimmers cascading across the grass in waves. A cornucopia of flowers breathed sweet and vivid smells into the air, every sniff a shifting pinwheel of scent. From the simple cheery notes of wildflowers and limonene of pine trees to the rich redolence of roses and earthy undercurrents of the forests. Underscoring it all was the fresh clean Oxfordshire air, putting a spring in the step of those toiling outside on this wondrous July day.
Although not everyone was working.
Yui emerged from one of the many back doors to the rear of the manor, her boots crunching on the gravel underfoot, heading out along one of the winding paths into the grounds. The wind fluttered her bob of raven coloured hair, making her bask in the lovely warm weather. She was used to dealing with much higher temperatures, so 29°C with a breeze was downright heaven. When she was sure she was far enough away from the house itself, her hand slipped into the pocket of her white doctor’s coat and drew out her blocky chromed vape, taking a long relaxing drag. Blowing out a modest cloud of strawberry scented vapour, she allowed herself a hum of contentment.
She was on her way to her afternoon meeting with Victoria, leaving her Nurse Maids to keep operations running in her absence. It was a mix of business and pleasure, but Victoria’s chosen venue was indeed more pleasant than either of their personal studies. But to pass an homonym, Yui found herself studying the rich band of blue sky stretching over her head. While still idyllic, the sky-blue canvas was dotted with countless cotton ball clouds, hanging suspended and unmoving but definitely more than there had been in prior days.
‘It’s not going to rain today, but there’s no way we’re getting through July without at least one big summer storm, ’ she thought, feeling for the latent ‘charge’ in the air that heralded a storm but feeling none. She searched for any sign of ants as she walked, remembering how her parents had told her that you always knew a storm was coming when the ants began to freak out.
The short beautiful woman’s passage did not go unnoticed, several of the gardners working amidst the flower groves spotted Yui walking along the path, her pleated skirt swishing as she went. Realising that she had been noticed, Yui gave a slow, wide wave to the gardeners that they returned. There were five in total, clad in differing gardener's attire and hats to deal with the sun. All were women with three donning black polo shirts, green cargo pants and matching horticultural aprons that sported the company logo in white, block capital FMC with a simplified symmetrical flower sprouting from the centre of the M. These three were employees.
“Good afternoon, Dr Ito!” one of the other two called, a pretty woman in her late 40s with frizzy brown hair. She wore a pair of scuffed blue denim dungarees over a white t-shirt and orange gardeners gloves. Her frizzy brown hair was kept in a pair of twintails under a wide brimmed summer hat. “Lovely weather today!”
“The best, Julia!” Yui called back to Julia, wife of Rupert the Groundskeeper and a gardener in the employ of the family. The last of the five was the dark brown haired woman squatting next to a Red Hot Poker , squirting it with a spray bottle of proprietary growth stimulant. “I’m just going to meet Victoria.”
Julia nodded, pointing in the direction of a distant glint of light through the trees. “I think she’s in the Glasshouse!”
Of course she was, Yui knew, but she still sent a thumbs up back to the earnest gardener. “Thanks!”
“Don’t be a stranger! You and the Mistress are always welcome at our place. The new Lady as well!” Julia called back, earning a silent wave of acknowledgment from Yui who continued on her way.
Taking another drag off the vape, Yui couldn’t help the genuine smile playing on her lips. The family of five -Rupert, Julia and their three daughters- lived in a house on the outer reaches of grounds with the women of that little family often seen working in the gardens while Rupert handled the bigger stuff. How did a total of ten people take care of approximately 5000 acres of land?
‘The same way most things work here, copious amounts of cutting edge technology. ’
Her jaunt had another brush with the staff along the way, but this time they were of a male persuasion. A stablehand in his mid 20s led a healthy chestnut coloured horse by its bridal along another path bound for the stables. Of course Eden’s Rest had stables, it would be an aristocratic faux pas to not be able to wax poetic about all your fancy stallions and mares. The horse gave a winnie as it walked, shaking its strong muscular neck in happiness which earned it a pat and a head scratch from the stableboy, both peeling off towards the stables.
Not counting the sissies amidst the Maids, there were only a handful of male staff on the entire estate so seeing them was a rare occurrence. ‘ Victoria likes her little paradise as sapphic as possible… not that I’m complaining. ’ she thought. Passing through a copse of trees, the Kyoto native finally laid eyes upon the meeting’s venue: the Glasshouse.
True to its name, the Glasshouse was a large enclosed Victorian botanical garden made from glass and iron that had been painted green. It was made up of three rectangular iron frames connected by wide corridors, huge curved glass panels hanging between the buttress arches, culminating in a glass onion dome atop the central and largest building. Some of the glass was frosted or had a prismatic effect, but it couldn’t hide the green mass of plants and trees within.
Yui approached the front door, its surface covered in ivy rendered in iron and opened it. Immediately the atmosphere changed, humidity climbing as she entered the maintained environment. She passed dozens of plants, trees and shrubs from all over the world, sharing the humid environment. Light cascaded down through the high windows while obscured regulators maintained pleasant but functional temperature and moisture. Certain galleries were sectioned off by glass panels, containing their own biospheres and climates.
Arid deserts looked out at alpine groves, separated by a thoroughfare that was alive with the flutter of birds, flitting in to bathe and drink from the several water features in this main section Yui passed through.
As she grew closer to the central building, separated by another glass screen and pair of doors, Yui began to hear the distinct constant hum of a particular resident, immediately putting her in a good mood. Peering closer, she could see a charm of hummingbirds bobbing from one large plant to another, drinking their fill of nectar. Her tastes notwithstanding, Yui was smitten with the hummingbirds and they were her favourite part of visiting the Glasshouse.
A particularly succulent looking Magnolia bloom hung down enticingly. Allowing herself a moment of girlish expression, Yui lent up on her tiptoes to sniff deeply from the white and pink bloom, finding its perfume potent but nuanced. Movement caught her attention, spotting Victoria finally, standing in an alcove of the central building.
Victoria wore a short sleeve pinstripe blouse paired with a calf length teal skirt with a split at the back. Her feet sported simple black mary janes over white stockings. Her long black hair had been thickly braided down her back, swaying as she worked. Her hands sported white linen gloves that she used to handle a pair of secateurs and a spray bottle, clipping away at a collection of flowers that rested on a desk.
She heard a light rap on the glass and turned to see Yui. Victoria smiled and waved her best friend in, continuing to attend to the flowers in front of her. Opening the doors, Yui felt the atmosphere and climate shift to a pleasant airy quality, sauntering over to Victoria’s little alcove. “Afternoon.” Victoria greeted simply.
“Wazzup, it’s ya gurl,” Yui greeted sarcastically, succeeding in tickling Victoria. Collapsing into a green, patterned camelback sofa that was nestled between a pair of low hanging shrubs.
“I’m just wrapping up, so I’ll be with you in a sec.” Victoria told her best friend, continuing to snip at and spray a thorny looking stem.
“Mind if I vape?” Yui asked. She knew the answer was likely yes but the chances of Diana catching wind of her partaking in her habit inside and giving her a chewing out that would make her run for cover.
“Knock yourself out.”
A pleasant silence fell between the two, interspersed with the rustle of plants, snip of secateurs and occasional puff of strawberry scented vapour being breathed into the air. Yui relaxed into the sofa, idly looking around the Glasshouse at the various plants and pieces of furniture that decorated the main building. The main building was separated into two floors with the second being a balcony that ran the edge of the rectangular building, more green iron from which some vines trailed aesthetically.
She rattled off a few that she could identify at a glance, but was adamant that Victoria could give her far more information.
Every Florence had to learn some level of botany or horticulture, it was a family right of passage. This Glasshouse was the way that Victoria could indulge in that passtime because while she may not be be a fulltime gardner she did enjoy having all her beloved flowers on display and her nurturing hand, and after so long away from Eden’s Rest the urge to get hands on must have finally overwhelmed her.
A hummingbird buzzed across the open floor in search of new flowers to slake its thirst. The little bird was an engine that sacrificed almost everything for the sake of its prodigious wingbeat, requiring 14 times their own weight in nectar a day to fuel its incredibly fast burning metabolism. It dropped in altitude, shifting from left and right as it decided which of the many plants it should next take a drink from. Observing the avian aerial display was Yui, caught by the way the light hit the shiny blue close cropped feathers that covered its head. The White Necked Jacobin zipped forwards, its decision made, leaving Yui’s eyes to refocus on something else.
They lit with intrigue when they finally focused on the wooden frame of an easel, a canvas set upon it. Intrigued, Yui rolled out of the sofa and approached the easel, looking upon it from the front. The canvas was large and landscape, 20”/40” with a sketch in graphite covering much of its surface in lineart as a precursor to the actual process. But there were definitely clear elements that even Yui could pick out. The unmistakable right angle of a mattress meeting the headboard, the pool of fine silk sheets and the thick carved pillar of a four poster bed in the background. But above all, were the two sketched figures joined at the hip in sweet coitis.
There was a glossy photo print taped to the top right of the canvas that painted a much more vivid picture. Victoria, an image in black latex, balls deep in the mewling Carmilla, enraptured in pleasure she did not yet understand. Snapped the night of their first time together. Yui quickly understood the significance of the moment, feeling the hot claw of Eros’s arrows pepper her waking thoughts. It was the moment Victoria had taken her wife’s virginity, transitioned to print and soon to be immortalised in paint.
It was a very erotic scene, but Yui could see the start of a few changes in how Carmilla’s sketched body was positioned. Shades more passion and appreciation of Victoria’s thrusting adoration. Fudging the details into something much more classically expressed of spouse and wife making love.
“Seeing the unfinished piece is exciting, but you can at least wait until it's out of the sketch phase,” Victoria said chidingly from her place at the table, setting down her spray bottle.
Pouting at the reprimand, Yui poked her head out from behind the canvas to reply. “Well, here's hoping the subject matter makes you complete it in a timely manner. Patience has limits even among those who love the work.”
The veiled deadline barb made Victoria pout back. Though Yui wasn’t wrong about the content expediting her process. She had hit that wonderful creative flow.
“Are you going to take a few artistic liberties with your wife’s figure? Make it a little more what it will be compared to what it currently is.” Yui questioned, earning a knowing smile from Victoria.
“Seeing the statue in the marble, Yui. Seeing the statue in the marble.”
Yui hummed at the response but grew interested upon seeing one of the flowers that Victoria had been attending to. It was clearly a rose but a shockingly bright lilac in colour. “Hey, is that what I think it is?” Yui asked, joining her friend at the botanical table.
Victoria confirmed it with a nod. “Yes. The ‘Applause’ . Cloned from cuttings taken from the original Suntory Blue Rose runoffs. Mother propagated them down at Alchemilla Hall and sent me a few as a graduation present.”
Yui’s interest in flowers was far more scientific than Victoria’s, and this was another example of business and pleasure going hand in hand. Plants and animal cells were worlds apart with different organelles and processes. But what could be harvested and learned from plants was endless when applied right. After all, one of the oldest studies into genetics dated back to Gregor Mendel and his pea cultivations.
The Applause was an example of taking the blue pigment genes of a pansy and transplanting them into a white rose using RNA interference to suppress the innate colouring of the white rose in favour of the blue of the pansy. While the result was not a true blue, it was an important datapoint on the progress towards genetic rewriting. Something that Yui stood at the forefront of.
Two other plants were present on the table as the pair chatted. One was a pot of white lilies while the other was the firework-like Red Spider Lily.
The collection of flowers revived a thought from that morning for Yui. “You know you could lead us in an Ikebana session some time over the summer. I think that’d be right up your alley,” Yui suggested. She knew she had tapped a winner when she saw Victoria’s rich blue eyes sparkle with childish excitement at the prospect.
Victoria considered it, dipping her toe into the world of Japanese flower arrangement was definitely appealing to her. The costuming alone was to die for. “Could definitely make for a fun afternoon.”
“And I just happen to have a Komon in Carmilla’s size. I assume you never made her wear one when,” she smirked, “the late Mister Hayes was still with us?”
Walking along the table, dragging a hand along its wooden surface, Victoria shook her head. “No, so that’s virgin ground.” she said, keeping her excitement at the idea internal.
“You know you’re vibrating, right?” Yui pointed out, revealing that the aforementioned attempt to keep things internal had failed.
“Am not!” Victoria defended, snapping her words out.
But now there was blood in the water. Yui held her hands out, wiggling her fingers in mirth. “You’re getting all hot and bothered thinking about tying off your wife’s Obi before tossing her onto the futon for a romp.” she accused, twisting her voice into a mockery of Victoria’s sartorial and refined brogue, “ Oh Carmi-ya, let Victoria-Sama set a red thread in your body and soul~” she crooned, impishly adding, “‘Fuken weeb.”
That insult, however in jest it was in, would not go unanswered by Victoria. Throwing up her arms in exaggerated disbelief. “You were the one who literally just suggested Ikebana and last night you got so turned on at the thought of teaching Carmilla Shibari you had to run off for a night with your nurses!”
The resulting argument consisted of a lot of swears, many hand gestures but ultimately petered off into wry amusement of one another’s quirks. They proved the maxim that good friends get along all the time, the best of friends could roast one another to the ends of the earth and still laugh about it.
Victoria sank into the sofa, Yui slotting in next to her. “Everything went well then?” she asked, referring to that morning’s exams.
“Fun and done. You want the deets?” Yui posed, getting a nod in reply. “You’ll be glad I managed to entertain your insatiable wife, and speaking of which we’ll circle back to entertainment,” she held up a finger, storing that bit of info for later use, “I will answer your first and most obvious question. No, there has been no metabolic change yet, your dream of cuddling your wife’s bountiful bosom is as yet out of reach.”
“Drats,” Victoria pouted. She knew that had likely been the case but it still wasn’t fun to hear. “Expected timeline?”
“Early August assuming her body takes to it. Which you’ll be happy to know it seems to be.”
Yui’s methods to aid a sissification and transition were miraculous, even within the confines of the mundane. The concoctions of testosterone blockers, estrogen variants, anti-androgens, mutagenic catalysts and stabilising agents resulted in a regime that had thrice the strength and efficiency of a normal female hormone routine. What this basically meant was that whereas a normal recipient would begin to develop breast tissue in three months, Carmilla would start looking a little more bouncy in the space of a month. The effects were also cumulative with time.
But some things could not be rushed. His diet was so meticulously planned so that the bodily changes could be achieved with the minimum discomfort. Hormones were helpful, but they couldn’t conjure something out of nothing.
Viral therapy however? That was an entirely different ball game. Part of the reason why Sam’s blood had been drawn was to use it as a testbed for FMC-VT-KAH-BC, propagating it and helping it evolve to fit his changing biology. Each successive generation would in turn infect each week’s new blood sample, becoming something well and truly tailored to Carmilla until come the end of Yui’s timescale of three and a half months, Carmilla would have the body of someone who had been on successful hormone replacement for the better part a year and a half and able to subjected to the genetic rewriting process that Yui and Victoria so desired.
“And the emotional side?” Victoria asked, having listened to her friend intently. She had a good read on Carmilla but knew that sometimes love could put you into tunnel vision, not seeing some things that an outside pair of eyes could.
“About what you’d expect. Frustration, denying the truth of what’s going on, even her own secret enjoyment. She’s aware of her submissive masochism now but it’s gonna be a two horse race between Trisha’s hands on methods and your-”
“Charming personality?” Victoria beamed.
“Sure, let's call it that.” Yui deadpanned, eyes mirthful, “Keep on as planned, slowly ramp up the exposure to the kink while normalising it.” the aristocracy looked magnanimous, but Yui’s held up finger began to wag. “You’re real quick minded, huh, Victoria? There’s a rub.”
Victoria quirked up an eyebrow in question, gesturing for her friend and fellow domme to continue.
Yui sighed, “She’s getting bored, Victoria.”
“Wha-”
“Let me explain,” Yui cut Victoria off, who looked a shade miffed but allowed the shorter woman to continue. “A lot of the less than constructive frustration is coming from persistent boredom caused by lack of intellectual and emotional stimulation outside of the routine.”
The words were like cold water pouring down Victoria’s back. She instantly hit back at this unpleasant proclamation. “I make sure to be with her as much as I can, we play games, and she has more books at her disposal than an inner city school.” she defended.
And to her credit, she made Yui nod. “True. but Lady Florence needs ways to both take in your affection and outwardly express herself. You need to show she’s appreciated. You know, dote on her.” she summed up succinctly. “Alleviate the frustrations. Give some carrots to cushion the stick.”
Taking on what Yui had said, Victoria struck up a thinking pose, considering just how to approach the issue. As she did, her frown reduced and slowly turned into a smile as she warmed to the idea. “I can think of a few ideas for spoiling. And Carmilla has been a very good girl, I’d be remiss to not dote and reward diligence.” Her thoughts shifted to things that had been planned for the future, the sheer abundance of them meant that some could be moved up to much sooner as gifts.
Satisfied with the response and content to not ask specifics for the sake of the surprise, Yui suddenly remembered the other big thing. “Oh, there is one other thing you should know.”
“Oh?”
“Carmilla exhibits no susceptibility to hypnotic suggestion.”
Pleasantly surprised, Victoria leaned in, enthralled at the new info. “None?”
“Nothing, nada, zit, zilch. I can add some more but it amounts to the same thing.” Yui’s own words were laden with intrigue, “Girl can’t be hypnotised.”
Hypnosis was a pretty common tool among those deep into the world of kink as well as psychological study. It both was and was not what people thought it was. Contrary to what most people seemed to think, it wasn’t a swirling screen with thumping EDM music playing while words and images flashed on the screen. It could be that if done properly but it took a lot of effort to do and had a common side effect of leaving the subject… one note.
More realistically, it could be used to implant simple, deep seated ideas in a subject’s consciousness that would, with time, ferment into cognition pathways. Not changing the way a person thought so much as planting a concept, guiding it along a path and ensuring it never wavered.
Of the 70 Maids, all had been subjected to some kind of hypnosis either when they came to work at Eden’s Rest or in their time before. It helped aid in transitions in ways of thinking which was helpful when trying to instill genuine loyalty to a house, family and mistress for life.
But what was important was that when not brute forcing it, there were some people who exhibited resistance or lack of ability to be compelled subliminally. It was why most of those 70 maids fit into a very specific psych profile during the vetting process.
And to Victoria it was a very interesting development. “Do you think it’s innate or some external factor from her childhood?”
Yui shook her head, “I can’t say at this point without further psych evals, but absolutely no reaction seems to hint its innate.”
Victoria had used hypnotism several times on prior conquests before she had fallen for Carmilla, mostly as a zest into a particular sub. Make them associate any food that was not cum with the taste of cum, that kind of thing.
“Sometimes people just can’t be hypnotised,” Yui shrugged, then her face turned into a smile that was all teeth. “But that doesn’t rule out using a VR headset and some cat-ear headphones for some roleplay, now does it?”
Victoria did not reply, caught in thought.
“Is this going to be a problem?” Yui asked genuinely, wanting her friend and partner in crime’s honest opinion, this was after all both of their projects.
Braided black hair shifted slightly, Victoria displaying a small, genuine smile. She rose from the sofa and pulled the Red Spider Lily from its pot, smelling the bright flower deeply. To her this was just another sign that she really had picked someone special “No, no problem at all.”
Pleasant silence fell again for a time before Yui began to remove her Doctor’s coat, her rollneck coming next. “So about the touch up….”
“Oh gods, sorry I forgot,” Victoria said. She jogged up the stairs in search of a very specific set of tools.
The morning of the 15th dawned with yet another brilliant rain of light falling over Eden’s Rest, bathing the estate in gold, the horizon’s last milky greys transitioning to rich blue. Sequestered in the heart of the huge Jacobethan manor, Samuel Hayes felt himself drifting back from sleep. His breathing shifted subtly, consciousness sparking back to life behind restful eyelids. Immediately apparent was that this was not his assigned bed, but rather Victoria’s gigantic Alaska King; the fine silk sheets, slippery to the touch, covering the shape of its occupants.
He was attired, as per usual, in one of his Victorian night dresses, covering everything save for his head and hands, the only difference from the others he had worn being a subtle difference in detailing at the collar and chest. Despite Trisha’s current efforts, Sam was still not a morning person without the aid of some kind of stimulant. But he wasn’t complaining right now, the fugue of half awake body and barely awake mind was quite nice given the environment. The bed was that exquisite tightrope between soft and firm, the sheets were soft, light and cool. The pillows? High tog and fluffed to perfection. Atmosphere? Perfect air conditioned temperature with a breath of sharpness to it.
And then there was the warmth. He subconsciously let out an appreciative noise, sinking deeper into the large pillow his head rested on. Sleepy arms snaked around a warm softness and he clung on gently, riding the no-space his mind currently occupied where there were no nightmares, imaginary or waking.
But all good things usually come to an end. The morning sunlight filling the huge master bedroom caused Sam’s pale lashes to flutter, reeled from sleep until finally he opened his eyes.
The bed’s curtains had not been drawn, letting the growing glow of day filter in unimpeded. The white Lady looked up at the crisscrossing grid set into the canopy high above, lacking any of its possible attachments.
Breathing in and out slowly, he stared groggily at this patterned roof, brain running sensory diagnostic.
For a sleepy Sam had about as much cognitive coordination as a late 90s PC, it was mostly pure vibes.
Finally his mind settled on a concrete observation. There was no pressure around either of his ankles. He pondered for a second why this felt stange, experimentally moving the long limbs and found there was also no rustling drag of a chain. His ankles had been left unbound.
‘Huh? ’ he groggily thought, reflexively hugging the source of his warmth tighter. Scattered thoughts eventually pulled together that this was not the norm, because Trisha or his Lady’s Maids always fastned his ankles before bed. Sam didn’t even get the chance to question why when the answer was given; the warmth he clung to wordlessly murmured back.
His senses began to take in more information, registering the weight on his chest and fine black hair in his periphery. Slowly turning his head, he looked into Victoria’s sleeping face, buried into his shoulder.
It turned out he was subject to a far more pleasant form of bondage.
Victoria had Sam wrapped in a tangle of limbs, arms and legs slipped around his waist and ribs, following the contours of his body to hold him tight as she could while still being comfortable. Her breasts were pressed against his chest, the silk of his nightdress giving the feeling a particular vagueness. She breathed in and out slowly, rustling a stray lock of her hair that hung over her nose.
In comparison to his modest and period accurate garment, Victoria slept in a sheer purple babydoll and, below the sheets, a pair of matching purple latex panties.
Sam gulped in apprehension but tasted the lingering ghosts of flavours on his palette. The cinnamon touch of last night’s pudding, passed back to him by Victoria’s tongue. The harsh but potent touch of latex drenched in the velvety sweet and sour taste of female arousal. And then it all came rushing back.
He blushed heavily, looking away from Victoria in aroused embarrassment. While their play had not been as ‘kinetic’ as usual -much to his ass’s relief- there had been no shortage in passionate making out and putting Trisha’s oral lessons to use. Victoria reacted to his attempt to pull away, her head following his shoulder like an overly clingy cat, giving the white haired sissy a face full of black threads.
Perfumed wildflowers under a moonless night. That was what Victoria’s hair smelled of today. It was a wonderful scent that made Sam feel a conflicted appreciation for his beautiful lover. The contrast of her warm body and the pleasant coolness of the sheets permeating through his nightdress was very nice. And then there was the physical touch, feeling her beautiful body rubbing against him, sliding effortlessly over his hairless body under his silks… He blushed, cursing that being the big spoon in this context was so rewarding.
‘ Who knew that being the big spoon in general could be submissive ?’ he questioned, blush deepening in embarrassment that he even had to posit such a question. He threw his head back, lightly landing in the plush white pillow.
But he had started now, contemplating the numerous tainted niceties of this nightmare world. As the seconds passed into minutes, Sam could no longer ignore the feeling of Victoria’s latex covered pussy pressing into his side. He could feel the difference in texture even through the silk of his nightdress and lace of her babydoll, the way the rubber perfectly outlined her snatch that he had kissed and been forced to lather affection on the night before. That shiny, rubbery, aroused secret garden, painted in skintight purple.
Without any warning or prompt, Sam felt a ‘twang’ from his crotch, confusing the young sissy. But before he could ponder just what the feeling had been and why he had felt it, he heard something strange.
A strange noise echoed in the distance, what could best be described as a throaty croak. Sam lifted his head to look in the direction of the noise, it was coming from outside. The croak came again, and then again, filling the morning ambiance with its strange throaty call that left him perplexed. He’d never heard anything like it.
“It’s just the deer,” said a sleepy voice from beside him. Sam looked from the window to his bedmate and a single open blue eye looked back at him fondly. It seemed his girlfriend and captor was awake.
“You have deer,” Sam stated, the information not quite clicking in his head for some reason.
Victoria lifted her head from the pillow, opening her other eye. “ We have deer,” she corrected, reminding Sam of his new aristocratic mantle much to his chagrin. “ We have a few herds of Fallow Deer. They usually keep to the forests but they like to graze on the planes during the summer.”
Ignoring the mixed feelings forming a small knot in his chest, he tried to look for a bright side. “They sound like overly large toads. But I guess they’re a damn sight better than those fucking foxes back in London.” he joked.
Victoria grimaced in agreement, “Those things could wake the dead. They’re very cute in the wild but rutting in a skip at 3am, they might as well be banshees,” she said, drawing a small laugh from her wife. “Although…” she drawled, moving her face close to his, her hot breath tickling his face. She tightened her embrace, emboldened when she felt him wanting to return it, “If I can find just the right button on you…” she pressed her lips against his pierced ears huskily, “ I’m betting you could beat them in volume, Blossom.” she whispered amorously.
Scoffing at needlessly horny comments earned Sam a kiss on the cheek, but he changed his tune when Victoria followed it up with more provocative one to his neck. Pleasant tingles radiated from the point of contact, his eyes dilating in response. The small tell was all Victoria needed to see to continue, she rolled amidst the covers until she straddled his waist, arms rubbing her wife’s body in slow, sensual motions. And for once, Sam responded, arms snaking around Victoria’s, feeling the tickle of her purple lace nightwear brush against the palms of his hands.
The domme of the pair kissed Sam on the lips lightly, a butterfly touch of permission before kissing again, their lips soon moving in concert with one another. While it lacked the sheer passion of last night’s tryst, relished affection flowed between them. This was much more in line with what Sam was used to, allowing himself to be pet, cuddled and enveloped by his girlfriend and now lover. A return to normality that he reveled in, squeezing Victoria’s waist closer to him, snatching a breath when their lip-lock broke for a moment. He didn’t have long because the hellion in purple kissed him again, turning them in the bed so they were on their sides once more.
Her leg slipped into the shrouded space between his long, hairless legs, and her knee rose to rest between his thighs, giving him a frame to rest upon. He didn’t think, wrapped up in the simple pleasure of passing affection back and forth. Didn’t consider that maybe, just maybe, he had been showing his submissiveness every time they had coupled before coming to Eden’s Rest.
The makeout and playful exploration of one another played out under the pooling sheets, never going too far into the flames of passion. Sam had unintentionally squeezed one of his lover’s breasts, drawing a keening pur of approval from her. She had answered by sliping her fingers into his luscious white hair and held him there as she laid kisses all over his cheeks, making him purr when she danced her tongue down his neck like a predator re-marking its mate.
Eventually the caressing came to a natural end. Victoria rolled back off of Sam’s front and laid beside him in the bed, her head resting gently on his narrow shoulder. She found his open hand and wove her fingers between his, squeezing to affirm the action. While Sam didn’t return the squeeze, he didn’t pull his hand away either.
Pleasant silence filled the bedroom and they both enjoyed it while Sam’s blushing cheeks cooled. But at some point the atmosphere shifted. Looking towards her love, Victoria saw a look of moderate frustration marring his face. “Something wrong, Carmilla?”
‘Not my- ’ he began to think but swatted the thought aside. There was no point getting upset over that right now. Not when he was grappling with the current niggle his mind had attached itself to like a voluntary blister. “It’s just too damn big.”
Victoria’s lips quirked in quizzical amusement. “If that’s the setup for a ‘that’s what she said’ joke, Carmilla, you can do better.”
He rolled his eyes at the joke, the dryness of its delivery quite nice. “I’m sure you could turn a Frankfurt Media School dialectic into a sex joke. But no it’s… all of this.” he waved his hand at the huge expanse of room, trying to block out the rack of disciplinary implements that hung from the left wall. “This house, the grounds. It’s just impossibly big and I don’t think I’ll ever see all of it. Let alone the croaking deer.”
“Do you want to see all of it?” Victoria asked neutrally. Sam turned to look at her, finding her face inscrutable beyond banal contentment. She began to elaborate. “You’ve been here for over a week now, and while I hesitate to say you’ve been house broken,” a growl rumbled in Sam’s throat, “you are taking to the role and its needs admirably. Trisha also gushes about your progress in lessons.”
The mental image of Trisha ‘gushing’ like a giddy school girl had Sam mentally recoiling in horror.
Victoria pressed on, eyes roving across her lover and wife’s face. “I’ve been remiss in my role as your spouse to make you love your home, something you can’t do until you at least see some more of it. So I was thinking,” her curtain of straight black hair hung to frame her face in a curtain of night as she propped herself up with an elbow, her pale face the moon with twin sapphire stars set into it. “That I take you on a trip out tomorrow. Around the estate and a jaunt down to the local village for a spot of Afternoon Tea.”
Sam stared at Victoria, mouth agape for a full five seconds. His mind stalled, choking on the offer. Out… out of this stinking house that existed to bring him degradation! Out of the endless grounds! Out. Out! OUT!
His mind rocketed away at a mile a minute, charging past the reality of what she said and into potentials. Did this mean she was finally coming to her senses? That this was all impossible and she was finally going to let him go? He took a breath, ready to ask…
The question died on his tongue. Victoria’s eyes, so full of genuine affection, were fixed on the black silk choker affixed to his neck. No words were needed, because even in the best case scenario of fantasy, he was hers. She would never let him slip away. He tried to shy away from that reality, seeking a silver lining to that dark cloud. He looked up at the grid canopy again. “At least that makes for an afternoon away from Trisha.”
“Don’t be so disparaging about your governess, love,” Victoria said, “She might be harsh but it comes from a place of caring.”
Sam considered that for a moment, the effort that Trisha had been through to produce and be so invested in his debasement and ‘rehabilitation’. The sheer amount of time and resources that must have gone into just the prepwork was staggering. If there was one thing he knew it was academia and being able to spot a lazy lecturer. The concept of ‘lazy’ was violently repelled from Trisha’s very presence. And while Sam would unironically take Victoria’s strapon over admitting it, there was a grudging respect for the bespectacled woman there.
But for now it was fully eclipsed by his dislike of what was being forced on him.
His thoughts turned to the macro side then. One of the scariest things of all, he mused, was the sheer capacity to depart from societal norms that Eden’s Rest allowed. Figuratively infinite resources, literal impossible dedication, actual willingness to act on achieving the impossible. A shiver of fear coursed up Sam’s spine. For what this meant was that everything he had experienced so far was Victoria holding back.
And the black hole of what she could do to him once the kid gloves were off? That terrified him.
His mood dimmed at that, threatening to spiral into a dissociative fall. But as it turned out, a different feeling saved him from that spiral, one far more pressing and physical. Sam felt pressure in his bladder, the expected but still pressing herald that nature was calling. He frowned, “Victoria…I need to go.”
Victoria read the look on his face, instantly defining that she wasn’t the cause. She reached a hand across and rested its palm in Sam’s lower stomach. “Here?” she questioned with a teasing lilt, pressing down lightly to excite the full bladder.
Sam grimaced, feeling the slosh within making him that much more aware that he needed to go. “Please don’t, Vic. I need to go.” he pleaded, his eyes begging her to stop the teasing.
The hand remained, sending the hazel-eyed twenty-two year old through a range of pleading, submissive looks. Relishing the submission of her partner, that he accepted her hand and pleaded rather than actively fighting back, Victoria finally removed her hand. Sam let out a sigh of relief, the presence remaining but urgency drastically reduced. Victoria planted a sweet kiss on her wife’s forehead before throwing the covers back, quick to rise. “If that’s the case then I suggest you join me in the shower, Blossom,” she said with perky enthusiasm, offering her hand to the prone Sam.
Accepting the offered hand, he was led off the bed, grunting as he stepped down off the high mattress onto the floor. His and her personal Service Bells were as twins on the bedside table. Victoria took them in her free hand as she led Sam towards the door leading to the adjoining bathroom set into the left wall. “If you’re a good girl then I’ll give you a bag enema and won’t call your Lady’s Maids.” she told him.
Opening the door, they entered the en-suite bathroom. It was Sam’s first time in there and needless to say it was fittingly extravagant to be part of the Mistress of the House’s apartments.
It was about a third the width of the bedroom but just as long, making it half again as wide as Sam’s entire bodiore. It was rectangular in shape with a tall vaulted ceiling from which a crystal chandelier hung, a pair of large and high set arched windows were set into the ‘left’ wall. The floor and walls were hewn from ‘Gallio Sienna’ or Yellow Marble, with the sole exception of the ceiling which was black marble and inset with sparkles to emulate the night sky.
There were multiple baths, basins and shower stalls that could accommodate half a dozen bathers at a time. Toilets the same as Sam had seen on his first arrival and a protruding wall of shower heads on the right hand wall with stools for people to sit. Sleuse drains were set equidistant along the floor to allow for any water spillage to run away unimpeded. However, in the exact middle of the room was its centerpiece.
A large circular ‘step down’ bath sank into the floor with a foot high lip in marble as a safety feature, its inner surface dotted with steel nozzles to excite the water into a jacuzzi if prompted. The taps were missing in place of a stone water feature in the shape of a tilted greek wine flagon. The neoclassical greco-roman features did not end there. Surrounding the locus of the circle were four statues carved from white marble, each one a beautiful woman.
All four were attired in variations of Greek chitons, three with hair piled elegantly atop their head while the fourth was cascading in metamorphic rock. One held a writing slab beneath her arm. The statue opposite strummed a lyre. Then there were the two more regal looking statues. One’s chiton was marked with a sheaf of wheat, an etched diadem in her hair. Both of her arms were outstretched with one holding a tipped flaming goblet and the other a cut stone pomegranate. The fourth was the most different. In addition to her hair being down her chiton was barely fitted, her breasts to the open air and a hand visibly spreading her stone snatch.
Four goddesses. Two muses and two queens.
Calliope, muse of Epic Poetry. Erato, Muse of Erotic Poetry. Persepohne, Queen of the Underworld and Aphrodite, Queen of Love, Beauty and Sex.
Sam was understandably floored. “Woah…”
“It is quite something, isn’t it?” Victoria asked rhetorically, closing the door behind them. “I’d love to say I made them but they are commission pieces, they had to be, to fit around the plumbing.”
Sam stared, sweeping the room with his gaze until finally he felt something other than his full bladder. A stab of venomous green envy. Victoria had all this ensuite, including an actual toilet while he was left with a singular chamberpot. “Must be nice not having to squat to piss into a pot!” he griped as Victoria set the service bells on a shelf.
Victoria giggled at his annoyance before stripping him of his nightdress, leaving him naked and nervous. Victoria was much more candid in her disrobing, slowly slipping off the straps of her babydoll and letting it fall to the floor and stepping out of it. She hooked the elasticated waistband of her purple latex panties and pulled them off, enjoying the feeling of the stretchy material gripping at her core as she pulled it away.
He was frog marched by the naked woman into the glass shower cubicle, the wide head high above releasing a deluge of hot water onto the both of them. The Viscountess was very hands on with her wife, scrubbing at his back with a neutral smelling soap that had them both covered in bubbles and suds, running down their pale bodies. They stared at one another, their hair both slick as pillars of steam rose from both of them, hunger in Victoria’s eyes. She washed his face with a flannel slowly, causing his heart rate to rise, standing on her tiptoes while bringing his face down towards her.
Their lips met and Sam did not resist, returning his spouse’s kiss, excitement sparking within him as their bodies pressed and slid against one another. Victoria’s hand lowered, reaching between his legs, a finger questing for his ass and tapping teasingly at his rear. She dragged forwards tantalisingly, racing to loop a hand around his chastised cock. Sam groaned in denied arousal at the feeling of being manipulated so intimately.
“When we made out in the shower before, it was like stumbling in the dark. Now I feel like I can finally see!” Victoria told him, hot droplets of water pelting them both as they made out. She kept her hand on his cock, knowing a tug here or there could make him much more obedient.
“Hmmmm,” he breathed, returning the kisses as his body slowly betrayed him. Eventually, Victoria told him to kneel, informing him that she would wash his hair. Dropping to his haunches, he waited as the beautiful aristocrat grabbed a bottle of lemon scented shampoo from a rack. She poured a liberal amount on her hands before working it into his long white hair, accenting the neutral body scent perfectly.
This went on for quite a while.
“Okay I think that’s enough,” he said, trying to rise only for Victoria to keep him on his haunches. When he tried to rise again she pointed towards the corner of the shower where he saw an O ring set into the floor.
She rounded to his front, looking down at him as she continued to play with his hair. “There’s plenty of chains in one of the cabinets. I could get one if you’d like, go on, I’d be delighted if you gave me a reason to~” she preened.
Sam groaned in negative, letting Victoria continue to wash, shampoo, rinse and condition his hair. He hated how much he enjoyed it. The way his much longer and thicker hair clung to his neck.
Eventually, Victoria noticed something and spoke out. “You know if you don’t let it out for too long you’ll get a urinary infection.”
Sam looked up at her in embarrassment. Wincing that her smile remained, he clenched the faux muscles of his chastised cock harder, begging not a drop to leave.
“Come on~” she encouraged him, patting his cheek. “You’ve definitely done it in the bath or pool before, so why not now?”
He shrank in embarrassment, “I just can’t… not while you’re watching,” he said, turning his face up to her to beg his case while his bladder needled him for release. “It’s embarrassing, Victoria, it’s dirty to do while you’re watching.”
What it was, was something that made Victoria coo at her wife. He was still so innocent, so as yet undyed in the ways of accepted taboo. “Oh, Carmilla,” she said assuringly, rubbing her thumbs into his cheeks. “You could never disgust or embarrass me. Pissing isn’t something to be ashamed of…in fact, I love it. ” her voice vibrated with an obsessed, imperious love that Sam nearly recoiled.
“All that you do, you do with my permission, and if I permit it, then it is sublime. From your orgasmic screams to that sweet little clit giving up a bounty of yellow.” Victoria leaned in, looking at his plastic clad cock, “So piss, my love.”
With no arguments left to give, Sam let out a bleat of miserable embarrassment, unclenching his crotch. He let go of any last resistance down there and let the tide go out. Immediately a stream of saffron yellow urine streamed from the notch in the tip of the CB6000, silent amidst the thunder of the shower water. The dominated one couldn’t stop the sigh of relief as the pressure in his bladder abated, the rush of piss darkening the water like a cloud of gold dust dropped into the stream.
Victoria felt her arousal rise at the sight, sweeping her foot through the plume of gold as it raced towards the drain. All that rich food and drink that composed Sam’s new diet had turned his offering into a deep, vibrant colour. Victoria’s piss fetish was a nuanced one. While the act itself was passingly titillating, to her it was more who and how they pissed that made it a truly erotic thing to be a part of.
While it had been packed to almost capacity, the young man’s bladder wasn’t all that big and so the stream soon slowed, the last few drops of gold falling into the running water to be washed away. Sam shivered in embarrassment and arousal at being forced to do something so… against norms.
Victoria’s arousal on the other hand was far more tangible, the only thing keeping it obscured was the trail of water cascading down from the valley of her breasts, running over her moistening pussy like a waterfall. “My, what a wonderful wife you are,” she said, taking a step forward, “and as a loving spouse, it’s only right I return the favor.”
In a single graceful move, Victoria raised one of her long, shapely legs and stepped over Sam’s right shoulder to straddle it. He tried to pull away but her thighs squeezed, holding him as still as she could. She turned his chin to look at her. “You offer me the fruit of your body, Blossom. I give you the blessing of my soul.” she whispered, her pussy proudly bared.
A stream of gold urine emerged from the wet lips splashing on Sam’s shoulders and splitting to run down his front and back. It was hot! Clear and crisp it covered both sides of him in rivulets of yellow, an acrid scent carried up from the deep reaches of her core.
He tried to look away but she stopped him, keeping her hand in place. “You will watch, my love. Every. Single. Moment.” Victoria ordered, the relief of pissing melding with the rising fizz of great arousal. There was just something so aesthetically pleasing to her at seeing her yellow amidst Sam’s white. “What is water next to my piss? I dirty you with gold, and have all the more reason to make you clean.”
Initially, Sam was understandably repulsed by the act. His mind screamed at him that, well, there was someone pissing on him. He shivered, skin suddenly chill in comparison to that hot jet of piss sprinkling him. He balled his fists in the water, gorge rising when he felt her touch herself, felt the way her quivering pussy altered the stream. But then there was Victoria’s aura. The act was so intimate and presented with such adoration on Victoria’s part that it had an infectious quality to it, the overwhelming feeling of emotion was no longer negative, simply beyond his scope to identify.
A clench of muscles sent a burst of the stream to splash Sam’s face, rolling down his cheek. Victoria looked at his urine spattered face with adoration. “Brewed in my body for you, Blossom. Feel that heat, smell that scent? That’s all me. Seeping into you, marking you as mine in ways you can never rub off. And like Latex, I will teach you to love it until the day will come where you can drink from the font of my cunt like an oasis touched by Midas himself.”
“I…” Sam stammered, his tongue darted from his mouth to lick his suddenly dry feeling lips, jaw locking when he tasted a pungent flavour he did not recognise but knew instantly. His mind reeled, this could not be taken back. He had been stained, the fabric of his identity dyed in gold by the reality he could now say he knew what piss tasted like.
The trail began to peter off, but Victoria remained. Her hand slid down her front, guiding a drop of water along her abdomen to the puffy wetness of her womanhood. “Oh the things you do to me, Blossom,” she purred, spreading the nether lips to expose her dripping pink core. “Exalt your goddess, Carmilla Florence.”
His breath came in thick, panting gasps, the air of arousal hewed his vision in thumping red. Conscious thought shirked in favour of impulse and direction. He felt his lover’s hand on the back of his head, guiding his face closer and closer to her dripping snatch. So much sound, feeling and scent. He knew what he was being asked, and letting go of his control, he submitted himself to loving dominance.
Sam’s tongue pressed into Victoria’s waiting pussy, running a circuit of the inner lips. Trisha had been very insistent that cunnilingus be a top ‘tantric priority’ as it was something he could engage in while still getting used to the much more physical act of being fucked. The taste of her pussy crashed down on his tongue, mixed with sweet and sour female arousal and that acrid aftertaste he now knew to be piss. His nose wrinkled but continued to lick, the warmth thronging from the pussy of his lover who pulled him ever closer.
Victoria exclaimed in delight, feeling the wonderful sensation of her wife lapping at her secret garden. When she was sure he wasn’t going to pull away, she let go of her folds and allowed them to fall upon the wet muscle. They both let out noises as the hormones rose to heights. Sam had to be more forceful, the snatch could almost be trying to devour him in turn with its taste and warmth.
The Viscountess could have let this go on for forever, keeping a mental hold on her own arousal as the new cunt muncher figuratively cut his teeth. She imagined an entire day spent in sapphic repose, eating one another out from dawn till dusk. ‘ Maybe Yui can make a neck brace for Carmilla, keep her locked to my cunt all… damn…. day.’
The pleasure came in lapping waves, but she knew that Sam had things to do today so she let down her usual ability to forestall a climax and rhythmically rubbed her clit to expedite the trek to the summit. Her pussy grew wetter and wetter, wetting against Sam’s lips and chin until finally with a pleased hum, Victoria came. She squirted only the once, a single sharp burst of her nectar that splashed into Sam’s mouth and across his face.
Both of them breathed deeply after the climax, Victoria pulling her leg off Sam who promptly fell onto his backside, thighs having fallen asleep. He breathed in and out, trying to get his thundering heart under control at how overwhelmingly exhilarating that had been. He looked up when Victoria squatted in front of him, shuffling forwards under the showler, the sheet of falling water making her abject as she pushed through to stare at his face with desire.
“Oh look, I’ve gone and made you all dirty again.” she said coquettishly.
And Sam, Sam actually chuckled, “Self sustaining economy.”
Victoria giggled, moving forwards and taking hold of his face. She slowly began to lick her various fluids from where they had struck his face, coming to his lips and sending them into another steamy makeout session.
The enema could keep a few more minutes yet.
Any confused enjoyment Sam had felt at his taboo tryst in the shower with Victoria that morning was gone by the time the afternoon had rolled around, replaced instead by a simmering dread. Why? Because something was off.
When their respective Lady’s Maids had arrived to pick them up, Sam and Victoria were whisked off to be dressed separately for their days. Given that today was a Friday, that invariably meant that he had morning and afternoon lessons at the hands of Trisha, usually a morning of theory and an afternoon practical. And indeed, Trisha had taken receipt of him to give a long lecture on Florence family history and some of Eden’s Rest’s storied tale. It had actually been somewhat interesting, something he would not admit to anyone except under threat of torture.
But there were so many things that were off, little things that, taken on their own, wouldn’t be noticed but together told Mister Hayes that something was afoot. His schooling attire was the same, featuring a black skirt instead of a white one and brown low heeled house boots. This was not out of the ordinary. Ever since Victoria had deflowered him over a week ago he had been permitted much more colour in his wardrobe, setting off his starkly white hair and pale complexion. It was the underwear where it started to get just a little strange.
“No panties today,” Trisha had said while his stockings were being clipped to his corset’s garters.
Strange, but he had chalked it up to some new form of psyop or gaslighting. In fact, as the morning dragged on he had been secretly relieved at their absence. The lace knickers he was forced to wear had a habit of driving him up the wall. But as the day had progressed he had begun to dwell on that deviance from the norm, and it made him notice other changes such as Trisha’s change in outfit.
In the time he had been subjected to her, Trisha had been incredibly consistent in her outfit and deportment. Always showing up in her navy blue hybrid of dress and frock coat. The young man couldn’t be sure if she wore it for multiple days with such perfection that it didn’t crease or that she possessed multiple copies of it like some cartoon character.
Trisha wore a royal blue housecoat with a high collar trailing to mid calf, worn fully closed with a gold broach to the left of her clavicle. Her gloves, usually fitted to just her hands were much longer and she forewent pantihose in favour of shiny black boots that disappeared into the hem of the housecoat. Her hair was also different, foregoing its ponytail and bangs for a tight chignon at the back of her head. Lastly, her ever present riding crop was carried in hand rather than kept looped into a belt.
The pit in his stomach had only grown larger as an intangible feeling of anticipation had built up over the course of the day until finally his worries were founded.
A familiar scene played out on the ground floor, Sam being led to his afternoon lessons in a part of the house that, unsurprisingly, was new to him. He had a general idea of the rough location of Trisha’s favoured classroom and he certainly wasn’t headed there. His heel caught on a seam in the carpet causing him to stumble lightly but he regained his footing without either the following Lady’s Maids having to help him.
Trisha led the procession, crop under her arm and walking with near military precision. Her chiganon was so tight that you could be mistaken for thinking she had an auburn ornament fused to the back of her head. “Mistress Victoria and Dr Ito will be observing this afternoon’s practical, Carmilla.” she said conversationally.
“What?” The group came to a stop in the hallway, the painting of a baroque styled Florence of yore looking down on them with a half smile.
“Mistress Victoria and Doctor Ito will be observing this afternoon’s practical lesson.” Trisha repeated, facing him with a stern tolerance. Her new boots added a few inches to her height but she still had to look up into Sam’s statuesque form.
Why? The question rolled through Sam’s head like a hurricane, setting him on alert, suddenly very aware of his entire body. Trisha was quick to fill the dead air.
“While I think active participation on their part is unlikely, I expect you to conduct yourself as someone befitting your station and them theirs,” Trisha said, nodding to herself. She pointed her crop at him, using it to indicate his entire body. “Etiquette and Graces, my dear. Etiquette and Graces.”
Oh this was going to go just swimmingly. Of the six petals of Sam’s syllabus, Etiquette and Graces was the most odious, pennicity and pedantic spider web of pomp, circumstance and utter bollocks that Sam had ever been subject to. Every single social occasion and person had a hierarchy and expected actions with more nuances than there were winds. A single faux pas, of which there were infinite, had earned Sam many welts on the rear that he was forced to adapt to.
He steadied himself with a breath before nodding, “I understand.” He wanted to add more but the knot of dread in his stomach bid him to silence. They arrived at a hallway soon after, bare save for two doors. One to the right and one, far more flashy looking, at the end of the hall.
Delilah opened the door on the right, holding up an arm to usher in governess, ward and her fellow Lady’s Maid.
It ended up being somewhat of a ‘small’ room by Eden’s Rest standards. An open space at one end with a raised sitting area on the other sectioned off by a wood balustrade. It had a hardwood floor and a few doors on the right hand side leading to closets and storage rooms. The raised sitting area, accessed by a two step plinth, was full of comfortable looking couches, seating and coffee tables.
Both Mistress and her best friend sat between two seats and were very casual in dress. Victoria sat in a cream button back library chair while Yui relaxed across a chaise lounge. Victoria wore a tastefully simple outfit with a flair for style, a fluted long sleeve blouse and comfortable looking black slacks set off with a short shoulder cape. Yui forwent her doctor’s coat in favor of a pretty bolero jacket worn over a white T-Shirt, her tight fitting leather pants making a triumphant return.
“Good afternoon, Carmilla,” Victoria greeted happily upon seeing her wife, Yui giving a lazy wave.
The first thing that hit Sam was envy at the fact both women were sporting trousers. What he wouldn’t give to be able to wear simple pants again. But knowing that Trisha was watching for his deportment, he kept it internal, only the smallest metaphorical flash of green in his eyes. Victoria and Yui both caught it, their smiles widening imperceptibly.
‘Remember, SSR,’ he thought, pulling on Trisha’s teaching maxim on how to approach address. Every rank of the peerage, nobility and clergy had certain titles and forms of address that were ‘correct.’ For example a member of a royal lineage would have the address of ‘Your Highness’, senior royalty would be ‘Your Royal Highness’ and the reigning monarch was ‘Your Majesty.’
That alone was a faff but it went so much deeper , making Sam’s head spin.
But Trisha was a loathsomely competent teacher and had streamlined the process into a simple to follow maxim. Setting, station, relation: SSR for short. They outlined, in descending order of importance, how to address a person correctly befitting his status as the Lady of Eden’s Rest. As this was a lesson, it was therefore a formal setting, meaning that first address must be given with correct titles. The ranking person in the room was Victoria who as a Viscountess should be addressed as ‘your Ladyship,’ but his own station as Lady meant he couldn’t use that title. This was where their relationship came in, where the fact that he was Victoria’s wife meant he could use either a less formal or house specific address.
It was the textbook definition of a faff.
Sam gently gripped his outer skirt and lifted it, foot sweeping back and to the side as he lowered himself in a curtsey. “My Mistress,” he greeted formally, his Lady’s Maids mimicking his action behind him. Trisha offered a short bow instead. Embarrassment roiled beneath the surface, still not used to this unnecessary pomp.
Hearing him call her his Mistress felt deeply pleasing to Victoria who subtly pointed her chin, telling them they may rise.
“I’ve never been in here before,” Sam said, looking around the room, struggling to define its purpose.
Victoria rested her chin on the palm of her hand, she was happy to indulge her wife’s curiosity. “It used to be a prep-room for the house’s old tertiary theatre. But after I had that turned into a private cinema this room didn’t have a purpose. So I rebranded it as an informal ‘variety room’ where people can relax and enjoy some entertainment if it’s on the agenda.”
“And I’m today’s entertainment,” Sam glowered.
Yui pursed her lips in happy approval. “You’re right, Vic, she is a fast learner.”
Not wanting this to devolve into innuendo laden verbal sparring, Trisha took over. “Then we best get the learning going. Maids,” she addressed Lily and Delilah, “Please help Lady Florence strip off her schooling attire.”
Sam recoiled in embarrassment but did not resist the two maids from starting to unbutton and unzip the various parts of his outer garments. While being stripped was still incredibly embarrassing for him, he focused on the slightly less mortifying reality that every person in this room had already seen him naked.
Once the outer garments and boots were gone, Sam stood in a set of black and white stockings, garters and a lace pushup bra worn around his corset of the day, his cock cage hanging limply from his bare hairless crotch. All eyes were drawn to his corset, a canary yellow underbust example that cinched his waist into a feminine hourglass.
Dellah moved behind Sam and removed his corset’s lace hider, the sissy expecting to feel the unpleasant crush of the corset’s steel bones further constricting his waist after a morning of movement had loosened the laces. His eyes widened in shock when instead he felt the constriction reduce, the laces being pulled undone. Lily unclipped the buttons that ran down the front and the entire thing was removed.
He took grateful lungfuls of air, the flow of his breath so much easier without the ramrod of steel chomping at his waist. Victoria gave an appreciative whistle at seeing his supple looking waist, the lingering compression holding for a while in its illusionary femininity. Sam immediately moved a hand to cover his modesty.
“Hands by your sides, Carmilla,” Trisha ordered, pointing the slapper of her crop at his plastic trapped cock. “There is nothing there worth covering.”
Reluctantly doing as he was told, Sam dipped his head, happy that the long layered white hair and bangs swung forwards in a curtain to cut Victoria and Yui out of his view. He could feel their looks roving over him like a piece of meat.
Trisha turned fully to address Victoria. “Mistress, Victoria, may I begin the lesson?” she asked politely.
“You may.” Victoria answered, relaxing into the upholstery of her chair to watch.
Immediately Trisha transitioned to her full teaching mode, hands clasped behind her back like a drill sergeant. “It has been over a week since Mistress Victoria inducted you into the pleasures of the flesh, Carmilla,” Trisha stated, meeting Sam’s stare with enthusiasm. “And while you have had some instruction on tantric cantrips, I think it’s about time you learned how to properly follow orders and the pleasure that can come from following orders.”
The sissy nodded silently, an acceptable response.
Trisha snapped her fingers, both Lady’s Maids hurrying to one of the doors that lined the right hand wall. Opening it, they disappeared into what had once been a storage closet for performers’ outfits and props. When they returned, they rolled an object into the empty space that made Sam’s breath catch in his throat. It was a long black bondage horse padded and quilted with burgundy leather. Its wooden sides were covered in large D and O rings as well as heavy padded cuffs and stirrups that arms and legs could be fed into for additional binding.
Sam quailed at the sight of the thing, a stocking clad foot lifting to take a step back. ‘There’s no point in running, ’ a voice said in the back of his head, staying his retreat.
When the horse was correctly positioned and locked in place, Trisha continued. “All aristocrats ride. And while your mounting of a true steed is a ways off, this horse,” she pointed her crop at the bondage horse, Lily and Delilash stood by its side with hands clasped in front of them, “is for the here and now.”
She approached him and looked up into his face, now only three inches difference in their height. “The objective of the lesson is simple: Physically do as you’re told. That’s it.”
Sam swallowed thickly, “Yes, Miss Trisha.”
Trisha gave a small smile of acknowledgement. “Maids,” she ordered, causing both of them to stand a little straighter. “Please help your Lady into her… riding attire .” she ordered, enjoyment leaking into her words.
They both curtseyed with one going off to grab something that rested atop a small trestle table near the observation area, something that until now Sam had not paid any mind to due to seeming like a pile of straps. Lily lifted the item from the table and let it hang, the straps falling into place to reveal it to be a black leather bondage harness.
It was formed of interlocking black leather straps with gleaming steel O rings at certain points, all eventually feeding to a tall, thick collar that had large D rings hanging from the front and back. Until just last night it had hung from a bust in Trisha’s office.
Tapping his thighs with her crop, Trisha moved Sam into the middle of the room. Lily handed the harness to Delilah who quickly set about wrapping it around her Lady, starting with the tall collar before looping the straps under his armpits and between his thighs. The green eyed maid meanwhile approached with a matching pair of padded cuffs, asking for Sam’s wrists. The entire ensemble clicked and snapped as catches and straps were drawn into position, Sam’s wrists and ankles being the last to don their bondage uniform.
The collar was the most abhorrent to Sam, so much thicker and taller than his choker, an ownership much harder to drown out.
When both Maids stepped back, Lady Carmilla Florence was an image of monochromatic bondage.
Trisha drank in the sight, keeping her personal sadistic enjoyment hidden for now, instead patting the bondage horse. “Mount up,” she ordered.
Sam scowled but slowly did as he was told, walking towards the red leather furniture. He was weirded out that despite the presence and close cling of the harness, it did nothing to inhibit his movement. Upon closer inspection, there was a seam that ran down the middle of the horse, almost like it was two horses that had been combined into one. That would explain the length, Sam considered. He accepted Trisha’s gloved hand and placed a foot up onto one of the padded stirrups. Relieved that it took his weight, he stepped up and over the horse, plopping himself down on the quilted leather with a huff.
In the centre of the upholstery was a large, semi bulbous hemisphere, looking like a huge plastic button. Trisha made him shuffle forwards until he sat on the bulb, spreading his bare cheeks so that it pressed against his asshole.
‘ Now this is fine after-lunch sport,’ Victoria thought from the observation area. It was wonderful to see her Carmilla wearing bondage, picturing just how sublime she would look during their first joint session. A harness was a novel taster, but a full dedicated fetish regalia was something much more all encompassing. Yui also appreciated the show, but for now was more interested in watching how Trisha worked as a domme.
Satisfied that Sam was properly seated, Trisha and Delilah each grabbed one of the sissy sub’s ankles and fed his feet into the large heavy duty padded cuffs. His existing ankle cuffs slid into existing cutouts for them while the greater cuffs were tightened until half of each calf was unable to move. Lily meanwhile drew Sam’s arms behind him. He was reluctant to give up his arms, pulling his arms forwards but the little redhead was deceptively strong. His wrists were wrestled behind him, their cuffs clipped to one another before being clipped to the back O Ring.
‘Still nowhere near ready for a back prayer,’ Trisha observed as Sam pulled to the left and right, only having movement from the waist up and then forwards and backwards. Content with his bondage, she took her crop in hand and lightly swatted at his abdomen, “This will also be a test of keeping correct posture. I don’t care if it’s a bicycle or a bull you’re riding, you keep that back straight!”
“Yes, Miss Trisha,” Sam ground out through gritted teeth.
While Trisha had Sam’s attention from the front, Delilah teased up one of the pillows at the back of the horse revealing a clip that she pulled, a length of thin steel chain drawing out behind it. Leaning up, she clipped it to Sam’s collar’s rear D ring.
“What!?” Sam questioned, feeling a small pull from the back of the collar. He turned as much as he could to look over his shoulder but Trisha took the chance to draw out her own length of chain from the horse’s front and clip it to the front D ring. “Come on!” he bleated in consternation. Surely this was enough bondage?
Apparently not.
At the front of the horse, the auburn haired governess turned a pair of cranks, pulling the lengths of chain back, the tension corralling Sam’s straight backed centre line into the exact middle of the horse, now unable to move anywhere from the riding attention.
“There. Now that wasn’t too hard,” Trisha commented condescendingly, strumming the front chain with a finger. “Bear with me a moment while I slip into something more fitting,” she said, reaching a hand to the gold broach that held her housecoat closed.
Pulling off the coat and elegantly tossing it to the trestle table, Trisha Moore was revealed in full, making Sam’s heart rate climb.
Her athletic body was garbed in a way befitting a domme. She wore a tight fitting black patent leather leotard with a halter top that pushed up her athletic bust into an enticing window of cleavage. It was very high cut and followed the curve of her pelvis, a gold zipper running down its entire front. Her black leather gloves ran up to her biceps and her boots revealed themselves to be thigh high, dozens of laces criss crossing over their fronts. Lastly, she wore a harness around her hips and crotch, a belt loop for her crop ready and waiting.
Vindication that he had been right to suspect something off with Trisha’s outfit was a hollow consolation prize for the bound sub, who rattled at the chains in an effort to pull away. “What is this?” he questioned.
Trisha adjusted her glasses with the bottom of her palm. “I am your teacher and governess. This you know. Now that Mistress has opened the way, I will ensure you know every technique and interaction a submissive lover can know. We will drill them until you learn to take pleasure from them. Doing what you are told should be its own reward.”
She came alongside him and grabbed his thigh, squeezing it testingly before running the soft leather covered digits intimately up his body, along his hips and stomach, all the way up to his chin. Sam felt chills from her touch, moaning lightly in protest when she gently squeezed his lower jaw.
“The objective of today’s lesson is simple. Do as you are told.” Trisha instructed, turning her ward’s face from one side to another. As she did this, the maids laid out a number of items on the table, most out of Sam’s peripheral vision. “Maid Lily, the teaching aids.”
Maid Lily trotted to her immediate superior, placing a small circular device into Trisha’s waiting hand. Turning the nondescript gizmo in her fingers, she thumbed its activation switch before sliding it behind Sam’s silk choker, held fast against his voice box. Lily and Delilah meanwhile had a split detail, attaching a small rectangular power pack to Sam’s garters before attaching six electrodes to his defenceless stomach.
When Trisha let go of Sam’s chin he jerked forwards, seeing the additions to his ensemble he quickly worked out what was about to happen. “You’re going to shock me!?” he exclaimed in a strained voice.
“Indeed,” Trisha praised the quick deduction before elaborating, “Right now there is a small microphone held against your vocal chords. It has been programmed to respond to a specific waveform that, if spoken, will administer a reward.” She accepted a simple remote from Delilah and pressed a button to demonstrate.
The dome pressed up against his ass began to vibrate suddenly, sending a wave of shivvers into Sam’s entire lower body. “Oooogh!” he bleated, more surprised than anything. The buzz of the vibe could be heard all across the room and was left to rumble there for long enough to get the message across. It was distracting but pleasurable, the same way sitting on the back seat of the bus could feel.
“Feels good, yes?” Trisha said with a smirk, the light of sadism glinting in her eyes. “But let’s work through the scenario. If saying the word like you are told gives you a reward, then not saying the word-” another button on the remote was clicked. “Brings consequences.”
All six electrodes came to life, dispensing a scintillating current of electricity into Sam’s flat stomach, shocking him painfully. His mouth fell open in a scream, yelping as the pulsing shocks made his stomach muscles spasm painfully, undeveloped muscle shorting in synaptic fire. Every nerve told six stories at once, gave six instructions at once and Sam felt the sixfold serenade of sadism all at once.
He continued to twitch and cry out in yips of pain and sensory overlap, moving as much as his body could in its bound position. His gibbering thighs tensed, bound ankles knocking against the wood of the horse in an erratic rhythm. Victoria and Yui watched on from the observation area, pleasure and excitement trilling through them as they looked. The way Sam moved as much as possible with so little range to move was deeply arousing and entertaining.
The shocks persisted for a few more seconds while Trisha absorbed the look in Sam’s eyes, then finally clicking the remote again. Sam gasped, the muscles in his neck proud against the collar as the shocks came to an end, his abdomen still spasming from the ghost knives that had plagued him. “What…the…fuck… was….”
“I assume you understand the assignment?” Trisha queried.
He glared at her balefully, sucking air in through his teeth, “Just… give.. Me… the… bloody word!”
Trisha’s smirk could have lit up a Christmas tree. “ Sam.”
Yui raised an eyebrow, ‘Oh, well played, Trisha, ’ she thought.
Confusion spread over Sam’s brain like an itchy rash, adrenaline turning it into jumpy bewilderment. His name? He didn’t see nor understand the end goal. Trisha meanwhile retrieved an hourglass and placed it on a tiny drinks table in front of Sam, within the narrow scope of his bound vision.
“You have half an hour.” Trisha said, turning the hourglass and beginning the susurrus flow of sand from one end to the other, “Do me proud,” she said, bringing the bottom down on the table with a thud.
The instant the hourglass touched the table the shocks started up again, making Sam yell in pain and dismay. His toes curled at the feeling, feeling simultaneously boiling hot and freezing cold as the shocks pulsed into him. Getting over the initial shock, he tried to clear his thoughts, mouth wrestling the name from his lips. “Sam!” he declared.
And just like that, the shocks ceased. The vibe at his ass rumbled to life, sending a pleasant wave of jostling movement into his tight little hole. He managed to snatch three whole breaths before the vibe clicked off and the shocks started up again, this time an alternating pattern. “Ghu…Sham! Sam!” he said again, dragging him back onto the pleasant path. “Sam, Sam, Sam.”
He sat there, straddling the bondage horse, endlessly repeating his own name to the encouragement of the vibe at his ass. Waves of pleasant sensations warbled up from deep within, echoing up his straight spine in a poisoned draft of relief. It was just powerful enough to be distractingly pleasant, making the grains flowing through the hourglass seem to slow to a crawl. He got lost in the feeling, not sure where pleasant vibration ended and where his own reluctant, smarting pleasure began. He started to drift, mouth jittering until, “Sam, Sam…S-AGH!!”
Too long. He had taken too long and the microphone registered noncompliance, instantly disciplining him with another invisible lashing of shocks, this time a band of sensation that ran across his belly button, feeling it all the way into his chastised cock. “SAM!” he yelled, stopping the shocks and being rewarded with more vibrations, fudging the edge of the lingering pain with blooming masochistic pleasure.
Trisha walked a slow circuit around the bondage house, watching the twisting of Sam’s body against his bindings, the cascade of his words falling over her as nothing but sound. She tapped his back chain with her crop. Sending a vibration into his back, testing to see if he would slip again.
“Dominance and submission are not just some gaudy terms that incels and the romantically illiterate attach to anything halfway kinky,” she said, musing to her student. “They are states and actions from which there is a transfer of power. To be submissive is to be within the power of another and being willing to give up that power. The Dominant holds that power, ensuring that their sub finds fulfilment in the exchange. It is not something to be ashamed of, and if there is any shame then a sub must learn to enjoy it. To relish it.”
She came into his view, her leotard running along the cushioning of the horse, making him fitfully look at her. She met his gaze and was glad to have his attention. “To do as you are told by one who holds power over you is a reality, a norm that should be celebrated and reinforced with pleasure.”
Her crop whipped out, striking Sam in the side, the sharp slap of pain causing him to lose his concentration.
“Suhaaa!” he yelped girlishly, a fresh round of shocks needling his muscles, making him clench his bound fists til the knuckles were white.
Trisha made a mocking face, slapping him again with her crop. “Oh come on, Camilla. You didn’t honestly think I’d make this easy for you. I will throw as many curve balls as it takes until you can go the full 30 minutes without losing the chain!”
“Sahhhhmmmmm,” he replied, getting back on program. However there was a moaning note of conflicted pleasure in that exclamation, in phase with the pleasurable vibes. Enjoyment to reinforce doing as one was told. It made Trisha quite happy.
Sexual thrill bubbled to the surface in Trisha, but she was not the only one experiencing such feelings. So too were Victoria and Yui watching from the observation area, keeping a lid on their pleasures in favour of not getting carried away. It was Trisha’s lesson after all.
It was their first ‘proper’ time observing Trisha’s style as a domme and neither of the younger dommes were left wanting by the older woman’s performance.
“Well, there was that one time with mother ,” Victoria reflected. “But that was little more than a meet and greet.”
Yui snickered, “How you can call a tutorial on how to double fist a slave properly just a meet and greet is beyond me.”
Talk of the Countess Beatrice shifted naturally into quiet conversation about how Trisha was handling Sam. They agreed that as with any good domme this was working on multiple levels. While Trisha was true in that the objective was to follow orders, the practical lesson was doing many things to start Sam towards the idealised Carmilla. It was giving him experience with immobilisation bondage and the energy transfer dynamic of BDSM, helping to put a dent in fear of being seen in the act of sex, thus making his libido a tangible thing that could be trained.
The pleasure in Sam right now was an itch, a droning vibrating itch radiating from his ass, pleasant but maddening.
Trisha was quick to address this. “Your first ‘run’ with Mistress Victoria was aided by aphrodisiacs. Without them, your ability to take feminine pleasure from your dedicated womanhood will be sadly lacking. But I venture those teeth chattering vibrations must be starting to feel quite nice. Do they?”
“Sam, Sam, Sam.”
Trisha painfully swatted the back of a thigh, “I asked you a question you miserable little harlot!”
“No!” he bit back, denying the truth. He instantly received a brace of shocks for the lie, his cock jumping in its cage.
Bespectacled eyes flashed, noticing the masochistic tic. She grinned like a wolf. “Well then, it seems your body knows what it is. Let’s see if it can answer in your place you rotty little masochist!”
“Sam, Sam, Sam,” was all he could respond with.
The domme pulsed a finger back, flicking an exposed testy at the base of the CB6000 and enjoying the hiss of pleasure tinged pain that the next annunciation came out with. “Oh ho! Flicking the clit is an option then, let's see where else you’re sensitive.”
She manipulated his body like tuning in a violin; swatting, smacking and clawing at naked flesh, goading another failure and guiding Sam into a masochistic fuge. It was a ghost of what his first time had been, but over time the thousand cuts of Eros sharpening arrows on his body began to yield fruit.
“Picture it, dear student of mine. A pair of sandals, each with candles set into their heels. Lit at the hand of your spouse and catch 22 in mind.” Trisha gleefully theorised, pending her crop between her fingers. “You cannot walk flat footed for fear of burning heels. But you cannot walk quickly for fear of spilling wax onto the floor. What to do? Slide your feet across the floor like a lady of the court. Slow, elegant, as commanded. And making your masochistic insides fizz.”
It was the latest in a series of vivid and vulgar scenarios that he couldn’t refute for fear of being shocked as the endless echoes of pleasure formed a choir in his loins. And again and again, saying that word.
“Sam, Sam, Sam.”
And it was in that word that Trisha’s trick was so tangibly brilliant. The more he was forced to say his old name, the more it lost its meaning as a name. A word he recognised as his name repeated endlessly in order to rob it of what it meant. Ever on, again and again. Falling into the background was less interesting than the vibrations in his ass. It would take a long time, months if not years but eventually, ‘Sam’ would be just a word, one that Carmilla would never react to.
Time passed on the horse, minutes blurring into the abject, unsure as to how long had passed. Eventually the final few grains of sand had run their course, heralding a half hour of torment had reached its end. The vibration clicked off along with the electrodes. But Sam, deep in his pattern, kept muttering his name with dry lips.
“Time out.”
Trisha snapped her fingers in front of his face, making him finally stop. He shivered, muscles jumping sporadically while Trisha looked at him. She afforded him a moment’s mercy.
“Five minutes break, then we continue.” she told him, walking away.
He was left to pant, his shoulders slumped while sweat beaded down his body. Sam saw movement through his curtain of hair and looked up, expecting to see Trisha again but was instead greeted by Lily and Delilah, the two Lady’s Maids a far cry from their exhausted looking Lady. His brow furrowed, wondering why they were there until he saw Delilah holding a plastic bottle with a clear flexible tube sticking from its top. An unsaid conversation passed between the three before Sam nodded, taking a chance.
Delilah lifted the bottle, slipping the bendy rubber straw into Sam’s mouth who sucked gently on its contents. He was relieved when he tasted fresh cold water filling his mouth, reliving a lot of the pent up exhaustion in the way only fresh water could. He drank the alm greedily, gulping down the contents until his thirst was slaked.
He let the straw leave his lips and breathed deeply through his nose, being sure to give both of his maids a silent but genuine look of thanks.
Trisha had sequestered herself near the observation area, sipping at a glass of water. It turned out that being a domme was thirsty work.
“Fine show, Trisha,” a voice said to her left, “Any doubts I had about your ability to coral my wife have been set to rest.”
She turned her head to see Victoria leaning over the dividing balustrade, her blue eyes taking in the domme attired governess. Trisha removed her glasses and massaged the bridge of her nose, wiping away any built up sweat or grime. “That makes me happy, Mistress. It really does.”
“I’d say some of that happiness is probably a bit more physical than you’re admitting,” Victoria replied, sniffing the air while looking at the crotch of Trisha’s leotard.
Yui popped her head up to Trisha’s right. “Carmilla might not be able to scent a boiling kettle through leather yet, but we certainly can.”
Indeed, there was a wetness in her hidden nether lips. Playing with Sam in such a way was succeeding in pushing many of the early 30s woman’s physical and mental buttons. She set her glass down on the table and allowed herself a pleased sigh. In fact, she permitted herself a moment of greater candor than usual. “Oh most definitely. I’m looking forwards to getting a little more hands on in fucking some class into that sissy pussy.”
The statement went over well with both other women. “Well they know what they say. Make your job something you love and you’ll never work a day in your life.” Victoria said.
Yui sniffed in humor, drawing twin blue and brown orbs to her. “Oh it’s nothing. Just that a cousin of mine once said the opposite. That if you make something you love a job you’ll learn how to hate it.”
It was an interesting turn of phrase and one that was quite salient depending on the environment. Interest peaked, Trisha probed deeper. “And what did you have to say to this neighsayer?”
Yui cocked her head to one side, the shadows of her hair making her look deliciously sinister. “I didn't say anything. What I did was turn them into something the old them would have hated and taught them to love it.”
And here, Trisha could answer with sadistic glee of her own. “I’ll be asking for some details later.”
“After I already gave you that recording? Greedy one aren’t you?”
While the governess and doctor devolved into quiet peels of lurid giggles, Victoria had eyes only for her Carmilla. “Trisha,” she said, getting the older woman to look at her, “Will you be needing a teaching assistant for the next stage?”
Sam meanwhile was coming to terms with his feelings, both physically and mentally. His body felt like a cloth that had been stretched tight over a deep hole, every little stimulus felt intimately and echoing endlessly into the abyss. On the other hand, his emotions and thoughts were a blur, the result of senses being pushed beyond the point he could clearly define. He was mentally exhausted.
Trisha walked back into his field of view and he lightly jostled against the chains. Her gloved hand landed on the hour glass. “What is the objective of this lesson?”
“Do…as..I’m told,” he said quietly.
Trisha lifted the hourglass, slowly turning it, “And the conditional directive?”
He racked his brain, sweat running down his forehead, “Do as I’m told, for half an hour-”
“Without a single fail.” Trisha finished, her eyes obscured beneath the gleam of her rimless glasses, “So let's try again.” The hourglass was thumped down, the grains beginning to flow again and this time, Sam was quick to declare his name.
Half an hour went past with agonising slowness, punctuated by the swat of a riding crop and rumble of the vibe at his rear, giving misunderstood pleasure. But despite being covered in a series of red marks, the 30 minutes passed without Sam dropping the verbal repetition a single time.
It became something of a bondage to lash himself to, a way to remain centered.
When the vibrator clicked off after the final grain had landed in the bottom of the glass, Sam slumped as much as he was able, physically exhausted.
Trisha scrutinized him, looking at how the sweat had caused certain bits of his hair to matt. Her heels clicked loudly on the hardwood floor as she approached, a gloved hand reaching towards him. He didn’t resist when she kneaded his flesh, dragging her hand up until her fingers scraped at his armpits. Pulling back, the tips of her leathery digits shined with perspiration. “Such a lack of stamina is pathetic,” the governess decried, holding her sweat covered fingers under his nose.
The scent of his own perspiration roused Sam but he could only whimper when Trisha slipped two fingers into his nostrils and held them there, making escape from the musk impossible.
“Sweating is fine, but to be an effective lover you will have to be fit as a fiddle. Expect exercise in the future.” The fingers stayed there until she was satisfied before pulling them away quickly, wiping any snot away with a handkerchief. Her auburn hair was still perfectly contained to its chignon, not a lock out of place. Trisha’s face softened then, her eyes glinting with dominant arousal. “But you are in luck that this next lesson requires you to do nothing at all.”
Using the crank set into the front of the horse, she reeled in the front chain while slackening the rear, dragging Sam slowly forwards until his head rested over the front of the bondage horse. His ass was therefore lifted forwards, inert vibe on his perineum. The white haired sub could now do nothing but look ahead of him, feeling a mix of relief at being out of the slavish upright position and worry at what was next.
Removing the back chain, Trisha did not have to worry about Sam moving as the Lady’s Maids swept in to do as she directed. Flipping hidden catches, the entire horse split in half, the rear assembly pulling away and leaving Sam’s ass totally exposed. “Bring it in, then you’re dismissed for the rest of the lesson,” she told both of them.
“Yes, Governess Moore,” both answered before acquiescing to the order.
White hair rustled as Sam attempted to turn his head to see what they were up to, only getting a face full of white for his trouble. He looked ahead, hearing the sound of something being wheeled toward him. Black and white dresses passed him as the pair placed the item in question in front of him. He blinked, staring ahead with his face set in a frown. A pair of identical hazel eyes stared back.
Maids Lily and Delilah had placed a full length mirror in front of him, forcing him to look at himself in this compromising position. Both courtseyed to their Lady before excusing themselves, leaving Sam to baulk and rage at his own reflection.
It was a deeply distressing sight for him, conflicting so harshly with his body self image that even seeing the spectre in the mirror copy him he couldn’t reconcile that it was him. But there was another cognito hazard riding the glass like an existential wave. He felt himself growing hard against the confines of the CB6000, because right now he was looking at an effeminate figure with striking white hair, rosy blushing cheeks panting like she was, to use a vulgar term, gagging for it.
He only snapped back to reality when he felt a set of cold, wet and slippery fingers press against his ass, eyes narrowing to pinpricks.
Trisha smirked at him through the mirror, her lubed glove rubbing small glistening circles into his preemptively tensing hole. “You are welcome to scream, Carmilla. But don’t avert your eyes for a second!”
He wordlessly complained at her while the governess continued to prep him. She quickly told Delilah to bring her a strapon for her harness before she left and the mocha skinned maid did just that. She selected a clear and flexible 6 inch dildo with hefty looking balls, helping the Governess lock it to her crotch while the latter was busy working her fingers in and out of the groaning Lady Florence.
“Please don’t do this,” Sam begged, “I don’t want this.”
But the knot of arousal and burgeoning masochism in his guts made a liar of him.
Stroking the clear phallus now hanging from her crotch, appreciating the weight, Trisha adjusted her glasses with the flat of her palm. “I will dispense with any lies about being dispassionate in this, Carmilla. Because the truth is, I am going to greatly enjoy this.”
She pressed the dildo’s head against his rosebud, hearing him take a precautionary breath before the plunge. Trisha leaned forwards, addressing Sam through the mirror. “You will be trained to be exquisite in every way. And that means I’m going to train and cultivate this hole into the finest love canal in Eden’s Rest. Make you squeal around it until your voice echoes from the roof.”
The silicone member pressed in, passing the tight ring of muscles and pushing into the clean fuckhole it was marked to become. Sam breathed harshly, his nostrils flaring at the return of the great otherness, the messages in his mind that something wrong was going on. He felt his heart jackhammer in his chest, sparks of dull pleasure carried into him from the clear rubber trojan horse at his back.
“An exquisite tool, one for your spouse, for you and anyone else who has leave to fuck you, which right now,” the balls bumped home against his ass, fully sheathed, “ Is me.”
A jolt of pleasure raced up Sam’s body, making him bite his lower lip to keep a groan of spoiled pleasure leaving him. The cock stayed inside him for a few moments before Trisha slowly dragged it out, rolling against his sensitive anal walls to rain myriad feelings down onto the Lady. Once Trisha had pulled out almost all the way, leaving just the head inside, she began to push in again, starting the whole roller coaster over again.
Setting an initially slow and gentle pace, Trisha slowly fucked her ward with intentionally predictable thrusts. Stroking his silky innards to give up their gems of masochistic enjoyment. It was Trisha’s job to make sure that eventually that pleasure would be genuine and not just a byproduct.
The pace slowly picked up, a wet clap of flesh slapping flesh filling Sam’s pierced ears, otherness and pleasure at war within him as this dominant taskmistress fucked him. Heat flooded through him, seeing Trisha’s face twist with enjoyment at her fucking, accenting everything with a little exhilaration. It grew too much and eventually he had to turn away.
“Look into the mirror,” Trisha ordered, slapping one of his ass cheeks roughly. Sam threw his head back when the shock of the slap crashed over him, wide eyes having to look in the mirror again. “Did you like that, young Lady Carmilla? Then perhaps another!” she called, slapping his other ass cheek. Sam yipped in pain while the flexible strapon continued to piston in and out of him.
Lube leaked gaudily from his hole as Trisha continued to fuck him, slowly but surely working past the ‘NOPE’ factor and into true pleasure. Every time he tried to look away, unable to look anymore at himself being taken from behind, Trisha was there with either a smack of her hand or slap of her riding crop.
“Was that a moan, Carmilla? Moaning in pleasure at being fucked by someone other than your spouse no less!” hips met ass cheeks again and again, kissing in pleasure while sweat poured down the mewling Sam’s back. “If this were any other scenario you’d be called an adulteress, but it’s not. How does that make you feel, your Ladyship? That your governess is fucking you with your spouse’s say so?” She picked up her pace, the rubbery balls of the false cock slapping wetly against Sam’s ass. “I’ll tell you how it feels to me! Fucking brilliant!”
“Noooooo,” he moaned, the low level rhythmic pleasure came in progressively bigger waves, driving his arousal and in turn his appreciation for the sex. Curse this woman. Curse them all for making them feel this way. The tip struck his prostate dead on, making his back arch in pleasure against the hold of the chain at his neck. “Fuck!”
He was not alone. Trisha had a much better grasp of her libido and kept a consistent rhythm but she was loving the constant physical and emotional stimulation that each thrust passed back to her, she could feel her pussy moisten within its leather confines.
She reached out a hand and grabbed Sam by his bound wrists and used them to leaver herself around, hitting new angles within him. He answered with pleased, desperate exclamations of sharp reluctant pleasure. Had the mirror been any closer his breath would have steamed the glass.
“Oh that is a good face, that’s someone who is enjoying what she is meant to enjoy!” Trisha said upliftingly, squeezing Sam’s ass with her free hand. “But truth be told that’s all this hole is meant for now. What else does it even do?” She slapped his ass, reddening the flesh, “It doesn’t crap anymore and never will if I have my way. This hole only gives pleasure, so until Dr Ito decides you have to go under the knife I’m content in calling it a pussy. Sound good?”
“Haaaaaaaaah!”
“I thought as much~”
Veneration and degradation were a two sided coin, dragging Sam’s amorous feelings from their hiding place deep within his body. The sting of humiliation peppering masochism’s fell grace until his trapped cock began to show it. Pressed tight against the hard plastic shell of the cage, it could grow no further and began to slowly leak a steady stream of precum that dripped from the tip.
Trisha rested her hand under the now pulsing cock and let a few drops of the off white liquid drip onto her open hand. She smirked appreciatively at them and said, “Getting wet finally? Prude.” she insulted, holding her hand up so Sam could see his arousal in the mirror. Sam gritted his teeth, not giving an answer as the pleasure continued to saw in and out of him.
Not getting a response, Trisha once again turned to the mind, cheerfully outlining a number of scenarios of Sam’s potential futures. Each one served to charm more and more precum from his little sissy clitty.
“Just imagine it, Carmilla. Assembling the Private Circle for a night’s wine tasting knowing full well you spent the whole morning bent over your desk being fucked by your Maids. Having to smile at the bouquet of a vintage claret when only hours before you had been wiping a screed of cum from your pretty face. Maybe the flavour will blend with the wine.”
Sam’s toes curled.
“Suggesting which country you should visit on holiday based on what language will feel best being spoken around your spouse’s strapon!”
‘I can’t fucking deal with this,’ he mentally raged. But there was a change in Trisha then, her thrusts became more measured and controlled.
“A question, Carmilla. For this is still a lesson,” Trisha’s voice was husky and amused with an underlying steel, the teacher mentality back in control. “What is something that you are and should take?”
He closed his eyes, looking for anything to focus on rather than admit the truth being etched into his body and soul. His body and mind were a mess, it felt bad and good all at once. But still his mind poured over the question. Something he was but should take? He just didn’t get it. He didn’t know what he was being asked!
But then Trisha’s pace and force began to slow, freeing up some awareness, enough to feel his sixth sense trip that something was amiss. He opened his eyes, looking forward to see himself again.
But he didn't see himself. He saw a trim waist and familiar harness, the brush of a very special strapon slipping into the nether lips of a very special woman. Victoria stood before him, stripped down to her lingerie of a black silk basque and matching lace stockings.
She looked at him for a moment, elegantly imperious. Victoria slowly lowered herself until she was face to face with her wife. “It is a tough question, isn’t it, Blossom,” she said lightly, smiling at him. “I don’t like to interfere but I can’t have another woman leave you hanging on the edge for too long now can I?”
Sam looked into those deep blue eyes, strong with emotion.
“Here’s a hint,” she gripped her dildo, enjoying the feeling of the haptic feedback, “You’re making me feel it right now. With every mewl and squeak.”
A single emotion cut past the rest in that oceanic pair of eyes.
And Samuel Hayes breathed out the truth in Carmilla Florence’s voice. “ Pride .”
Trisha smashed her cock into his prostate, making stars of pleasure pop in front of his eyes.
Victoria cupped his cheek, massaging his face, “Good job,” she congratulated, rising to her full height, her gleaming black strapon inches from Sam’s face. “And now your reward. Open your mouth, Carmilla, and suck my cock.”
Time seemed to slow to a crawl for Sam, caught in a bubble of no thoughts. But in the absence of thought, his submissive nature showed itself, reluctantly opening his mouth to admit a second strapon.
Slowly feeding the specialty dildo into Sam’s mouth, Victoria cooed in appreciation of the sensations sent back through the brush into her wet snatch. The spectacle that Trisha and her wife had put on was quite something and made the Viscountess more than ready for some sexual fun. She felt his wet pouting lips wrap around the mushroom shaped head and the tickle of hot breath along the haptic control surfaces, translating perfectly to new pleasurable experiences.
While Trisha’s fucking was quick and forceful, Victora mad sure to be a olive branch, only offering light thrusts into the oral amateur. He could eat pussy, that was for sure, but he definitely wasn’t up to snuff when it came to felatio yet. But she was sure to pat his head, pushing a little deeper each time.
The strong latex taste of the turgid member hit Sam’s palette like a brick through a plate glass window, immediately dominating his thoughts. It was again a bizarre feeling, but had an intoxicating psychosis to it, to look up at his lover’s face from her crotch and see feelings he was causing… it was like a buzz in his ears, allowing the patting hand to coax him into bobbing his head.
“I always had you pegged for a good little cocksucker,” Victoria said with lust, ruffling his straight white hair. Her demeaning words made Sam cringe and moan around the cock in his mouth, something Victoria greatly appreciated.
The two doms spitroasted their ward and wife respectively, working to ensure that both acts became inseparable from Sam’s pleasure. Victoria never fully sheathed herself in his throat but made sure to explore as much of the wet cave as she could, feeling his tongue trace the underside of the dildo.
Trisha swatted at Sam’s ass with her crop, enjoying the jerk from him on her return stroke. “Get used to the view, Carmilla. That cock and the vagina behind it own you. Never forget that.”
“Oh her body knows, we just have to keep guiding her mind to catch up,” Victoria replied, playing off the other dom she joined in this spitroast. “Every single atom of her body is the Lady of Eden’s Rest. And the Lady of Eden’s Rest is a wonderful lover to any partner, no matter who they might be. But only those we say can.”
They continued to fuck him, syncing up their thrusts to a harmony that ensured that when one domme pulled out, the other slid in, sliding Sam back and forth like a newton’s cradle, moaning in reticent pleasure. They increased their paces, reaching out their hands and melding in a test of strength as they pistoned into the staturesques sissy until finally the summit came.
The Lady Carmilla came, pearl white cum dribbling from the painfully constrained cock in a mostly dry orgasm. And to cap it off, both dommes plunged in, sheathing themselves fully in both of the Lady’s ends.
Sam floundered around the cock in his throat, gagging with wide eyes as the pesky reflex tried to expel the rubber invader. But both women left their strapons buried in him until they gauged he truly needed to breathe when they slowly pulled out. Sam was left coughing and sputtering on the bench, a pool of spoiled orgasm expanding under his stomach.
He felt Victoria pat him reassuringly on the head before she padded along the side of the horse to Trisha. She gave the older woman a chaste kiss on the lips in appreciation of her actions, one that made Trisha feel a little heat in her cheeks.
Head down on the red leather, Sam pressed his forehead into the cool spongy material. He sensed someone take up position at his front and he shrank. “No more…” he said weakly, his cock aching something fierce.
Trisha pulled him up by the chin, her lubed strapon practically resting on his face. She looked down at him imperiously. “Your technique was pitious, my Lady. We’re going to keep going until we get this right.”
A hand kneaded his redened asscheeks, spreading them before Victoria pressed her strapon to his still slick hole.
Sam took a very deep breath. This was going to be a LOOOOOONG afternoon.
Yui watched the entire spectacle from her place on the chaise lounge, enjoying the show. Trisha had said she was more than welcome to take part, but for now watching from the side was pleasant enough, but as the fucking began again, it did give her a few ideas.
Almost a full 24 hours later and Sam found himself in his bodiore attended by the steady hands of his Lady’s Maids. The ordeal of a practical lesson had left him exhausted to the point that when he’d been sent off to bed, he’d been asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Thankfully, his mind had produced neither dreams nor nightmares, just dark, quiet and restful sleep that had rejuvenated him into the next day. He’d woken, been washed, dressed, watered and fed, expecting another periodic deconstruction of his sense of self.
But as it happened, that hadn’t been on the cards. Today was Saturday, which meant a more relaxing morning and once he had been reminded of it, Victoria’s planned trip down to the local village.
Trisha was absent for his second dressing of the day, the outfit having been selected in advance by Victoria and left to Maids Lily and Dellilah to dress their Lady in. Lily handed Sam a pair of black and red panties made of gossamer thin lace. Dark stockings were gently rolled up his smooth legs, gliding pleasantly against the hairless skin into position. The corset was inevitable; a fresh scarlet piece with black border and laces, its prominent cups marrying with a matching bra to create his usual faux bust.
He stood, resting his hands against the table behind his changing screen, hissing in discomfort as both of the servile women worked to tighten and tie off his laces, the stiff bones of the corset biting down on his waist, feeling his air flow change to accommodate. When the last lace had been tied and bowed, the lace hider slipped into place, Sam let the women lead him by hand towards the vanity.
The lack of fighting back was born of two parts. Firstly the placid submission of his nature and the fact the two maids were polite and caring people.
“Mistress Victoria chose a wonderful raiment for you, my Lady,” Delilah said, feeding the garter straps from the tops of the stockings under the panties waistband. “A breathable material will help with the heat.”
Sam silently nodded in agreement, but to tell the truth he was actually looking forwards to the layers today. It made it less likely that Trisha would jump from some shadow to subject him to another exhausting belt of practical learning and kinetic coupling .
“The red contrasts wonderfully with your hair, my Lady.” Lily chipped in happily, looking up at her lady with admiration. He towered over her, his shoulder length curtain of white hair popping against the red and black of the lingerie.
He blushed at the sparkling admiration in the smaller woman’s eyes. He didn’t want to admit it, but the fact both women kept their words to not call him Carmilla when alone was a sincerely sweet gesture to him. ‘Lady’ still made him chafe, but the fact he had some small modicum of control and agency in his private bedroom was refreshing. Talk of clothing made him look at their uniforms, curiosity poking through his thoughts. “You two…”
“Yes, my Lady?” both answered instantly, finally done attaching his stockings to the bottom of his corset.
Their eagerness was blinding. Sam shook his head subtly with ironic amusement. “Do you ever get hot wearing those things?” He asked, gesturing to their uniforms. Three layers of cotton must have been murder in the dead of summer.
Exchanging a look, the Lady’s Maids wondered how best to phrase their response with Delilah being the one to respond. “It’s usually not an issue. The house is climate controlled depending on the room and time of year and we are all trained on how to deal with the heat. Our uniforms are built for practicality within Mistress Victoria’s vision, and we are trained to deal with any climate.”
Sam raised a snowy eyebrow, interested. “Elaborate,” he ordered.
Lily was happy to answer this time. “Miss Diana runs a fitness course for all serving staff with mandated attendance to maintain a healthy living standard. Part of that is exercise to maintain figure and stamina. Another is a… oh what’s the word?” she said, tapping a finger to her bottom lip as she tried to remember.
“Soak test,” Delilah supplied, earning a happy smile from Lily.
That just raised even more questions from Sam who stared at his two attending maids. He half expected to feel the swat of a riding crop but was gladdened that Trisha would not be present for this upcoming trip out. His heart fluttered at that, even if it was with strings attached.
Someone knocked softly on the door to the bodiore causing all three to look at it. The handle turned, revealing Victoria who walked into the room, already fully dressed. Immediately Sam slipped a hand in front of the ugly bulge in his panties where the lace snagged around the chastity cage, but his eyes were stuck firmly on his lover and domme.
Victoria wore a lilac coloured 1890s walking suit composed of floor length skirt, jacket and a blouse-like white bodice. The bodice had a line of black buttons that ran down its front and the lilac jacket, finished shiny linen, had slight ‘leg of mutton’ puffed shoulders and tapered sleeves. Black strips ran down the jacket’s lapels, mirroring the twin black radial stripes that divided the calves of the skirt from its hem. A black bow was tied at her collar but the accessories didn’t stop there.
Her long black hair had been curled into soft ringlets that cascaded down her back, setting off her simple and tasteful makeup. Each of her hands was occupied, the left holding a large violet clutch bag while carrying a hat box by a ribbon in her right. There was another hat on top of the round box, a straw boating hat with a lapis coloured band running around it.
And Sam liked what he saw. He hated that he did, but couldn’t stop himself by taking in every small detail of Victoria’s ensemble. There was just something about the collection of colours, shapes and silhouette that suited Victoria. Putting off an air of enjoyment that changed the atmosphere of the room the moment she entered. Picking up on her reluctant admirer, Victoria walked deeper into the room.
“You can keep looking if you want, but we should get you dressed if we hope to make it down to Iseultham in time for Afternoon Tea.” she said genially, placing the hat box down on Sam’s vanity table.
The scant moment of appreciation slipped back into grumbles of chagrin, “Let’s get this over with.” he said, sitting down in the chair before the vanity mirror.
Maids Lily and Delilah immediately went to work on his hair, beginning to tease the curtain of tamed white strands up into something a little more historical, even for Victorian standards. It was slowly piled up before being parted, delicate fingers nimbly separating it into strands that were weaved into a crown braid that circled his head, like weaving supple platinum into a series of diadems.
Watching the pattern take form was elegant and put Sam in mind of a depiction he had once seen of Marie Antioneete’s famous ‘boat hair’ where the Austrian Princess and later French Queen had had her hair styled into a decadent recreation of a ship upon the waves. Internally he was thankful he lacked the hair length for such an endeavour, shunning the traitorous thoughts that gloomily said that one day he would. When the last strand of hair was tucked into place, he sported a two tiered dutch crown braid favouring the front of his head.
With that done, the maids brought over the rest of his under and outer garments, seeing an ocean of red and black. Sam clicked his tongue in some dissatisfaction. “I’ve seen enough white to last a lifetime, but isn’t red on Carmilla a little redundant?” he deadpanned.
A pair of lilac covered arms slipped around his neck, firmly soft breasts pushing into Sam’s back as Victoria hugged him from behind. “Some things just work. The bloody countess in red is a classic,” she trilled, giving her wife a playful kiss on the neck before pulling away.
Stamping down on the heat attempting to rush to his cheeks, Sam got to his feet, wanting to get this over with. “So long as there’s no more nasty surprises.”
A singular lilac arm returned, wrapping around his lanky shoulders as Victoria stood beside him. It was here that Sam finally realised something about Victoria, her height. She wore a pair of five inch spiked heeled Victorian walking boots that brought her height all the way up to 6’0”. “Just the one~” Victoria said in a singsong voice, holding up an item she had taken from her clutch.
She held a small red and black buttplug up to the vanity mirror. It was not overly long nor wide, but it had a colour gradient red base that graduated to black tip.
“Really?” Sam frowned in exasperation.
His lover and Mistress cocked her head to one side. “Just as a corset is training your waist, a plug in your pussy is no different.” When Sam’s frown persisted, Victoria gave a testing smirk, “I could always fetch a bigger one if this isn’t to your liking.”
She wiggled the plug between her fingers as if to illustrate her point. Sam chewed on his inner cheek, mulling over the pros and cons of putting up a fight here before finally sighing in defeat. He allowed himself to be gently bent forwards over the vanity table, Victoria using her hand to part his stocking clad legs. She opened a gilded pot on his vanity, revealing it to be full with clear lube that she dipped the plug in to lube it. A black painted nail pulled his panties aside before Victoria pressed the greased tip of the plug to her wife’s hole. He shivered, feeling the unwelcome sensation of penetration, the tight ring of muscles pulling over the invader before sliding past the widest section of the bulbous implement.
Mechanics and physics did the rest. His anus’s pressure came down on the suddenly thinning ‘neck’, sucking the plug in until the red arc of its base sat snuggly against his hole.
Sam shook himself as he retook a standing position, the constant presence of the plug rolling and prodding at his insides. He yelped when Victoria gave his ass a playful slap, glaring daggers at her snickering face while the plug jolted within.
He submitted himself to the layers, a thigh length white chemise being pulled over his head followed by a white petticoat for his lower body. Lily strapped the folding clam of a bustle around his waist as Dellilah piled hip padding atop it. Despite the amount, every garment was deceptively light this time, offsetting the discomfort of the corset and other lingerie beneath.
Now came the outer layers, most of which were a bright red. A red outer skirt was layered over his petticoat, pinning a front panel to it while his bustle and other padding flared out the rest. Its hem and the edge of the front panel were ruffled but still red silk. He slipped on the white blouse easy enough, though it had a ruffled white neckpiece built into its high collar that made it slow for the Maids to button up and hook into the skirt.
Victoria watched the process from a side chair, enjoying the show of her wife being dressed into something stunning. The blouse made her mind catch on something she found amusing, “You know the Americans of the era called this style a ‘shirtwaist’. Don’t you think that’s somewhat boorish? Or maybe it was the misogyny of the era not being able to take a woman wearing something even remotely male adjacent.”
“You’ll hear no complaint from me,” Sam shot back, glad that the blouse was passingly similar to something normal. The ruffled white cuffs tickled him as he moved his arms.
Last was the jacket, which was double breasted in crushed red velvet with black outlining and buttons. Its shoulders were ever so slightly puffy and the arms just short enough to let the ruffled white cuffs of the blouse poke out from underneath it. Buttoning it closed and using the hidden hooks to connect the jacket into one cohesive garment, the white lace cravat spilled out of the empty space from neck to sternum.
He moved lightly in the dress before being bid to sit so his Lady’s Maids could finish his personal effect. When he sat, he felt the plug within him jostle and blushed in embarrassment and tarnished pleasure.
“Pains in the rear can be fun it seems,” Victoria said, catching the ghost of pleasure.
Sam shot her a look but let Lily and Delilah do his makeup. Lily skillfully painted his lashes in black mascara while Delilah used a brush to cover his lips in a glossy crimson lipstick. The brush had an entirely different feel to it compared to a tube of lipstick. Pouting when asked, he looked extremely feminine in the mirror now, almost every detail twisted to the abject.
Thankfully his nails remained untouched but his ears didn’t escape harassment, each being blessed with pretty pearl earrings. The feeling of the posts sliding through holes in his ears still felt alien to him.
The only thing that remained was his shoes, a pair of red lace up Victorian walking boots with black tips that were soon laced tight. The heels were the usual flared inch and a half nubs.
Helped to stand by the Maids, Sam was made to give a small spin by Victoria, feeling the layers of skirting rise up with a waft of air. He looked… good. Really really good. The red and white were a stunning contrast. Pleased, Victoria took the boating hat off the hat box and patted its lid.
“Time to complete the look,” she said, popping the lid and removing its contents. She held a red summer hat with a wide black brim and black band running its perimeter. It was very pretty and fit Sam’s walking suit perfectly. She handed it to Sam who made to put it on but Victoria pressed a new item into his hands. A long, thin black pin about six inches in length with the blue six petaled rosette of the Florence family at one end.
The white haired woman-to-be looked down at the pin, clueless as to its purpose.
“Well?” Victoria asked expectantly, as if the function was obvious.
He rolled the pin in his fingers, “I could probably stab someone with it?” he offered weakly, genuinely not knowing what purpose the pin served.
Victoria looked annoyed for a moment but it quickly softened. Taking back both items, she popped the hat on top of Sam’s head and moved behind him. She pressed the blunt tip of the pin to the black band and pierced it through, running it through his hair beneath and out the other side. “It’s a hat pin. Hats don’t just stay in place in the wind, Blossom.” she explained, the hat now in place and just the lapis blue rosette visible.
Sam’s ‘O’ of dawning understanding was worth the small sidetracking. Especially with those lovely crimson lips. “That’s kind of smart,” he admitted honestly, “I never really thought about something like that.”
Looking into the mirror, he found himself at a crossroads. For a moment he failed to recognise the woman in red as himself, but his mind supplied the feeling of aesthetic pleasure that that woman in red looked good standing next to Victoria. There were an infinite number of things he didn’t like about all of this.
“Shall we be off?” Victoria asked, donning her own straw boating hat and pinning it in place. Her lilac clutch was nestled under one arm.
For Sam, the intrigue and desire to see the back of this house, even if it was temporary, was too good to give up. Swallowing his pride, he tapped into the blasted lessons and offered his arm. Victoria gleefully looped hers with it and began to lead him from the room. He suddenly paused, remembering something. Victoria raised an eyebrow as he turned to look at Maids Lilly and Delilah. “You’re dismissed to your afternoon tasks and pastimes,” he told them.
Victoria beamed at the decorum, mirrored by the happy Lady’s Maids who curtseyed to their Lady.
‘She’s learning.’ Victoria thought, grinning ear to ear as they left the boudoir behind them.
The pair walked with a relaxed gait through the first floor, Victoria standing tall in both senses of the term. Though even had Sam been flat footed he still would have had two inches on her. He marvelled, almost jealous at how she could walk so gracefully in such tall, narrow heels. He was happy about her arm around his for the sake of his balance and not just because of his own heels.
His brows knit together into a pale line, feeling the small plug shift and roll inside him with each step. It wasn’t really a presence he could ignore and to mitigate any discomfort he had to alter his gait, swinging and rolling his hips a little more than normal emphasized by his bustle and waist padding.
Victoria certainly seemed to appreciate the swing in his hips, despite her seeming neutral geniality. That was one thing he was legitimately happy about, being able to read Victoria better, specifically that glint in her beautiful blue eyes. That the sight of him as he was now, that prideful ownership, there was power in that.
Eventually the hallway opened up into the entry hall landing and they descended the main staircase. Sam felt the plug shift from side to side at each step down, letting out muted squeaks of discomfort at the sensation. The large and somewhat floppy hat was also difficult to get used to but Victoria was patient with him, guiding them down the staircase.
“I don’t know how all of this is going to fit into the back of the car,” he said, tapping the brim of the hat, feeling it wobble a little.
“It won’t be an issue if we’re not taking a car.” Victoria replied plainly, causing Sam to ponder what she meant. He steeled himself for some underhanded tactic but tried to maintain some hope that it would just be a fun day out with his girlfriend.
Diana stood by the door, hands clasped in front of her and not a hair out of place. She glided over to them the moment their feet hit the bottom step with a sharp clack of heels on stone.
“Good afternoon, Mistress, my Lady.” she greeted professionally, inclining her head. The tassels on the back of her mop cap rustled against the straps of her apron. “You’re both looking wonderful today. You’ll knock Iseultham on its rear I wager.” she said, praising their walking suits.
Sam blushed, looking away. He still wasn’t used to these compliments.
Diana practically locked onto him, taking a step to one side to get a look at him specifically. “Forgive me, Mistress, but I think your wife is winning the beauty pageant between the two of you. That walking suit is quite sublime, 1888 by my eye.”
“Traitor,” Victoria jested, her voice in a mocking offence, “But yes, your eyes are still very keen, Diana.”
The Housekeeper hummed in reply, looking at Sam and the way his white hair gave him a halo effect amid all the red. “Come, Carmilla, let me get a good look at you.” she said, holding out a hand.
Sam quietly offered his hand, feeling Diana run her hands appreciatively over the fine fabrics.
“Can you give me a little twirl?” she asked, peering over her gold half moon glasses.
The red clad sissy was half tempted to say no but the lilac shape in the corner of his vision reminded him that it was best to do anything he could to keep Victoria in a good mood and reduce the chance of his buttplug being just the start of his debasement that afternoon. He turned on his heel, feeling the waft of flaring skirts as he twirled for the head of the staff.
Clapping appreciatively, Diana nodded in satisfaction. “Capital. You shine up with the best of them, my Lady,” she enthused before dipping her maturely beautiful face, “Thank you for indulging an old maid’s wants.”
“Oh come on, you only turned 46 a few weeks ago,” Victoria joked, making Diana cock her head to one side.
“My ears must be playing tricks on me. Because the girl I raised wouldn’t be inclement about a woman’s age now would she?”
Sam watched the exchange, suddenly very interested in another person who was able to spar verbally with his spouse.
Victoria smirked at the grey haired woman, “She would, as a preface to a comment that you are one of the most beautiful women here,” she said, relinking arms with Sam, “Other than us of course.”
“Ha,” Diana laughed, “Why yes, you do look like a pair of fine young women ready to enjoy a trip out to town.”
“I just hope the weather keeps,” Sam said banally, looking through the windows at the cloud dotted blue sky.
“Carmilla was always one to drop everything and run to cover when it rains.” Victoria related, remember frantic sprinting for the cover of a shop front with nothing but a clipboard for cover.
‘And you don’t know just how deep it goes,’ Sam internalised, the brim of his hat hiding the flash of forlornness in his eyes at thoughts of heavy rain. Victoria didn’t see it.
But Diana did.
Wanting to keep things positive and set her Lady’s worries at ease, Diana piped up. “Well then it is my great pleasure to tell you that the weather forecast is fair and you’ll be happy for your hats.”
Victoria opened her clutch bag and fished out an old, silver backed pocket watch, pouring over it to check the time. Sam saw Diana’s face turn strangely touched at the sight of the watch before clearing her throat.
“Johanna will be bringing the carriage around shortly,” she informed Victoria who smiled, returning the watch to the clutch.
What? Sam did a mental double take at that, eyes widening at the implication. Surely Diana had misspoken? He stared at the grecian woman, his silent look practically screaming ‘You can’t be serious.’
Diana met the look with a small smile and turned to pull open the oaken double doors, flooding the room with light. Sam squinted, acclimatising to the bloom and stepping out onto the front steps.
Both Mistress and Lady crunched down onto the gravel that made up the circular path around the entry green, looking out at the stone inner gates at the long road that sprawled out ahead. The breeze rustled his outfit, his face safely shaded under the wide brim of his summer hat. They stood there waiting, the pleasant wind whispering sweet nothings in their ears until Sam finally heard it.
The sound of hooves and rolling wheels.
Delight frothed up in Victoria in a spring, seeing Sam look at her in disbelief as the sound grew closer and closer until finally something new joined the inner gate opening.
Two healthy strong horses trotted into view, pulling a large black Berlin Carriage behind them. It was a four wheeled carriage with large wheels at all four corners and a door on either side of the cab. Johanna rode up top from a driver's perch, holding the reins and a whip to direct the horses in driving the carriage around the green to the front steps.
Johanna was properly attired, wearing white breeches, black riding boots and a black double breasted frock coat. A white stock was affixed to her athletic neck and her brown hair was covered by a top hat.
The carriage finished its half circuit of the inner green, coming to a stop in front of Sam and Victoria. The former stared ahead with disbelieving eyes, seeing the Florence family crest set into the coach door.
He turned his head to look at Victoria, his neck feeling like it was set in concrete at how slow it moved.
Victoria greeted his disbelieving look with a reminder. “You’re a Florence, love. We go everywhere in style.”
Putting down the reins and whip, Johanna leapt down from the drivers seat to greet her employer. “Mistress Victoria, Lady Carmilla,” she said cordially, removing her top hat to bow, “I will be your driver for this afternoon.” she informed them before replacing her hat.
The Viscountess and her driver slipped into an easy conversation about what the planned agenda for the day was and Sam found himself tuning them out. The carriage dominated his vision. It looked like it had just careened out of the literal past and he wasn’t convinced that his hand wouldn’t pass through it like a ghost if he tried to touch it. The best word he had to encapsulate how he felt looking at this piece of history was amazement.
His eyes drifted to look at the horses that snuffled and panted in place, the full tack of their equipment blinkering their vision to look dead ahead. They were magnificent creatures, he internalised, their coats a gleaming ebony strung tightly over corded, sinuous muscle. It was not his first time seeing a horse and cart. That dubious honour belonged to seeing a group of travelers pass through his birthplace of guildford in his youth.
But their horse had been a malnourished creature and their cart was little more than a metal frame with rubber wheels roughly bolted to the side of it. This? ‘ Is incredible.’ he admitted to himself, trepidation and excitement tingling within him.
Diana walked up beside the white haired sissy, bringing him back to the present. “This evening’s meal is set to be venison steak in honey glaze. But apart from that I wish the pair of you a wonderful afternoon.
Both Sam and Victoria looked at the housekeeper, the former being the first to speak, “Thank you, Diana.” he said, the tremble of excitement echoing in the words.
Johanna opened the carriage door, stepping aside when a set of small steps folded out to make embarkation easier. Victoria was the first to enter, hiking her skirts to climb up into the carriage. She chose the ‘front’ cushioned bench, her back now resting against the padded front of the cabin. Sam took a deep breath before mirroring the action, groaning as when the plug he wore rolled against his insides, hissing in pleasure tinged discomfort when he plopped down opposite the amused Victoria.
The carriage interior was about as luxurious as one would expect, upholstered in blue fabric cushioning and red hard wear carpet on the floor. Two cushioned ‘benches’ sat opposite each other at the front and back of the cabin space, each able to seat three people sitting abreast. There was a decent amount of open space between the two benches and enough head room to be able to stand without having to stoop. Each side had three windows, two small triangular ones and a large square one set into the doors. But that was simply the classical stylings.
A diffused light strip was set into the roof in addition to small drinks cabinets hidden by side panels at either end. Each of the three ‘seats’ that made up a bench had a fold out table that one could use to read as well as charging ports and occluded luggage racks.
Sam spotted something behind Victoria’s head, a small brass plaque with a collection of letters, numbers and symbols. Above it were two lines of cursive carved into the brass.
‘Mobile Wi-Fi Address: FERC1’
‘Caution: 4G only for the time being.’
The door closed with a slam, leaving the pair in silence. Victoria looked at Sam expectantly, and he felt a guilty admittance building behind his lips. Eventually he could hold it in no more. “Okay it’s cool! Happy?”
She was, her face glowing with subtle, dominant enjoyment at him admitting he was enjoying some of this.
Johanna climbed back up into the driver's seat, causing the carriage to sway slightly as she retook the reins.
Looking around the cabin some more, Sam discovered a familiar silver button set into the wall. A childish urge seized him then, he reached out a hand, staying his movement for a second to look at Victoria. “May I?” he asked, rationalising the peak of excitement as wanting to keep his captor happy and avoid issues.
“Break a leg,” Victoria replied, setting down her clutch on the seat beside her.
He pushed the button, being rewarded with a resonant click when the silver button popped out on the end of a black stick that he pulled fully from its mounting, revealed to be a small cane identical to the one in the back of the limousine that had brought him to Eden’s Rest. Taking it in hand, he looked up before lightly rapping the weighted silver end against the ceiling. The carriage rolled off, on its way to do some sightseeing while Victoria took in the simple delight of her wife playing into his role.
The black Berlin carriage drove out of the entry yard and onto one of the many gravel tracks that ran through the grounds of Eden’s Rest, the horse pair pulling it along at a light trot. It trundled with a pleasing sound while its inner cabin remained very level, a blessing of up to day suspension and shock absorbers. Soon the great green fields and flower meadows filled the windows with visual splendor.
“I still can’t believe you have a damn carriage,” Sam said, shaking his head at the mirthful Viscountess.
She held up two fingers across from him, “Technically we have two but the other one is having its suspension upgraded. Believe me, you would not want to ride on leaf springs. My heart goes out to the Crown when they have to ride in the state coach because the word is that a tank has a better ride.”
“Oh of course,” Sam drawled, inwardly glad given the way even the slight bumps jostled his plug, “This is the part where you tell me everything else your family has hidden about the place.”
“Mayyybe~” Victoria groused, enjoying the game.
“Planes.” He started.
“Mmm-hmmm,” Victoria fluttered her eyelashes.
“Helicopters.”
“Technically those are company owned,” Victoria argued the technicality.
“Semantics,” Sam shot back, but was quickly drawn into the game. “Yachts.”
“Regular or super?”
“Fuck off.”
“You first,” she pulled her eyelid down and stuck her tongue out at him.
He ramped up the scale, “An Island.”
She smirked back, “You’re missing an s at the end.”
He shook his head in consternation. “A bloody steam train!”
And then, Victoria frowned, her face falling. Regret seized Sam’s heart at causing the look on his lover’s face. No matter what had passed and how complicated his feelings became, it was not nice to see someone he cared about sad. That sadness slowly morphed into a miffed expression, crossing her arms under her bust with an impish pout.
“We have a train car,” she said, sounding annoyed.
It was Sam’s turn to bite, “But no full train? Victoria I must confess myself disappointed.” he chuckled, making her glare at him and with it felt a surge of enjoyment. “Did Southern complain about leaves on the line during its production?” he ventured in jest.
It drew a sniff of laughter from the aristocrat. Victoria looked out of the window of the carriage, watching a stretch of the forest hove into view. Eventually she sighed, “I really wanted one. REALLY, really badly. But trains, especially steam trains, draw way too much attention from unwanted individuals.”
“Like, the government?”
“Gods no… trainspotters.”
Sam’s mind took in the information and had the lack of foresight to say the first stupid thing that came of it.
“What does Ewan Mcgregor have to do with this?”
The joke earned him a shove from an admittedly giggling Victoria, his eyes widening at the roll of the plug within.
Victoria went on to explain her issue with the niche hobbyists was that they were religious logophiles and kept an ear to the ground for every locomotive based tidbit in the UK and beyond. In fact, they likely had the planned movements of the A1 No. 60163 “Tornado” - one of the recent steam trains in history - before its drivers even did. This was an issue when a family expectation was that you kept your personal life outside of greater knowledge. She wanted a steam train, but didn’t want a crowd of people showing up every time she deigned to ride it.
Again, Sam was caught by just how alien the rules of this way of life were, they perplexed, frightened, frustrated and, perhaps a little, intrigued him. It ran counter to the norms he knew of normal life.
Not wanting to spiral into an existential depression, he focused on the positives, for now he was out of the house. And the sprawling grounds were a joy to behold.
“We aren’t heading for the gate.” Sam said, seeing the perimeter wall, a distant band of high concrete moving away from them.
“Not yet. We’ve got plenty of time so I thought you should see some of the grounds more standout features,” Victoria said, pointing out of the window.
Over the next half hour, the carriage set a gentle pace around the tracks, showing off all sorts of things that Sam had never seen. The Glasshouse, and stretches of forest were marvellous. He tracked birds of prey making swooping dives to pick up unlucky fauna that made their homes in the plane. Eventually they passed a sun bleached stretch of ground where a herd of deer grazed lazily.
“It’s your croaky friends,” Victoria said, recalling Sam’s joke about them sounding like toads.
They definitely didn’t look like toads, Sam thought. They were majestic, the antlered bucks walking proud through the sun, head held high while the doe’s relaxed in the dappled shadows cast by overhanging tree branches. A few of the younger deer watched the carriage pass with cautious curiosity, their ears twitching when the strange horse drawn box trundled by.
Spurring the horses to a canter with a tap from her whip, Johanna drove the carriage up a hillock into an area that had been obscured by the natural rise and fall of the grounds. The hazel eyed sissy’s breath caught in his throat at what he saw. A large, elliptical lake covered a swath of land, fed and drained by two rivers that ran from higher ground and down away from the direction of Eden’s Rest. A small boathouse, more a shed than anything, could be seen on the far side while ducks, geese and even a few swans paddled gracefully across the lake’s surface.
“I bet you’ve eaten swan,” he said glibly, struck by the beauty of the lake.
Victoria shook her head in denial, “Even we’d get fined for killing a swan. The peerage has its limits, Blossom.”
Moving to higher ground, they turned onto a path that began going down again into the fall of a hill and it was there that Sam saw a stone building. And this time he knew what it was before Victoria had a chance to explain. “That’s the chapel.”
“Trisha taught you some house history then. Good,” Victoria said happily, “How much do you remember?”
Oh god, he was being quizzed. He racked his brains for the answers that Trisha had provided several days prior. “The original home of the Florence’s down in Bath was burned down when the family declared for the House of Lancaster during the War of the Roses. When Henry VII took the throne he paid for the original house to be renovated into… into…”
“Alchemilla Hall, where I was born.” Victoria filled in, happy that her wife was picking up on her new family’s history.
Sam picked back up. “When the house was completed in 1488, it cemented a good relationship between the Florences and new house of Tudor.”
Victoria adopted a smug look, “Some say that the choice to unite the red and white roses was the Florence head at the time’s suggestion.”
Sam fixed his lover with a smug look of his own, “Actually, from the sources Trisha showed me, that story seems to be a tall tale that didn’t crop up ‘til the Stuart era.”
The woman stared at him, working her jaw open and closed, unsure how to answer this new info. Sam snickered before continuing the lesson as they drew closer to the chapel.
When the next Tudor King, Henry VIII, had set about the land reforms and stripped property from the church to refill the royal coffers, he had handed some of this land over to royal retainers for loyalty. The chapel had once been a small nunnery with it and the accompanying 5000 acres of land being afforded to the Florence family as their second seat.
“I’ll defer to my studious wife on the tudor rose story,” Victoria said, finally able to make her mouth work again. Seeking to make up some credit she finished off the story of the chapel. “When working on bringing Eden’s Rest to life, Countess Elicia ordered that it be renovated and reconsecrated as the family chapel and graveyard.”
Indeed, there was a small plot of headstones pressed up against the chapel. The chapel itself was a square building made of weathered yellow stone. It was a squat rectangular building in two tiers with a short steeple at its apex. It was comparable to a small house in terms of size.
“That’s where we’ll host our marriage ceremony.” Victoria declared.
“HRrrrrk!?” Sam stared dumbfounded at Victoria, both for what she had said and how blase it was. “I thought-”
“That we were already married? We are. In the family way anyway.” Victoria said as they rolled past the chapel and began to head for the far end of the grounds. “It’s just another quirk of the Florence Legacy love, you have to confirm things in a certain fanfare. But don’t you worry your pretty little ass over it. It’s a loooong way away.”
Turning back onto the long track to the exit gates, Sam eventually spotted a small house nestled in the distance. It looked quite modern, truth be told. “What’s that?”
“Hmmm?” Victoria looked out the window before answering. “Oh that’s Rupert’s house.”
A blank stare greeted her.
“Rupert… the groundskeeper….” Victoria tried, getting no reaction from her wife. She decided to describe the man based on the one time she knew Sam had seen him. “Late 40s, stocky, salt and pepper hair, tweed suit,” she recalled the man had worn the day of the presentation.
Realization beat Sam over the head like a hammer, recoiling into the back of the carriage at the thought of someone seeing him like this.
“Oh don’t be a drama queen,” Victoria chided, looking out of the window for sign of the man. “He’s a lovely fellow. Rupert’s been the groundskeeper at Eden for nearly 30 years. He’s aware of our… kinky proclivities.”
That didn’t give Sam much confidence, pulling in on himself.
His bad luck held when Victoria spotted the groundskeeper walking along the gravel track in the opposite direction.
Rupert was attired much like his wife and daughters. He wore a pair of green workman’s pants and blue T-shirt, shielding himself from the July heat with a fisherman’s hat. He walked with a long hiking stick. He waved in greeting to the carriage which slowed to a halt.
Victoria pushed a button on the side to roll down the window and extended a sunny greeting when the grey haired man stepped up onto the carriage’s running board to poke his head inside. “Hello Rupert. Lovely weather we’re having.”
“Aye, that’s the truth. I’ve got to check up on a fault up on the sprinkler grid.” Rupert replied, a strong Oxfordshire drawl rife in his voice. Up close the man had a kind face with a few wrinkles from a life spent smiling and working. When he talked, Sam could see that one of his front incisors was chipped.
Victoria frowned, “Which grid?”
“#2751,” the man replied, elaborating, “I suspect a crack in the pipe, probably a filter gave out in winter and this problem’s just bearing fruit now.”
“Would you like me to send over some help? Working in this heat can’t be fun.” Victoria reasoned.
The jovial man shook his head, “Thanks for the offer, Viscountess, but it’s nothing I can’t patch in an afternoon.” Rupert said, finally turning to look at Sam. “Ah, the new Lady Florence. I hope your… er…”
“Spouse,”
“Spouse, right, I hope your spouse is treating you right. Might be a Chipping Norton thing, but you always treat your wife right, know what I’m saying.”
What was he even going to say? Hello sir, my girlfriend has routinely drugged and raped me and I’m currently sitting on a buttplug? Oh yes, that totally wouldn’t make him look insane. “Yes,” he settled on, politely turning his head away to shield his mortified face.
Rupert’s happy smile dimmed, fearing he had somehow offended the Lady.
“Forgive my wife, Rupert. She’s still getting used to Oxfordshire.” Victoria said, offering the older man a smile.
That seemed to satisfy the older gentleman. “Ah, I see. No worries there. I know that moving to a new area can be rough. Beautiful dresses by the way,” Rupert said to the both of them. “Never be afraid to pop down to our house. Our door is always open for a Florence and the girls would be giddy to have you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Good day to you, Rupert,” Victoria said, waving farewell to the groundskeeper as he jumped down, returning to his trek. The window rolled back up silently when Johanna spurred the horses into motion.
The huge black iron gates soon hoved into view and Sam felt butterflies in his stomach. Johanna clicked a remote in her pocket, the huge gates swinging in to let the carriage pass, disappearing into the shadows of the forest.
Those butterflies had entered a cocoon of change when the carriage began to trundle and jump over the forest tracks bound for Iseultham, emerging as shocks and sparks of reluctant pleasure and discomfort as the plug was ground against Sam’s soft anal walls.
His eyes swam with an intoxicatingly potent myriad of emotions and sensations. Victoria drank them in greedily, but then the sight of Sam’s eyes reminded her of something.
“Carmilla,” she said, getting his attention as she opened her clutch bag. Within the clutch were an eclectic collection of items that went unseen to Sam. Her silver pocket watch, both her and Sam’s phones, her wallet, a pair of colour coded gloves and matching fans. Then there were the stranger items: A ball gag with a red rubber rose growing from its front, what looked like a gum shield and the item she was searching for. “There’s a few finishing touches we have to add to your effect before we reach Iseultham.”
Victoria drew out a small contact lens case. This confused Sam greatly who made a face rich with his lack of understanding.
“On paper you’re an albino, and albino’s” she uncapped the case, revealing two ruby coloured contact lenses floating in sterile fluid, “have red eyes.”
“You have to be joking.” Sam stated, incredulous at the request.
The case was waved back and forth before being held out to him. This was a big ask, it was also a test to see if he would do as asked on small little things rather than just the big ‘theres a carrot or a stick’ dominations. Tension building, he accepted the case, concluding that it was better to keep her in a good mood to cash in points to avoid any later sadism that might crop up.
He popped the case and took one of the contacts onto the tip of his finger, gently pulling back his eyelids to slip the bendy coloured cover over his hazel eye. “It’s been a minute since I last had to do this,” he mused.
“Last May’s MCM I think?” Victoria questioned, memories of London’s Comic Con fond in her mind.
The two had gone as a couple to sample the many nerdy sights. Victoria had enjoyed the artist section while Sam had been there to try and grab some obscure Blu Rays. Also to stare at all the things he wanted but refused to buy due to fearing cost and logistics. He cursed his past self for a moment, feeling like he could scream at his younger self about what having infinite resources and space would entail.
One particular stall was selling cosplay equipment with a special game at work. If you were willing to try on their contact lens range and snap a pic for social media then you could win a limited edition Pokemon plush. The numbered kind that were unique to specific Pokemon centres in Japan. And when Victoria had laid her eyes on a Shinobi Zoroark she had practically swooned. One pic of him briefly sporting slightly wonky Sharingan later and Zoroark had been safely stashed away in Victoria’s backpack, the art student laying a searing kiss on her man as thanks.
Putting both in, he blinked several times to get them seated correctly, getting over the odd feeling that wearing contacts brought. Victoria hid her enthusiasm masterfully, but the sight of her wife’s eyes as their true colour, even if temporarily and a shadow of their true richness made her heart flutter, agape alive in her chest.
“Comic Con is always fun. Maybe we can check it out when it rolls back around again in October.” Victoria considered.
Sam wasn’t opposed, was something more normal and as far away from this hellhole as possible. “I’d love to.” he said genuinely.
Blue eyes turned in thought, then Victoria shook her head, “Hmm, actually we will be very busy in that time frame, I doubt we can spare even a single day.” she said, aware of Yui’s timetable for Viral Therapy. Sam visibly sagged at that, so she added. “May however is much more realistic. I’ll be expecting some fine cosplay though!”
“Oh god…” Sam groaned, future embarrassment eching backwards through time.
Victoria pulled out the gloves next, tossing the red pair to Sam where they landed in his lap, “Ladies are nothing without their gloves.” she quipped, pulling on her purple ones. “What would you like to go as if given the chance?” Victoria practically squeed at the thought of cosplaying.
Sam looked at the red gloves, turning them over in his hands. He fixed Victoria with a challenging look. “If you suggest The Handmaid’s Tale I’m getting out of this damn carriage.” he said, looking at the sheer amount of red he was wearing. A hand went to the brim of his summer hat. “The hat’s wrong for it anyway.”
Victoria tapped a finger under her eye, causing Sam to scowl at the reference. “The doors are locked and we are still close enough to the house to go back for a change,” she verbally reposted. “I think you’d look very good in a pretty white bonnet.”
“Wings,” Sam corrected.
The show had been a come up for case study at Uni as use of colour on film and TV to convey theme and meaning. As such he had done a cursory investigation of the book and while he hadn’t read all that much of it back then, the name of the bonnets the Handmaids were forced to wear being ‘Wings’ had stuck with him for the sick irony in it. That book had been on his mind a lot recently it seemed, ever since he found that Trisha had slipped it into his ‘recreational reading material.’
“It would make for a fun cosplay, you have to admit,” Victoria joked, seeing it now. “I can just imagine a night of ravaging Handmaid Ofvic,”
That struck a sour tone for Sam. “You have to see how dystopian such a repressive society is, Victoria.”
“It is. But the difference between sexual dominance and sexual authoritarianism is just a matter of consent and scale.” Victoria put rather eloquently, surprising Sam. Seeking to engage in the conversation to pass the time but still put her wife at ease, Victoria expanded. “For all our dynamic and the scale relative to you, in the grand scheme of the world it’s small, not fit for the many. It is ours, our right, privilege and reality. For the few, not the many.”
“A microcosm on a macro scale,” Sam concluded succinctly
“I like that,” Victoria rumbled with a husky note, “But when it comes to cosplay and religious sex, you would cut a tasty looking figure in a nun’s habit writing out your testeents,” Sam’s cheeks dusted with pink. “A pious day and a sinful night at the hands of this apostate of Lilith,” Victoria gave a small theatrical bow.
“Yeah, well,” he scrambled to find a rebuke to hide how much that mental image did things to him, “You look like Clara Clayton from Back to the Future 3 you….nun fucker!”
“Ha!” Victoria barked a laugh, “One of my personal heroes was a nun fucker, Blossom. Please serenade me more!”
The trip through the forest was thankfully faster than it had been by car which Victoria said was due to the many ways. There were many paths through the forest by design in order to make it difficult to find one's way to Eden’s Rest. His first time by car had been a deliberately meandering track to disorientate him.
Whinnying in anticipation of the journey being over, the horses cantered into the village of Iseultham, a charming little village of 900 people built around the river that flowed down from Eden’s Rest. Sam peaked out of the carriage windows, worry and nerves at war within him. What were people going to say when they saw him? Point and laugh no doubt.
Victoria’s lilac gloved hands slipped into Sam’s red ones and gave a reassuring squeeze, picking up on her wife’s worry. It didn’t totally diminish the worry but the small gesture definitely took the edge off. He squeezed back, meeting his lover’s dominantly adoring look.
The carriage came to a stop beside one of the cobblestone bridges that crossed the river that naturally meandered through the village. Johanna stepped down from her perch and opened the door for them, holding out a hand for Victoria when the steps folded out. Victoria got to her feet but before taking the eldest Hammlalain sister’s hand she reached above her into one of the luggage racks.
Sam watched with intrigue, then chuffed in surprise when the Viscountess withdrew a pair of colour coded lace parasols. One purple, the other red.
Johanna helped Victoria down before the latter turned to offer a hand to her wife. Sam stared at the hand with trepidation, already hearing laughter and sneers from outside of the carriage. He reached out his hand, braced himself for humiliation and stepped out.
It never came. Sam looked around the quaint little thoroughfare, made up of a few old world markers like a dedicated post office, bank and pub married with boutique shops and restaurants. The distant steeple of a church on the horizon. And the people… didn’t overly pay attention to them.
Sure they looked, peaked in curiosity, but the moment they seemed to realise who it was they just offered a smile or a wave and went about their day.
“Afternoon, Viscountess!” a young man called out of his car window as he drove past, a wave Victoria returned.
Sam stared at Victoria, mouth catching flies. Victoria simply popped open both parasols, pressing the red one into his hands and kicking her own up to her shoulder with a flourish. Linking arms, they began a slow walk together along the main street, Victoria smiling, Sam bewildered.
Eventually the questions grew too loud in Sam’s head. He leaned into Victoria’s ear, “ Fess the fuck up, right now!” he hissed.
Victoria laughed richly, throwing her head back in mirth. When the laughter died back she decided to illuminate her wife. “A tildy little tythe of money flows from FMC into the village coffers every year and has done since 1900. It keeps everything going and subsidizes their needs and as a result it leaves the residents… appreciative of some of our eccentricities.”
They toured the town, the wonderful summer sun and pleasant breeze ruffling their walking suits and as much as Sam hated to admit it. It felt good to see such a beautiful place with someone who loved him.
While the Viscountess and her Lady were enjoying a picturesque stroll around Iseultham, there was some activity happening back up at Eden’s Rest. On the Ground Floor, in an exercise room that was normally off limits to serving staff, six women could be seen in varying states of workout gear. Four of them were gathered around a large mat in the centre of the room with the last two standing on the mat itself.
“Begin!” spoke a light voice in accented English.
Both of the women on the mat dropped into low stances and circled one another slowly before launching themselves at the other. They came together in a turning grapple of arms, trying to push the other over but their strength was dead even. The blonde of the two stepped in and tried to hook the other woman’s leg, hoping to trip her. Seeing the move, the dark haired combatant dragged her foot out of the range of the blonde, lowering her centre of gravity to gain a greater sense of balance.
The orientation change was quick, causing the blonde to lean forwards and catch the thigh of the darker haired woman rocketing back up into her gut. The wind was half knocked from the blonde’s lungs, sent back in a jerking motion. The dark haired of the two flashed with happiness, but the feeling died a moment later. The blonde let the strike carry her backwards, hands still tightly gripping the other woman’s wrists, falling backwards and wrenching the other woman forwards.
Yelping in surprise, the dark haired of the pair could do nothing as she was wrenched forwards, the blonde bringing her legs up as her back touched the mat. The blonde pushed out with her feet, placing both on the dark haired woman’s stomach and levered. Simple mechanics did the rest, flipping the dark haired woman fully inverted before she landed on her back against the mat with a loud slap.
The blonde rolled, rising to her knees and pinning a hand to the dark haired woman’s shoulder, reeling back a palm to aim for the other’s jaw.
“Enough!” the accented voice called out again, bringing the blonde to a halt. “Point, Maid Jeanne.”
Maid Jeanne, the pretty blonde of Victoria’s Lady’s Maids, nodded at the referee and relaxed before getting to her feet. She wore a pair of black spandex workout briefs with white stripes running down the sides and a matching sports bra. Her hair was kept in place by the still present maid headband, her gold pin of the office slid into it.
She offered a hand to the other woman, whose silver pin of office glinting in the ample natural light that flowed in from the windows. “Good job dodging the leg sweep, Delilah.”
Maid Delilah hoisted herself into a sitting position, accepting an offered hand from the senior Lady’s Maid. “Well you kept getting me with it all last week.” she replied with a note of vexation. “I still lost the round though.”
Maid Jeanne patted the mocha skinned maid on the shoulder goodnaturedly, “That’s just experience. You’ll be able to knock me or Chloe for six in no time.”
They split, each returning to their partner attendant. Lily and Delilah wore tight black bloomers instead of shorts, their more bare bodies sporting scuffs and light bruises from the combat with their peers.
“Good sportsmanship, ladies.” said Sofia Hämäläinen, stepping onto the mat. She was the youngest of the three Hämäläinen sisters at 29, her blonde hair, usually kept in long bangs, was gathered in a bun much like the maids. She wore a pair of grey spandex yoga pants and a sleeveless top. “Both of you should keep working on leverage for throws. But keep in mind that a belligerent will not care for sport if they’re set on attacking your Ladies. In a combat situation, neutralize the threat as quickly as possible.”
“Yes, Miss Hämäläinen!” chorused all four Lady’s Maids.
“You also won’t be conveniently in your exercise best. Make use of your uniforms to blind, disorient and subdue. A Hurricanrana with a floor length dress will succeed in doing all three.” Kaarina Hämäläinen took up position next to her younger sister who was an inch taller than her. Kaarina had short, close cropped brown hair the same shade as her elder sister. She wore a tight fitting red wrestling singlet with the finnish flag and a rank insignia.
This was the latest in a long line of lessons that the four Lady’s Maids had been undertaking, though for Lily and Delilah it was new.
As it turned out, it was part of the Lady’s Maids ‘additional classes’ to better serve their Lady.
A Lady’s Maid was a steadfast attendant in personal matters that went beyond the duties of the rank and file Housemaids or even Diana’s Parlour Maids. They dressed Carmilla, bathed her, escorted her to lessons and pastimes and put her to bed. They were at her disposal and use in almost every capacity so long it did not betray Victoria, Diana or Trisha’s orders. If Carmilla wished to make the pair attend her naked for the day, they would. If she wanted to cane them for fun, they would take it. If she grew sexually frustrated, then they would be happy to be invited into her bed to sate every urge.
But this role was also to be a shield against harm should Carmilla’s safety ever be infringed. In layman’s terms, they had to be trained and prepared to throw hands if ever the need arose. And for that there were the Hämäläinen trio.
The three Finnish women had histories in security and the military before being employed by FMC and the Florence family. Their jobs as ‘Valets’ included chauffeur work, security and when needed, corporate wetwork. It was a cushy position that let them live in the gatehouse at the front of Eden’s Rest as well as high pay, plenty of benefits and an immaculate healthcare package. But it also meant they were the premiere teachers of hand to hand combat at the house and were in charge of whipping the Lady’s Maids into shape beyond Diana’s fitness regimens.
“Pair up, I want to try a melee situation.” Kaarina said seriously. The Lady Maids did that with Delilah and Jeanne facing off again. Lily faced the chestnut haired Chloe. Of the four Lady’s Maids, Lily was definitely the shortest. “Begin!”
The mat quickly devolved into a tangle of limbs and claps of flesh and bone hitting the mat. Lily, deceptively strong and fast, was able to slip under a grab from Chloe, sliding between her seniors legs and pouncing on her from behind, latching onto Chloe’s back in a full nelson.
Holds, grabs and submissions were drilled into Carmilla’s Lady’s Maids more than Victoria for the simple reason of being needed in case the Lady of Eden’s Rest ever came down with a bout of ‘wifely hysteria’.
Chloe tried to shake Lily but the little redhead clung on like a limpet mine, the arch of her clapped hands pressed tightly to the back of Chloe’s neck. Chloe braced her abdominal muscles, “Maid Lily, I’d advise clenching your teeth!” she warned before jumping backwards, body slamming the little maid into the mat with a loud bang.
Lily gasped in disorientation, her arms loosening enough for Maid Chloe to escape her grip. She tried to get up only for an elbow strike from Maid Jeanne to send Delilah careening back, tripping and falling on top of her partner in a pile.
“Umph!/Gah!” both exclaimed, floundering on the mat. When they had adhered themselves they found both of their seniors offering them hands to stand.
“Remember, a short, sharp strike from a bodily hardpoint will almost always be more efficient and deal more damage than a haymaker.” Sofia reminded them, tapping the various points on her body to demonstrate her points. “The most effective hardpoints are the base of the palm, elbows and knees. Now…again!”
Half an hour of rough housing later and Carmilla’s two Lady’s Maids were sitting in their shared bedroom on the first floor, tending to their smarting injuries.
“Pffffffaaaaaa,” Lily hissed through gritted teeth, feeling the mix of cold relief and excited ache from the ice pack that Delilah pressed to her back, the clear blue cold gel radiating soothing coolness into the angry red welt there from where Chloe had body slammed her. Eventually the soothing beat the stinging down into a dull ache and Lily’s green eyes became relaxed. “God that feels good,” she said into the palm of her hand.
Delilah chuffed in amusement at her partner’s now dreamy expression. “Summer treat,” she quipped, pulling the ice pack away and touching it to the small bruise on her shoulder. The dark skinned woman winced at the ache, “Kaarina has a hell of a right hook,” she said, recalling that this was from a glancing blow from the former military women.
“And I’d take six rounds with all three of the Hämäläinens over one of Miss Diana’s punishments any day of the week.” Lily replied, shivering at the thoughts of what the Housekeeper could do when truly annoyed.
“That’s different. More cerebral,” Delilah argued, recalling that it was less about physical pain for Diana and more about the embarrassment and humiliation factor.
They continued to soothe their bodies until the pains had all faded to the pleasant ache of good exercise, their faces rosy from thumping hearts and measured deep breaths. But without fail, their minds eventually turned to one subject in particular.
“I hope Lady Carmilla is having a nice time down in the village.” Lily wondered, leaning up against her mocha skinned partner, nuzzling against her affectionately when she wrapped an arm around her. “She looked incredible in that walking suit!”
“She did!” Delilah agreed, “I’m so jealous of the Mistress being able to have a nice day out with her.”
Lily nodded, just imagining the beautiful statuesque sissy striding through the sunny streets of the village, turning heads in her submissive yet stunning way. The mental image made both of their heart rates jump.
For Lily and Delilah, the flourishing of their Lady into her role was the greatest joy possible. Both of the servile women deeply cared about their Lady even if they had physically known her for less than two weeks. They had known of her, or rather the person who would become her, for months in advance. She and their positions as her Lady’s Maids was the culmination of a long and exhausting journey.
Lily didn’t remember her birth surname anymore. She hadn’t thought about it for years since becoming a servant of the Florence family but she recalled that there wasn’t all that much goodness associated with it. She was a London girl, born and bred from a middle of the road family in the early to mid 2000s. An origin she likely shared with millions of other around the capital of the UK. Her father had been a housing agent, the sole breadwinner of the family in a business that seemed to be endlessly lucrative at the time. But most good things come to an end and do so with a horrid clang.
Her father had lost everything when the housing market crashed in 2008 and instead of trying to muddle through, the weak coward of a man had run out on the family rather than face the consequences. Lily could still recall sitting on the bottom step of their little terraced house waiting for her father to come home, feeling the temperature drop off after the sun dropped over the west horizon, the harsh orange of street lights offering no warmth in the absence of her father. Like the sun itself had left her life.
The redheaded Lady’s Maid’s mother had remarried to keep afloat and her new stepfather had hardly been a pastoral paragon. It was fitting, she reflected, that she couldn’t recall his name because the man hadn’t taken kindly to her existence, seeing Lily as an intolerable annoyance to get in the way of his new squeeze. Eventually she had reached her wits end and just ran away from home and not looking back, taking what little money she had and trying to live a life.
But what could she do? Barely out of school with absentee parents and nothing but the clothes on her back and a dwindling supply of money? It had driven her to desperate and dark avenues she did not want to think about, all blurring together into her lowest point. The darkest moment before dawn.
One day money had run out and Lily walked through an empty London, the sky's grey with mist and pre-dawn light. She didn’t know where she had been going, she didn’t know how unhealthy she looked. All she knew was that when she had stopped walking she stood on a bridge across the Thames, staring out at the grey water of winter’s morning. She was invisible, as notable a person as the jostling grey river water, shrouded in mist.
She didn’t know what she was going to do, but in that moment she had wanted anything, even if it had to be the embrace of those cold waters.
What she had got instead was a warm life of duty, revealed by a richly accented voice.
“I wouldn’t step off if I were you. There’s too few of us gingers and I’d hate to see one less with my own eyes.”
She’d looked over her shoulder that long ago winter morning and been frozen like a deer in headlights. Rendered speechless by the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. She was half a decade Lily’s senior with red hair and green eyes like Lily but different shades. Lily’s hair was ginger, the woman’s was the crimson of fresh spilled blood. Lily’s eyes were emerald, this woman’s jade. A dark saloon waited behind the woman idling, its back dor open invitingly.
The conversation had been short, but something she had needed. An act of charitable empathy, a hand extended to someone who had needed it for something as basic as breakfast at a nearby hotel. As Lily had learned over breakfast at the -as it turned out, fancy- hotel, the woman was a Florence, a cousin of Victoria’s to be precise, though that didn’t narrow things down given how large the family was.
The warm, buttery food and endless cups of sweet teas and citrusy juices had made Lily well up on this woman, this stranger with the surname Florence. Pouring out the chain of misery that had brought her to that dark crossroads in the bridge.
Hearing the situation the young woman was in, the Florence cousin had offered her a job, or at least the road to one. A certain training school owned and run by a FMC shell company.
The Florences offered a lot of paths to employment but Lily had found herself drawn to Maidwork, because with it she found a place to work, something to live for and a driving force to be proud of. And it was there that she had met Delilah, her inseparable partner in crime.
Compared to Lily who had fallen into the Maid life by almost accident, for Delilah it was a bit more of a family business. Many servants of the Florence family have served the family in one way or another for generations. Delilah was a third generation maid with her family. Her mother was a Maid at Alchemilla hall while her father worked as one of the Earl George Florence’s accountants.
Her family name was not something the mocha skinned maid had said in years, falling into the tradition of abandoning her surname upon being raised to a Maid of the Florence Family. But her family, they owed a debt to the kinky aristocrats that went back decades. Her family had came to the UK in the early 1950s, carried on the deck of the Empire Windrush seeking a better life in a post war world. But when the deep systemic problems with the Windrush scheme had been exposed in the 1970s, her family had been slated to be sent back despite the fact they had been here for decades.
It was their employ by the Florence family that had stayed their fate, and three generations later they still served the family that had uplifted them from being sent back to poverty by a government that cared more for paperwork than people. As mentioned, there were many paths into servitude under the Florence family. Some were employed never knowing of their sexual appetites and aristocratic dominance. Many did and kept it to themselves. Some were born into it and some had been forced. It was a complicated web of nuance, duty and submission.
Delilah was born into the role of a servant but did not have to be a Maid. In fact, her mother had hoped she would grow up into a job at FMC. But to Delilah, who had grown up amongst servants, had given her insight into the bounty in being a domestic servant of a great house. So she had chosen to become a maid like her mother before her. After completing her paid for education she had wanted to follow in the family footsteps and become a Maid, a calling where she had met and become inseparable with Lily.
They knew not all of the Maids had come into this life by choice, but they had long been conditioned to baseline obedience to the Florences and their kinky quirks and earmarked for service under Victoria before she had even taken over Eden’s Rest. That baseline subservience and joy at work had been reinforced through subliminal and hypnotic suggestion at the hands of Yui’s implantation but that only created a base. Their devotion, their passion, their love for the role, the work, the house and their Lady? That was genuine.
They had been shown photos of the late Mr Hayes the moment Victoria had set her heart on claiming him. Taken exams and tests to earn their place as the Lady’s Maids of the soon to be Lady of the house. They could still feel how happy they had been upon being awarded the role by Diana and the sisterhood of their peers being the happiest day of their lives.
Delilah nuzzled her red haired partner, “We should probably get back into uniform before Lady Carmilla gets home,” she said to Lily before getting up, going to retrieve the collection of clothing resting on their beds.
The feel of a hand around her wrist made her stop. She looked back at Lily, her fiery red hair looking oh so pretty in the natural light. “Delilah… I’ve an ache I need you to see.”
The mocha skinned maid allowed herself to be drawn back to the bed, watching the pale shorter Maid looked at her with the fire of desire. “Where?” Delilah asked, crawling up the bed until her arms were either side of Lily’s head.
A pale ginger tapped her temple, “Here.”
Delilah sank down, enjoying the feeling of her partner’s toned legs wrapping around her waist. She laid a small kiss on the redhead’s temple.
“Here,” Lily purred, tapping her neck and letting out a moan of delight when her sister maid kissed her neck passionately. She wrapped a hand around the tight bun of black hair and brought her own lips within millimetres of the silver appointed fellow. “And here~”
They kissed then, wet fire falling over them like napalm, soon rolling in its embrace. Their Lady had given them an afternoon to themselves, so it was best to use it.
The summer afternoon had been exceedingly good to Sam and Victoria who had walked a loop of the small village of Iseultham. It was a warm midsummer day but the persistent breeze and the shade of their hats and parasols had been ample to just enjoy the sights and sounds. A lot of the walk had been spent in pleasant contemplative silence, interspersed with Victoria occasionally pointing out a landmark or shop she knew. She masked it very very well, but Sam could feel a melancholy to some of the descriptions, regretting that it had taken so long to bring him here.
And it was a very pretty place. Nobody bothered them beyond a wave or inclined head and those that did look with surprise and shock were past in a few strides around winding street corners. According to Victoria, while the living population was a little over 900, the boutique restaurants and shops attracted some tourists or those ‘in the know’ about this little slice of old England.
Most would never even know that there was an estate nearby, and the concept that it was run by an aristocrat with a corporate black budget and more kinks than dominatrix’s Amazon wishlist was even fewer.
Crossing the cobblestone bridge arm in arm, Sam caught Victoria looking up at him with loving eyes, causing him to blush. That and the feeling of the plug rolling within him with each step he took. He didn’t know what had been in that lube but it had kept the turgid bulb of silicone able to tickle and excite his insides enough to feel the beginnings of hardening in his cock, caged beneath a mountain of plastic and silk.
With the exception of the plug, the heels and the outfit, Sam reluctantly had to admit that he was enjoying himself. There was just something so mundanely simple about walking around a nice town with his girlfriend and lover. ‘Spouse’ his mind supplied, adding another spot to an otherwise spotless experience. He still felt annoyance and frustration at that term, yearning to know why it was that term used instead of husband.
Not that he was fond of that title either.
Victoria snapped open her clutch and pulled out her silver pocket watch, handling it gently between her lilac gloved fingers. Seeing the time she returned the watch to the clutch safely before giving Sam’s arm a pull. “Come on, Carmilla. It’s about time for Afternoon Tea,” she said happily.
“ Great, ” Sam replied flatly, the amount of Tea he had drunk these last weeks not having shifted his opinion on the drink. It was still just watery leaf juice to him.
She squeezed his arm in response and navigated them back to the main thoroughfare that ran through the village. The sound of their heel clicks were distinct, cutting through the burble of village life in their own way. Sam’s was a resonant clunk ‘Clunk-pap!’ of deliberate slow heel to toe while Victoria’s was a sharper ‘Click!’.
Eventually they came to the front of the teahouse, a quaint black and white building in tudor styling with two stories. A sign hung over the front door lightly swaying in the wind. It depicted a barn owl perched on the rim of a steaming cup of tea and the name painted under it. ‘Camellia’s Parlament’
Sam’s nerves tingled as Victoria pushed the door inwards, hearing the sound of a quant jangling bell chiming over the bell with their entry. It was a classical looking tea room broken up into several rooms with small circular tables seating up to four people at a time on plush fabric armchairs. Men and women of many extractions filled the main area, sipping from fine china cups and snacking at sandwiches and pastries stacked on tiered silver platters.
The ringing shop bell barely roused any attention from the diners who were much more interested in gossiping and quiet eating. But one of them, a man in his 30s in a slick suit, looked up from a watercress sandwich. And when he looked at the two Victorian styled ladies his mouth fell open. Sam pursed his lips, his embarrassment growing when the distant man shook his feminine partner who also looked around, eyes widening at seeing them.
The burble of interest and looking eyes radiated out until almost every person on the open floor looked at them in amazement or curiosity at their outfits.
When he feared his nervousness would get the better of him he felt Victoria’s lips brush past his ears. “They’re mostly from out of town. This place is an invite only tearoom with a no phones policy.” she assured him.
By that point a member of staff was moving to approach them. He was a healthy looking man in his late thirties wearing a three piece black suit with a red tie. “Viscountess Florence. It’s been too long.” The man greeted the raven haired aristocrat politely.
“Likewise, Lincoln,” Victoria greeted in a friendly manner, her voice taking on that slightly more refined cadence of state speech. “Carmilla, this is Lincoln, the owner of this pastel slice of class.” Victoria said before gesturing to the red clad sissy. “And Lincoln, this is my wonderful new wife, Carmilla. Be a dear and greet our host for this afternoon correctly.”
Sam gulped, knowing the hidden implication of what would happen if he didn’t. His currently red eyes met the grey gaze of the tea room owner and forced a small but convincing smile. He removed the glove from his right hand and offered it to the man, wrist bent. “Charmed,” Sam greeted, affecting a feminine tenor.
Taking the offered hand gently in his, Lincoln inclined his head to kiss it, his lips brushing Sam’s knuckle gently. “The honour and pleasure is all mine, my Lady.”
The stylish sissy just smiled quietly, his insides squealing and withdrawing his hand when Lincoln let go.
“Wonderful. Now, I have prepared the Flower Room upstairs for your private use. Can I trouble you two lovely ladies for your hats and phones?” Lincoln asked naturally.
“Of course,” Victoria removed her hat in one fluid movement and handed it, along with her parasol and their two phones to the owner quickly. Sam was slower, slowly pulling the hat pin from his summer hat and pulling the hat from his head. His dutch braid in white remained untouched, causing another burble of intrigue from the main room’s occupants.
Sam tried not to look at any of the other patrons as Lincoln handed the collected effects off to a server before leading both spouse and wife up the stairs, exciting the plug within the red eyed Lady.
‘Everyone stared ,’ he mentally remarked, a humiliating admission. Victoria’s assurance that nobody had phones to capture this moment was a hollow comfort and was quick to ascend the steps. Plug in his rear be damned, he had to get away from those eyes!
The ‘Flower Room’ was a private parlor on the top floor of the tea room facing the front of the building. It was so named because the outer perimeter of the room was dominated by dozens of large flowers and other plants, giving the room the air of an indoor garden. The far wall was dominated by a huge triplicate window that provided a beautiful look over the village, the river running through its centre sparkling with afternoon glory. A single round table had been set for two with fine white linens.
Lincoln and a female server pulled out the armchairs for them to sit with Sam giving a strained feminine grunt when the seat drove the plug deeper into him. “Please take a moment to take in the ambiance before ordering,” Lincoln advised them before he and the server left the two alone.
Victoria relaxed into the soft chair and checked her nails for some invisible imperfections. “Ahh, there’s nothing quite like Afternoon Tea.” she sighed in contentment.
“I’m guessing there’s a difference between that and High Tea?” Sam asked, having spent most of his life only hearing about High Tea.
But his captor offered him no answers beyond a hum, instead handing him a menu to look though. Opening the binder, Sam felt sweat pool at the back of his head seeing the smorgasbord of names, styles and blends on offer. By the time Lincoln returned he had barely got through the first page and his head was already spinning.
“What would the Ladies like for their initial pots?” he asked, flipping open a notebook and clicking a pen.
Victoria consulted the menu easily, selecting what she wanted. “Darjeeling with a slice of lemon,” she ordered, earning a knowing nod from Lincoln who noted it down.
“Uhhh,” Sam hesitated, trying to maintain the feminine intonation with a quickly drying mouth. Finding nothing he fell back on what he knew, “German Breakfast Tea, please.”
“Kicking a coffee habit are we?” Lincoln smiled.
But before his pen touched the notepad Victoria made a disapproving noise.
“Carmilla, we’re out on the town. The least you can do is push the boat out and order something out of the norm,” she told her wife to Lincoln’s amusement and Sam’s growing worry.
“Oh… of course, Victoria,” he answered, gripping the menu a little tighter. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep the voice going. Quickly scanning the menu again, his red eyes tried to zone in on something that didn’t look like it would put a curse on him to say. When he only found gibberish he decided to take the choice out of his own hands. He looked up at Lincoln, “Do you have any recommendations?” he asked, adding, “preferably sweet.”
The tea shop owner considered the request, making a thinking noise, “I’d suggest Honey Black Tea. It will also add to the aroma of the Viscountess’s draft of choice.”
“Let’s go with that then,” Sam confirmed, just wanting the ordeal to be over.
The owner noted down the order before taking their menus, “It will be with you shortly. I’ll leave you ladies to your conversations.”
That tickled Victoria for some reason. “Oh come now, Lincoln, we aren’t idle Muffin Wallopers.” she joked.
A joke that flew right over Sam’s head.
When the smartly dressed man had left the room and closed the door to give them privacy, Sam let the act drop. He pushed back on his chair and rested an elbow on the table.
“You are the actual devil,” he accused.
Victoria giggled behind her hand, “That’s slander to hear from my own wife in public.”
“I’m not your wife, Victoria.” Sam deadpanned, rebuking the hammed up notion.
She smirked at him, noselling the rebuke. “Well then I’m currently having tea with my wife’s sexy erudite evil twin sister then.”
Sam held the look before finally snorting with laughter at the dry joke, tickling him despite the situation.
Victoria was happy to see that this version of Sam was still in there, melding with what she knew as Carmilla. ‘and if that’s the case then we can get on with tea like we used to.’
The door to the flower room opened again several minutes later. Lincoln walked in followed by a male and female server pushing two trollies stacked with pots of tea and tiered trays full of culinary delicacies and even bottles of wine. They quickly stacked the table with the collection before all three bowed and left, mentioning that they would be by to check up on them in 45 minutes to make sure all was going well but handed Victoria a beeper to call a server if anything was wrong.
Alone again, Sam looked at the assembly of plates, flatware and food and let out an overwhelmed pleading noise. “Please for the love of god let there not be cutlery etiquette here.”
Victoria chuckled, enjoying his confused face, “No, but there is an order that I’ll explain to you” she said before succinctly explaining the general stages or Afternoon Tea.
Generally Afternoon Tea could be codified into four stages like the stages of a meal. Except instead of working from the outside in with cutlery, you followed the tiers of the silver tray towers.
Tea: Enjoyed on its own to set the tone
Finger Sandwidges: the largest and bottom rung of the tower, usually enjoyed with savory tea
Pastries, jams and creams: a neutral to sweet transition.
Confections and wine: A sweet end to the whole production.
Victoria chose to pour on behalf of both of them, her Darjeeling filling her large china cup until the slice of lemon in it floated on top. She took up Sam’s teapot next, gently filling his cup where it rested on a saucer. The Honey Black Tea was a rich amber colour and wafted with a potent sweet scent that made Sam’s tongue begin to water within his mouth.
The reason why Sam didn’t pour his own tea was due to, as Trisha had reminded him relentlessly, still not being trusted to handle his own food and drink.
“Hot leaf juice doesn’t seem all that complex,” he griped, looking down into the fragrant concoction.
Victoria smirked at his brusque wording. “There are some circles that would sling you into the street for saying that out loud.”
“Lucky me,” Sam grumbled, picking up the tea cup with his index and middle fingers. Bringing it up to pose, he stuck his pinky finger out, trying to emulate the snobs with sticks up their ass that loved being so pointlessly fancy.
Darkness stained Victoria’s face, her smile dropping. “Knock that off,” she ordered dominantly and immediately Sam dropped his pinky from the authority in her voice. “Only plebs and charlatans stick out their pinkies and hold their forks like pens.”
He gulped at the sudden steel in his lover and gently sipped at the tea. It was definitely sweet, pleasantly so but with a wateriness he still didn’t like. He pulled the cup away, gesturing to Victoria with it. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Suddenly her face turned, switching back to its happy expression that quickly morphed into giggles. Sam felt suddenly very confused, not knowing what he had done to evoke such laughter.
But then he saw it.
The big fat crimson lipstick smear on the rim of his teacup. The pout he produced in that moment was worthy of being committed to an art gallery.
“God damn it.”
After finishing their cups and refilling they started on the sandwidges. They came in two flavours. Smoked salmon and cucumber or chicken ham and brie. Picking up one of the little white triangles, he bit into it and wrinkled his nose at the taste of cucumber. ‘I still hate my greens ’ he remarked internally, his tolerance for the flavours and textures building but choosing to stick with the ham, chicken and Brie finger foods. The Tea ended up helping wash the unwanted flavours from his palette.
Conversation returned as they ate. “Still curious about the difference between Afternoon and High Tea?” Victoria asked.
“Yes, actually. It’s been bugging me for over a week.”
“Well in the Victorian Era, Afternoon Tea was taken by the nobility and house masters on soft fabric chairs like this.” she patted the chair she sat on for emphasis. “High Tea was taken by the servants of the house in the kitchen after the residents were attended to. The ‘high’” she made quotation marks with her fingers, “came from the high chairs they sat on because they took their tea on the countertop or central island.”
Sam shifted his eyes in intrigue, this was actually kind of fascinating.
“Over time, the use of ‘high’ and the fact that Afternoon Tea fell out of a dedicated upper class pursuit made it so that most people confuse Afternoon Tea for High Tea when in truth they started out as opposites.”
That made sense to Sam, quickly thinking of another example. “Like how leather seats and horses used to be for the common man while fabric seats and cars were reserved for the super rich.”
Victoria nodded with a smile, “Smart girl. You caught on quick. It’s funny how things can totally flip in the space of 100 years. Give me the latex age I tell you!”
“I take latex is expensive?” Sam ventured.
The Viscountess shook her head in profound vexation, the soft ringlets of hair pouring down her back. “Oh you have no clue how bad it gets, Blossom. I’d have inducted you into into the glories of latex way earlier if it didn’t blow the budget I set for myself when still amongst the rabble.”
Moving up to the next tier, they each took one or two warm scones. Sam used a knife to split the scone before lathering it in a mix of sweet cream and cherry jam. It brought up fond memories of cheap but fun lunches walking by the Thames. “Remember the meal deals we used to grab and walk down to Woods Quay?”
“Nothing quite like a pack of chicken satays, a bag of crisps and a diet coke for a good walk.” she recalled tenderly.
Sam looked at her, his currently red eyes hollowing slowly as his smile thinned. “I bet you were laughing behind your eyes at me for four years.”
“Not for a second. Once I realised I loved you it was as genuine from then as it is to now,” Victoria denied.
“This isn’t love!” Sam bumped the table lightly, “I… I just don’t understand. Why can’t you understand that I don’t want this? If this was love I wouldn’t have to go to bed with a shackle around my ankle. If this was love then I wouldn’t know what piss tastes like!” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to find some way to get across his feelings. “I feel… like a toy you’re going to put on the shelf and forget about when you’re done. Just a pleb the aristocrat plucked off the street to doll up and throw away after getting bored. I want what we had before.“
“Carmilla,” Victoria began gently, steepling her fingers over her tea cup, “I did not go down to the rabble to laugh at them or ‘slum it’ as it were. I went so I could truly appreciate the value of what I have and what I am able to do living as the Viscountess. If one has the ability to do something and the gifted station in life to do it, then do it I shall. You’re my wife, the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, that I will do,” she sipped at her drink before softly adding, “that I have already done.”
The conversation simmered to a lull as they transitioned to the final layer, the confections and wine. It was a collection of classics like fresh made bakewells and flapjacks in addition to brightly coloured macaroons.
Victoria pulled the stopper from the bottle of red wine and filled two glasses for them, handing one to Sam. He looked down at the claret and felt reluctant to try it. All the wine he had tried so far were white and cool while this was served at room temperature.
“To us.” Victoria raised her glass with Sam gingerly clinking his crystal glass to hers, the tinkle of their contact a pleasant sound. He grimaced at the rich flavour, deeply unfamiliar to him. But the atmosphere, nice food and wonderful view cured him of his bad mood, nearly forgetting the plug seated in his ass.
They joked and laughed, talked about upcoming gacha game banners and the imminent return of Bleach that October and Sam wanted to get lost in that feeling but something weighed on his mind again and again.
Picking up on it after finishing their glasses, Victoria asked, “What’s on your mind, Carmilla?”
He looked unsure what to say before finally blurting it out. “What’s the deal with spouse? It’s been bugging me for ages. If I’m your wife, ” the word was spoken awkwardly to emphasise his feelings, “then why not husband?”
Victoria made a face, turning sympathetic. She swirled what was left of her wine in her glass, watching the red liquid spin and how it reminded her of Sam’s current eyes. “I chose it for your sake. Because while you are my wife and the sub, I do not want to subject you to submission to a male term. The phallus, the trappings of it maybe, but I wanted to be something more than a husband to you, more gracious and nurturing. So spouse.”
Sam listened to his spouse speak and slowly felt a veil being pulled back over things he had never considered, or perhaps reframing them. Victoria loved her rules. Loved all the little family idiosyncrasies and traditions she twisted to her own ends. So to twist the ‘office’ of the husband into something bult of and for his care was, ‘perfecting the era,’ he recalled her saying her saying. His heart skipped a beat as the true magnitude of what was contained in that one little word crashed down on him. That twisted reality had been made for him.
He closed his eyes, hearing the sound of his teacup being refilled one last time. “Thank you,” he said, even if there was so much of this he still didn’t want.
Smiling lovingly at the words, Victoria took up her own refilled teacup and offered it to clink, happy that on some level her wife was finally understanding just how much she cared for him.
At the end of the 45 minutes Lioncoln returned to find two very happy looking Ladies with empty plates and teapots. Victoria thanked him on Sam’s behalf and they returned back downstairs to collect their effects. Peking out of the front door, Sam could see that Johanna had brought the carriage around to the front of Camelia’s Parliament. Victoria paid, leaving a tip for good service and helped Sam redon his hat before they exited the building, promising to visit again.
Johanna opened the carriage door, the steps flipping down. Victoria embarked first followed by the driver retaking her position. Sam was alone on the pavement, parasol in hand and hat in place.
And an open escape route in plane view.
For a singular solitary moment Sam considered running. Of hiking up his skirts and running as fast as his long legs could carry him. ‘No ,’ he decided. ‘ I don’t want to ruin my one good day .’
He climbed up into the carriage and sat back in his place, settling into the seat with bittersweet happiness when Victoria closed the door with a slam. The lilac-clothed woman rapped the roof this time, starting the long ride back to the Rest.
One good day.
Notes:
I said it was going to be a big chapter, didn't I? With a Yui focus no less. As per usual, thank you for reading it, I hope you enjoyed it, please wax poetic about what you enjoyed in the comments and share it to all your like minded kinky friends who might get a kick out of this vibe.
I promise the next chapter won't take as long.
Speaking of that chapter, it will have a Diana focus and be the last chapter…
(Le gasp)
of this first arc!
(Sigh of relief)
Come now, you didn't think this long meandering train was gonna just end did ya? There's years and years of stoy to go and a whole world to fill in.
Anyways, next chapter will have a Diana focus, so cheer Diana fans eating good. Many thanks to Annabellum for the Beta work and now farewell....
Is what I would want to finish with in any other endnote.
But the truth is that some things need to be said. The world... is in a dark place right now. In point of fact, when the last chapter dropped was when things started going topsy turvey. I'm not going to name names, but if you said the four horsemen were pawing at the ground I wouldn't blame you. A lot of people are afraid, and angry and frustrated for too many reasons to name.
In our little corner of the internet alone you've got people chomping at the bit to cast anything that so much as hints at a tit into the fire of locked behind verification while corporations make it harder and harder for us to even do what we do.
But what can I do and what can I say? What I can do is write a story I love in the hope it makes you feel.
If you read it and it brought you joy, I did my job.
If it made you aroused, I did my job.
If it was a bright spot in your day, I did my job.
If it is a moment's escape from the currently dark world? I did my job.And to say? Do not give up. Ever. Be who you are. Love who you love. Dance and extol. Do not comply with tyranny in advance. Fight tooth and nail until such a time where you can look back and laugh.
Misery is not mankind’s legacy. Our greatest strength is the ability to look at all that has gone bad and still try to do good.
Remember this.
Try.
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