Maid to Serve 2: Maid to Vacuum

continued from part one

Part 2: Maid to Vacuum

At first Eleanor thought it was the light streaming in through the narrow window that had woken her, but the awful feeling of discomfort that seemed to be spread out across the whole of her body soon made her realise that it had been responsible instead. The light, she realised had been in the background of her perception for some time and the more unpleasant sensations were only now coming to the fore.

Her awareness seemed to be growing ever more acute, as if she were returning to consciousness through a haze of some kind, her senses only now becoming clear and able to perceive her surroundings.

Memories of the past twenty four hours floated to the surface of her mind, slowly and fragmentary at first and then all too soon gaining in speed and clarity as she connected one traumatic image to another.

She recalled the walk by the pond, the man with no face, the chase and the struggle…and then nothing.

Eleanor tried to sit up despite the protesting of a headache that flared up as soon as she moved her head, but she found herself gently pushed back down onto what she now realised was a utilitarian and yet comfortable bed.

As her eyes became more accustomed to the light, she perceived that the push had come from a figure standing over the bed and looking down at her with mild concern. At least she would have said that it was a look of concern had she been able to see the face that was covered by a mask of red lycra.

Suddenly reminded of the men who had physically assaulted her only hours before, Eleanor let out a cry of alarm and tried to turn away from the featureless face.

In response the figure remained silent, but Eleanor felt a firm tug around her throat and was forced to turn her head back so that she once was once again looking face to face at the masked figure.

The woman, even before she saw the rest of the figure she knew somehow it was a woman, shook her head slowly and reached out with her left hand to gently stroke the side of Eleanor’s face. At the same time she noted that in her right hand, the masked woman was holding what looked like a leash made of black leather.

Eleanor’s hands found her throat and confirmed her suspicions; she was wearing a collar around her neck to which the leash was attached. While the inside of the collar felt as though it was padded in some way, the material was thick leather and tough enough to resist any effort she could make to strain against it.

The woman in the mask seemed to have noted her exploration of the collar closely and nodded when Eleanor glanced up at her. There passed between them an unspoken acknowledgement of the situation; one of them was wearing a restraint and the other was holding the leash, there was really no more to be said in terms of their relationship to one another.

Something in the woman’s manner seemed to subtly underlie the more obvious nature of the predicament in which the kidnapped girl found herself, despite the demeaning situation. She was sure that a measure of odd gentleness made up an element of the masked woman’s approach. It was not something Eleanor could have defined, but she was sure the woman was trying to treat her as kindly as was possible given the circumstances.

The bizarre nature of her situation numbed Eleanor’s mind to the horror of the reality that she had been kidnapped and for now she was simply unable to dwell upon the fact or even think of trying to escape her captivity. Instead she found herself wrestling with the more immediate aspects of her predicament, with which she was struggling from one moment to the next.

With the urging of the woman in the mask, she inched her way up off the bed until she was sitting on the edge. Her head was still thick from the effects of the drugs that had been used to keep her unconscious for so long and her stomach lurched from time to time with a mixture of hunger and nausea that was almost too much to bear.

It was then that she caught a glimpse of her legs as she stared down at the floorboards in an effort to collect herself.

Eleanor vaguely recalled what she had been wearing when she had stepped out of her front door, and she was sure that it had not been that shade of pink or made of something that shiny. Her head darted up and found a full length mirror on the other side of the room in which she saw her own reflection staring back at her.

She let out another cry at the sight of what she saw.

At first she had thought she was looking at some kind of life-sized doll or mannequin, but then she moved her head and watched in horror as the smooth pink head of the anonymous thing moved in reflected imitation. Slowly she raised her hands and gazed down at them, trying to come to terms with the smooth material covering them. For some reason she was instantly able to recall every crease and line that had crossed the palms of her hands, now concealed beneath the featureless pink she saw before her. She tugged at the palm of one hand with the fingers of the other and found that there was no way to pull the material away from the skin, it was stuck in place and there was no moving it.

Eleanor was not ignorant of the stranger things that went on behind closed doors; she knew full well that some people liked to do what seemed to her very strange things in the bedroom. In the past she had been happy to live and let live so long as those doors remained closed and the odd people stayed hidden behind them.

Now it seemed that she had been plucked from her comfortable world of normality and dragged into that alien realm of what could only be depravity and perversion with no choice of her own in the matter. Worse than that she had been turned from a normal woman into a creature of that same disturbing world of which she had no knowledge or experience, her own identity hidden beneath layers of pink latex.

She looked up at the reflection once more and physically shivered at the realisation that she had become something less than human, something intended to be used mutely and without protest in whatever way her owner saw fit.

She was a doll.

A plaything.

An object.

Eleanor held her head in her hands, but before she could begin to let out the desperate feelings of helplessness that had seized her there was another tug on the collar around her neck. She turned to see the woman in the red mask shaking her head and motioning for her to get to her feet.

For the first time she actually regarded the woman in something other than a daze, taking in the details that had escaped her notice while she was fixated on her own strange appearance. It seemed that the other woman almost as bizarre as Eleanor herself in terms of the costume that she was wearing.

Red was the word that dominated any description of the woman; she was clad in the colour from head to toe. Though her features were hidden beneath the hood that covered the whole of her head, it was clear to see that she was petite of frame, standing no more than a few inches over four feet in height and that too being accentuated by the high heels of the neat red boot she wore. Her outfit seemed to be some kind of essay on the dress of a well-presented woman from the turn of the nineteenth century; fitted skirts that reached her knees hugged the shape of her thighs and a small neat bustle that concealed the shape of her behind. A tight jacket covered her torso, accentuated by a lace collared blouse that bloomed from between the narrow lapels. Leather gloves covered her hands and red fabric covered her legs, causing Eleanor to realise she must be wearing some kind of garment that covered the entirety of her body under her clothes. Her head was naked save for the hood and a small hat that seemed to be pinned in place rather like a fascinator.

Eleanor noticed that despite her calm demeanour, the woman had produced an object in her previously free hand that looked worryingly like a riding crop made of red leather. She motioned with it for her charge to step into the middle of the floor and stopped her when she was happy with the spot on which she stood.

It was clear now that the room was a small bed chamber, furnished with only a simple frame and mattress, the mirror into which she had just gazed and a large wardrobe that dominated the rest of the bare floorboards.

“I see that you can be obedient,” the woman in red spoke for the first time and Eleanor noted her voice had a musical quality that would not have sounded out of place coming from the mouth of a delicate fairy. “That’s a good place to start, believe me.”

She moved to the wardrobe and produced a small key with which she proceeded to unlock the door.

“You may call me ‘Alwyn’,” she spoke over her shoulder, “but the first rule that I have to impart to you is that you should only ever speak when you are given permission.”

Alwyn turned to face Eleanor, holding an armful of what she supposed must be clothes.

“You can speak now, girl.”

“Where am I?” Eleanor’s voice broke slightly as she spoke.

“I can’t tell you.”

“Who are you?”

“The person in charge of your training.”

“Why am I here?”

“For now all I can tell you in that regard is that you are here to serve as a housemaid,” Alwyn paused before going on, “beyond that what you are here for is not within my knowledge to tell or power to determine.”

“So who’s really in charge?”

“Clever girl,” Alwyn dropped the clothes on the bed and began to arrange them, “I’d be careful with showing off your brains around here. The best thing is for people to think that you don’t think at all. The person in charge is called ‘The Squire’, because he’s in charge and that’s what he demands that we call him. You’ll be meeting him soon no doubt, he knows all the comings and goings around here and it was him that gave the order for a new housemaid to be found to replace the last one.”

“So the last housemaid escaped?”

“There you go with that thinking again,” Alwyn shook her head, “but yes, one of the footmen was careless and she ran away. The Squire will have made sure by now that it’ll not happen again any time soon.”

Eleanor dipped her head and nodded as if accepting the facts as she was told them, but she noted the possibility of escape and stored it away in a corner of her mind for a moment when she could make use of it.

“Let’s get you dressed,” Alwyn held up a pair of latex knickers and handed them to Eleanor, “we can’t have you wandering around the place looking like a life-sized sex toy now, can we?”

Eleanor gingerly took the knickers from the little red woman and examined them for a moment before obediently stepping into them with a deliberate slowness. They were stretchy and shiny like the material that covered her body, but black in colour with a white heart on the backside and frills of the same colour around the leg holes. As she pulled them over her buttocks, the irony of what Alwyn had said to her sank in as she realised that there was little chance of whatever she was being made to wear making her look less like an object intended for sexual gratification than she did without it.

Perhaps that was one of the realities of life in a world as strange as this, that even garments as obviously designed to titillate as these were considered normal and mundane?

The next piece of clothing was the actual maids outfit itself, which consisted of a skirt that was so short and flared out to such a degree that it did nothing to conceal her underwear and a top that was ribbed like a corset and plunged low in order to allow her latex cleavage to be pushed upwards at the same time. Like the knickers, the outfit was made of heavy black rubber and slick to the touch with white frills running around the short sleeves, the neckline and the hem of the skirt.

Alwyn stepped behind Eleanor and tied a white apron around her waist before handing her a pair of rubber gloves that came up only as far as her wrists. They were white as well and ringed with the same frills that persisted throughout the outfit. Next was a pair of black rubber stockings that reached halfway up Eleanor’s thighs and finally a blonde, collar length wig cut to resemble a bob with the edges flicked up and outwards. This was topped with a traditional maid’s headdress and the outfit was complete save for the footwear.

“Now these will take some getting used to,” Alwyn handed a pair of terrifying black boots to Eleanor, “there aren’t many that are used to wearing something as extreme as this and from your face I can see that you’re not one of them.”

Eleanor shook her head as she stared in horror at the pointed heels attached to the boots, each of which must have been almost eight inches in length. The act of wearing them would force her feet into a position almost like that of a ballet dancer assuming the En Pointe stance and she was sure that simply standing still in them would be a challenge. For the moment she was not even prepared to imagine actually walking in them.

“Let’s get them on,” Alwyn cut through her hesitation by pushing her down onto the edge of the bed. She kneeled in front of the girl and slipped one of her feet into the first boot, holding both in her lap as she did so. Eleanor had no time to argue as the boot was laced up and the second followed suit in a similarly efficient manner.

The boots were tight and chafed Eleanor’s feet, but then the entire outfit was tight and she found that she was soon able to take a few tentative steps around the room with Alwyn’s guidance. The more time she spent practicing the easier it became to adapt to the delicate balance that the boots required and she was confident in her ability to keep from falling on her face some twenty minutes after the things had first been laced up on her feet.

“Now I think we’re ready to introduce you to your duties,” Alwyn led her to the door of the room and down a twisting staircase that challenged the progress she had made with the severe boots to the very limit.

“There are standards that must be kept to when in the house as opposed to when we are out of sight of the Squire,” the little red woman explained as they descended. “I can be indulgent and even kind when it is the latter, but in the case of the former you must expect harsher treatment and strive to do your best at all times. As I have told you, speak only when required to by the Squire, do not be surprised to feel my whip and most important of all do exactly what he asks of you quickly and without hesitation… that is the one rule you must keep to no matter what the cost, for your own sake.”

Eleanor was genuinely surprised to find that when they reached the door that lead into the house proper, her duties were actually those of a housemaid and involved dusting, sweeping and generally making the rounds of the corridors and rooms with a perfectly normal vacuum cleaner in tow. She had expected the reality to be something totally different and that she would be told to crawl around on her hands and knees with a tray of drinks on her back or else batter some pervert’s genitals with a flyswatter.

She was constantly watched and given silent instruction by Alwyn, hovering no more than a few feet from her side. If she had entertained any hope of escaping from the house as soon as possible, they were dashed by the diminutive woman who dogged her heels for the rest of what she guessed was the afternoon.

Alwyn was true to her word, remaining silent and on occasion rapping her charge sharply across the buttocks in a show of disapproval when she erred in the execution of a task.

Eleanor managed to bite her tongue whenever the whip made contact, glad for the first time of the layers of latex that lay between her flesh and the leather.

When her rounds were completed, Alwyn showed Eleanor to a servant’s parlour that lay partly in the cellars of the extreme left wing of the house. She was allowed to sit upon a small wooden stool and given a glass of water and a small plate of bread and cheese, which she surprised herself with by eating it in no time at all.

When she was done eating, Eleanor glanced up to notice the rows of bells and the signs under each one that lined one of the walls in the parlour. She was well-versed in period dramas and of course knew that they were linked to the various rooms of the house, intended for the important residents to summon the servants to their side when they needed to be tended to.

“Those things work perfectly and the Squire makes use of them more often than not,” Alwyn had followed her gaze. “When he rings for service you will need to make your way as quickly as you can to the appropriate room and make yourself known to him silently and discreetly.”

Eleanor nodded as she counted the number of bells. There seemed to be so many of them and each one with a room that she was not sure of the location in this rambling house. How she was supposed to memorise them all she had no idea.

But why should she?

She was instantly angry with herself for even contemplating the task in the first place.

People knew her and soon enough they would miss her and contact the relevant authorities. This was the modern day, not the Middle Ages when a person could be carried off into slavery by some marauding savage, never to be heard of again. For now she would have to play along with this sick game, but there would come a time when she was presented with the chance she needed and at that moment she would take it.

The sound of a bell ringing desperately bought her back to reality and she found that despite the bravado of her previous thoughts, a shiver of genuine fear and trepidation suddenly ran through her from head to toe.

“The study,” it seemed that the task of remembering the rooms allocated to the bells was old hat to Alwyn, who hardly took the time to note the position of the one in question. “Let’s see, it’s the start of the afternoon, a Wednesday and he’s in the study.” She seemed to be weighing the elements up as if they were a mathematical equation. “That shouldn’t be too much of a challenge, even for someone as green as you.”

Alwyn turned towards the door and motioned for Eleanor to follow her once again.

They made their way quickly to the main hall of the house and climbed the wide staircase to the first floor. Once there a few simple turns along wood-panelled corridors brought them to a stout door before which Alwyn came to a halt and fixed Eleanor with as serious a look as her concealed features would allow.

“This is the first time the Squire has seen you, so be prepared for his appraisal and be sure that it will be frank and less than subtle. If he’s not fond of what he sees then you’ll be out of there in the space of a minute or two once he’s told you what the supposed reason for the bell is. On the other hand, you could be in there for quite some time as he’ll no doubt want you to become involved in the real reason that he rang down to the servant’s pantry.”

Eleanor could do nothing but nod in response, the anxiety she was feeling at coming face to face with the head of this strange household evident on the parts of her face that could be seen.

“The best thing is to try not to think about it too much, dear,” Alwyn opened the door and motioned for her to enter. “Who knows, people have even been known to enjoy it from time to time.”

The room into which Eleanor stepped was at first no different to any other in the house in that it seemed at first glance to be perfectly normal before the finer details became apparent. The study was large and mostly dominated by heavy wooden bookcases; the leather bound volumes standing behind locked doors and visible through panes of glass. Large leaded windows gave a view out over the grounds below that was fading quickly into darkness and the light failed and the evening came on, but subtle electric lighting kept the room from fading into darkness.

An antique desk stood off to one corner of the study and the fireplace was filled with a pile of blazing logs that spat and moved as the fire consumed them. A voluminous chair stood to the other side of the fireplace across from the desk and a collection of aged rugs and carpets covered the floor beneath its legs while the rest of the room made do with well polished floorboards that spoke of some age and history in their own right.

Spread out in front of the fire in the space that one might have expected to see a rug made from the hide of a magnificent animal, was a rectangular object made of what looked like plastic the colour of pewter. It was roughly the size of a mattress and seemed to be connected to a small device of some kind by means of a sturdy hose. Eleanor had no idea what the thing could be, but she was sure that there was a very good chance she was going to be enlightened on just that point in the near future.

“Well hello there,” Eleanor realised that she had been so distracted by the prospect of what awaited her in the study that she had failed to notice the person sitting in the chair by the fire. In her defence, the high sides of the chair had almost hidden them from view and they had made no effort to speak until that moment.

She managed to perform something that was a hasty mixture of a nod and a little curtsey, but she was far too busy taking in the man who was now studying her with some interest to make much effort to appear demure and respectful as she had been instructed.

The voice certainly fitted the dress, the former being educated and unmistakably from the better parts of Dublin and the latter consisting mainly of tailored tweeds. If it had not been for the fact that the man was wearing a latex outfit similar to Eleanor’s own, but black in colour beneath it all he would have passed very well for an old fashioned member of the rural gentry. As it was the odd combination simply fitted into the rest of the strange nature of the surroundings in which she had found herself.

“I have the pleasure of being the Squire of this estate,” he looked her up and down as he spoke, “and you have the pleasure of being the newest addition to my little collection of staff.” The Squire smiled as he spoke, but she was sure that the look in his eye meant the expression was more to do with his appraisal of her than any attempt to be pleasant.

“So,” he almost launched himself out of the chair and began to walk around Eleanor in order to see her from every angle, “big girl are we? There’s noting wrong with that, nothing at all. Haven’t had a big one for a while now, seems that they’ve somewhat gone out of fashion in the big wide world. I suppose the trend is for all those delicate little things that look good on the catwalk and all that. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with a thin girl either, but you can do some things with each that you really can’t with the other. At least that’s what I find anyway.”

Eleanor tried to keep herself still and stare straight ahead as she was scrutinised and studied like a specimen under a microscope. She almost jumped in surprise when the Squire lifted her skirt and gave her backside a sharp slap with the palm of his hand before reaching around to weigh her breasts in his hands like a portion of fruit.

“Not too firm and not too floppy,” he exclaimed, “I think the whole thing is probably up to muster.”

Eleanor kept her face neutral and simply endured the experience of being sized up like a head of livestock; she was already filling her mind with wild flights of fantasy about the awful things that this man was probably only moments from doing to her. His casual approach to listing his observations about her appearance and the manner in which he simply placed his hands on her as though she had no right to object had cut her deeper than she had though they would. Used to hiding her own feelings from the world at large, she had come to think of herself as hardened and unmoved by such things. The reality was that now she had been stripped of any and all the talismans that she had been able to cling to back in the real world. Every comfort and consolation that had softened the blows that reality landed upon her was no longer available and instead she was left alone with only her own thoughts as protection. So far she had to admit that they had been almost no help whatsoever.

“First thing to do is get you out of those clothes,” the Squire seemed to be oblivious to her building fears as he walked over to the desk and began fumbling around in one of the drawers. “I’ve had this thing lying around for a few days now and finally have someone to try it out with,” he gestured absently to the rectangle of plastic before the fire without looking up. “It’s all lubed up and ready to go, so if you’d be good enough to strip then we can be getting on with it.”

He let out a cry of triumph a moment later and produced a device from the drawer that looked to Eleanor like the kind of thing that a mechanic might use to buff dents out of the bodywork of a car. She had no idea what the contraption might be, but she had enough imagination to conclude that it was intended to be an integral part of whatever the Squire had in mind for her when he plugged it into the mains and the bulb on one end began to vibrate furiously, making a noise like an angry swarm of bees.

The Squire returned to the front of the desk and leaned against the edge, the device in his hand as he watched Eleanor, waiting for her to begin undressing herself.

Eleanor began with the ballet boots, moving slowly more due to her trepidation than any attempt to make the process longer than necessary to tease her audience. She was hampered also by the unfamiliar sensation of manipulating objects through the thick latex that covered her hands, making her fumble with the laces and lose her grip numerous times. Not that her faltering progress seemed to bother the Squire, who simply watched from his vantage point as her efforts forced the already tight garments that she wore to pull even closer to her body and her heavy breasts to almost spill out of her costume.

She stripped off her gloves and then peeled the stockings from her legs before adding her apron to the neat pile of shed clothes at her side. She added the headdress and wig to the pile with the same care, folding what she could as though she would be marked on her attention to detail. As she pulled off her blouse and skirt, leaving only the black and white knickers behind, the Squire chucked to himself in amusement at her neatness and the sight of her pink latex body.

Before she could remove the last item of clothing, he motioned for her to stop and reached down to grab the edge of the plastic rectangle. He pulled it back to reveal the fact that the thing opened like a giant sleeping bag, the inside lined with a clear gel that covered every inch. Eleanor might have been an innocent as far as the world in which the Squire and his household dwelled, but she knew lubricant when she saw it and the reality dawned on her that she was about to be coming into very close contact with the stuff.

“Few things before we pop you inside,” the Squire gave her a serious look. “That’s a vacbed, as in vacuum. I stick you in there and then we seal you in and use that to pump the air out.” He pointed at the device linked to the vacbed by the hose. “You really don’t have a choice in the matter, but it’d be more pleasant for all concerned if you were alive when you came out. So you’ll be using this to breathe,” he pointed to a tube inside the vacbed that ended in a mouthpiece. “Put these plugs up your nose and this blindfold over your eyes as well; you won’t need them in there anyway.”

Eleanor nodded slowly and proceeded to push the plugs up her nostrils before covering her eyes with the blindfold, which was of course made of latex, over her eyes. She felt the tug as the Squire gripped her lead and guided her down onto the vacbed with a slow but firm hand. More than once she almost slipped and fell on the lubricant, saving herself by some unknown means and then inching her body lower and lower until she was laid upon her back in the middle of the bed.

There was no more than a few seconds between the mouthpiece being strapped into place and the ominous sound of the top layer of the bed being pulled over her prone form. Eleanor had no way of telling when the thing had been sealed and she fought off a rising panic as she waited for the air to be sucked out of the thing and the true torture to begin.

At first there was no hint at the air being pumped out from around her, the device doing the work seemed to be eerily silent though she was sure the process must have begun only moments after she was sealed inside. But then she began to feel the first hints of the material of the bed pulling closer to her body and she was under no illusions that the vacuum would soon be complete.

The view from the outside of the bed was far more impressive as the definition of Eleanor’s body became ever clearer with the passing of time. She had been sealed inside with her arms at something like forty five degrees to her body and her legs slightly apart and so that was how she appeared in the stretched material of the bed. As the air finally left the vacbed and the material pulled as tight around her form as possible, every inch of her was visible beneath the surface, picked out in the pewter shade of the plastic.

Trapped inside the bed, Eleanor resembled a piece of erotic artwork that had been imbued with a life of its own as she began to move her body. All that was missing to complete the effect was a frame to surround her and a wall on which to hang the entirety of the piece upon.

In reality she had been unable to imagine what the experience of being inside the bed would be like as she waited for the air to be pumped out around her. The Squire’s talk of lubricant and the sight of the slicked inside into which she had been sealed had failed to fully register so that the largest part of her mind still wondered if she would be rendered immobile once the vacuum was created.

But as soon as she made the smallest effort to move, Eleanor discovered that she was perfectly able to move her body thanks to the presence of the lubricant. At first she made only slight shifts in her position as she explored the alien sensation of slithering blindly within the confines of the bed. Her head moved from left to right and her arms slid to the edges of the bed and then back to find her own body as she traced her own stomach and breasts, marvelling at the curious feeling of her own flesh through latex and plastic.

The Squire had moved closer as she became more animated, leaving his perch on the desk and instead standing at the end of the bed where Eleanor’s feet were just beginning to move with the rest of her body. The sight reminded him of a film he had seen some years before in which a character, the name of which escaped him, had been trapped inside a block of metal by the villain, his face and hands emerging from the surface in a rictus of helpless agony. He could not recall if he had enjoyed the film or not, such things were seldom on his mind these days, but he was far more interested in the sight of this trapped individual, writhing on the floor in front of him.

He knelt on the edge of the bed and placed the vibrating device in his hand onto the very tips of the toes on Eleanor’s right foot. The surprise of the sudden contact made her recoil as much as she was able and push herself backwards until she reached the top of the bed, pulling her legs up after her.

Her reaction seemed to delight the Squire, a smile spreading across his face as he climbed onto the bed and pursued the retreating girl with his instrument of torture. He pressed the thing against the inside of her left leg while gripping the flesh of her right with his free hand and began to inch his way up her body.

Eleanor could only wriggle in silent protest beneath him as he stroked and stimulated her helpless form, excited as much by her impotent struggles as he was by the feel of her flesh through the many layers that lay between them.

When he reached her waist, he steered the vibrator slowly into the space between her legs and began to press down upon her vagina without a second of mercy. By now he was astride her thighs and adding his own weight to the downward force of the device, almost pushing it into Eleanor’s body while his free hand massaged her breasts with a similarly harsh attention to nothing but his own gratification.

Now more than ever Eleanor experienced the indignity of being stripped of all choice and control over what became of her own body. She had been deprived of every sense that she possessed save for that of touch, but now even that was being overwhelmed and wrested from her control by the touch of the Squire and the incessant vibrations of his merciless appliance. There was no time for her to appreciate the humiliation of the experience as all other thoughts were crowded out by the inevitable effect that the vibrator was having upon the sensitive organs of her body.

There was no chance for a gradual progression from gentle stimulation and the slow building of arousal to more and more intense levels of sensation. The powerful force of the vibrator was simply dragged across her body and sunk into her groin where it began to have an immediate and irresistible effect.

Eleanor had experienced the gentle attentions of an amorous partner, but this was nothing of the kind and the brutal waves of contractions and spasms that resulted could never have been described as erotic for her. Instead they overwhelmed her and manifested as what seemed to be an effort to physically swim whilst still trapped within the bed, her arms and legs sweeping up and down beneath the surface and her back arching upwards from the floor. Perhaps it was a small mercy that the intense nature of the stimulation drove her to a dramatic climax within mere minutes, forcing her to almost bite through the mouthpiece that allowed her to breathe as it took hold of her and consumed the last of her energy in its intensity.

Perhaps it was also a mercy that the experience of straddling Eleanor’s body as she climaxed was enough to cause the same reaction in the Squire only a few moments later.

He dropped the vibrator from his hand and sent it spinning across the floor as he pulled himself to his feet and retreated to the chair by the fire. Slumping down into the cracked leather, he leaned back and watched as Eleanor’s body continued to twitch and slide within the bed as the last of the aftershocks gripped her. The aggressive need to manipulate her flesh had receded with his own climax to be replaced with a perverse enjoyment of quietly taking in the results of his indulgence on his helpless victim.

The Squire watched Eleanor’s confused and random movements for some time as little by little she slithered around less energetically. Soon she had slowed her body to the point where she seemed to be on the verge of coming to a complete stop and maybe even succumbing to an exhausted sleep.

He knew it was not a good idea to leave her slumbering inside the vacbed, but then he had a domestic staff to worry about such things. There was no reason to think that the girl would be left to her fate so long as he remembered to ring for assistance before he fell asleep in front of the fire himself.

Though he felt quite drowsy, the Squire was fairly sure he would remember to pull the cord.

Well, he thought, as sure as any man can be.

27.03.12