Resident Evil 2 Remake - Claire - EP 67 "Naughty Harley Quinn" [PC ]
This story, as originally published In Tales of the Veils, was written by me many years ago - in fact between and - at the behest of my then Master, TB. As far as I remembered it was first published in two now-defunct sites before being taken up by the sadly demised Leviticus for his site. After his death, the new site owners apparently removed it and it would have disappeared had not Tales of the Vei ls taken the brave decision to give it space here. That would have been the end of the story except that, out of the blue, I was told by a friend that my writings were the subject of a discussion on a Yahoo group - Confining Clothing. In fact what now appears here is almost twice as long as the original and has many of the earlier typos and plot errors rectified, so that I hope it will be a better read all round. In this I am extremely grateful to an American-domiciled friend of mine, Rob, who did an amazing amount of work in preparing the story for publication.
Imagine how easy it would be for him to tell her maid not to bother to take her to the bathroom as normal. Or not to feed her. Or not to allow her to drink. Yes, Claire, an armless wife is truly a dependent wife, and one who soon learns to behave perfectly and to try with all her ability to please her husband. My expression must have turned to one of horror, for the governess laughed to herself before continuing. Getting you used to living without the use of hands or arms.
Of course just wearing a dress without sleeves is only part of the story. There are other restraints you will need to get accustomed to as well. You may not find them pleasant initially; in fact I am sure you will find them most unpleasant. Now, the time for talking is over. The time for action has arrived. The acrid sting of smelling salts brought me back to consciousness. I coughed and tried to ease the awful strain on my shoulders as I hung, toes barely brushing the floor, from the raised lacing bar, wrists strapped to it eighteen inches apart.
Now, PULL! The room spun about me and, suddenly, a deep black blanket seemed to descend round me, enveloping me in darkness once more. I felt the bar being lowered and my heels touched the ground once more, the strain on my shoulders easing at last.
But that blessing was washed away by the realisation that the corsets into which I had just been laced were beyond the limits of my experience. Not only were they laced about my body with murderous ferocity, but they reached from my shoulders down to just about my knees.
It felt as though seventy five per cent of my body was enclosed in a giant vice that was doing it best to crush the life out of me. My head whirled again but I fought off the onset of unconsciousness as my wrists were freed from the now fully lowered bar. Hands and arms to your sides, Claire, and I will show you why they will serve so well in training you to your new life. For now my arms and hands were strapped to my sides, trapped inside heavy canvas flaps running from shoulders to thighs, each laced up along its length as though each arm was itself corseted.
For the lacings that held the flaps down had been tightened by the maid with great diligence, almost as much as had been shown in compressing my body within the fiendish grasp of my stays. And that is how it is going to be for you from now on.
Even at night. Only when it is necessary to bath you will we ease your corset or free your arms. Otherwise, we will just slowly tighten your lacings on a daily basis.
But I am forgetting one thing. And one for each of the arm pockets. When they have been put in place and snapped shut, it will be impossible for anyone - even me - to ease the lacings.
Tighten them, yes. Ease them, no. And their keys? Not here. You see, your husband-to-be is an amazingly inventive gentleman and he wants to make certain that you are truly the docile and ever obedient wife he wishes for himself. Now, times to padlock you into your beautiful new corset. She stepped forward, a smile playing on her lips as she started to fasten all five padlocks in their appointed places. But I am sure that you will now become even more tractable.
After all, think how easy it would be for me to punish you if you were stupid enough to show any sign of rebellion. No Mama, No Papa, no one to appeal to. Except for your guardian. And he is the gentleman who has instructed me to keep you like this. He is the one who wishes me to be so strict and unwavering with you. My guardian? Uncle Charles?
No; it could not be him. Papa had not spoken to his reprobate brother for years. Mr Tancred, the lawyer? Perhaps, but he was such a mousey little man - not at all the sort of man who would wish for a wife such as me. Then who? The maid bobbed a little curtsey and fled the room. Watching her hurried departure, it was plain that Miss Leys still retained her superior position in the house.
For the next twenty minutes or so, I was an armless mannequin as the governess dressed me. As she did so, she let it be known that my guardian and the man who was to wed me was a certain Captain Shard. It emerged that the noble Captain was indeed slightly noble, although of very inferior rank. The younger son of a baronet, he had not inherited any title, and was unlikely to do so as his elder brother was hale and hearty and living quietly with his brood of sons and daughters on the Continent. Like so many younger sons, the junior of the Shard brothers had gone into the Army.
A commission had been purchased in a fairly nondescript Regiment of Foot: the 19th, Miss Leys recalled. But, in twelve years he had only progressed from Second Lieutenant to the barely less elevated rank of Lieutenant. So at the age of thirty four, he retired from the Army with the honorary rank of Captain and would doubtless have faded away in genteel poverty, or drunk himself to death in half the time, had it not been for a single stroke of fortune.
But, once there as I stood before her, she continued with her tale. One day, out hunting, his horse had been jostled by that of another rider. His mount had reared up and he had fallen from the saddle, breaking his leg.
The gentleman whose horse had caused the trouble was deeply apologetic and had insisted that the younger man be carried to his house and there be treated by his own doctor. That less than proficient rider had been my Papa, and it was to Stensfield Manor that the Captain was carried, there to stay while his leg slowly mended. According to Miss Leys, it was during those slow months of healing that my Papa and the Captain formed a strange friendship. For no apparent reason, my Papa - extremely wealthy, yet withdrawn and highly moralistic - had become extremely attached to the impoverished and hard-drinking officer.
It was as if he saw in Captain Shard the son which he had always wished for, but which my Mama never gave him. Next day he had a cold, two days later influenza, a day later pneumonia and, before the week was up, he was dead. His funeral had been attended by a suitable array of tenants and lawyers, servants and labourers, by Miss Leys and my sister Constance. And by Captain Shard. Afterwards, at the reading of the will, there was considerable consternation when it was learnt that Papa had appointed the Captain as his sole Executor, as Guardian to my sister and I, and Trustee of our estates.
For better or for worse, until we reached the age of thirty five, Constance and I were under the all-encompassing control of Captain Shard.
As Trustee and Guardian, he knew that all he had to do to ensure his ease and wealth was to marry you, young Claire.
And that is exactly what is going to happen. And, as he is your Guardian, he decides who you wed, even if that man is himself. Not if you have any commonsense. Just think of how miserable he could make your life if you decided to stand against him and to refuse to become his wife.
For I have an excellent arrangement with your future husband. He has been most generous to me, both in terms of salary and terms of employment. No one could be more pleasantly placed than I am now, my girl. She made final adjustment to my attire and stepped back to admire her handiwork.
I stood before her, rigid, breathing in small rapid gasps as the viciously laced-up corset crushed my chest, making normal breathing impossible. Already my pinioned arms seemed to be swelling under the pressure of the laced-up canvas.
My hands, flattened against my thighs, were numb and I could not even move a finger tip. Yet the misery of being made armless seemed immaterial compared with two other factors. The first and most obvious was the vice-like pressure of the murderously tight corset that crushed my body from shoulders to knees. It reminded me of the pain I had known when wearing a shoe that was a size too small and which had been laced up far too tightly.
The difference was that, with a shoe, only your foot hurt and, in due course, became impossibly painful. With that terrible corset pulverising my body, I was in pain from chest to thighs, knowing only too well that there would be no relief from the appallingly misery of being so tightly laced into my stays. Already my flannel underclothing was drenched in perspiration, my inner coif as damp as the hair it constrained beneath its tight confines.
I had only just been dressed, yet I could feel the debilitating heat trapped under the multiple layers of my clothing mounting inexorable as I stood waiting to find what else dire Fate had in store for me.
Suddenly I was aware that the governess made moved close to me and that her right hand was up by my face. Instinctively I slightly opened my mouth, unwittingly hopeful that she would place her sweet tasting finger in my mouth again. But to my disappointment, she traced a nail along the flesh where it met the edge of my outer coif.
Across my forehead just above my eye brows, down the centre of my left cheek, round the point of my chin and up the right hand side of my sweat-dewed face. Or we could have had fun together. I thought. What can she mean? Only the reverse was true. Unless the governess enjoyed terrorising the young woman in her charge. But that would barely be fun for the victim of her warped excesses - excesses that I had witnessed during my days as a Sybilienne. I did as I was told but closed my eyes as I felt the governess slip something over my extended tongue.
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It felt hard and cold as it tightened till my tongue was clamped. Tears came from my eyes as something sharp dug into the soft flesh. I drew my tongue in again instinctively, tasting metal in my mouth and aware of something dragging over my lower teeth; something that seemed like a fine chain. For now you will not try to remove the clamp from your tongue. It is self tightening so, unless you want its jaws to cause you quite a lot of pain, you will accept its presence in your mouth, and carry on as though it was not there.
I blinked back my tears, feeling her fingers caressing what little of my left cheek was not covered by my coif. I did not know why, but that gentle action sent a shiver through my brutalised body. Made totally chaste, as the captain describes it. She stroked my upper lip with a careful finger, making me moan inwardly, not understanding why such a trivial action should produce such feelings within me. Suddenly her voice changed, its wistful tone replaced by a new lighter note entering into its soft cadences.
She turned and went the table to pick up something I had not previously noticed. I should have done so, as the item was only too commonplace at St Sybils. Two cuffs equipped with steel swivel bolts that were joined by a steel rod. Hobbles - not for animals but for young women. But the Captain says you are to be hobbled as well. I felt the leather cuffs being fastened round my ankles over my short boots, and heard the click of padlocks securing them in place.
So each step you make from now on will only measure four inches or so. That should make walking even a short distance a rather time-consuming and tiring business.
She pointed across the room. Walk across to the back-board. I turned to obey her instructions and nearly fell. For not only were my thighs and upper legs crushed together so that any minimal walking motion had to come from below my knees, but the hobble was even more restrictive that I had imagine.
Four inch steps? That seemed to be an optimistic estimate, I thought as I started to shuffle towards the wall-mounted back-board. The back board was an old acquaintance, even if it had apparently been modified since I had last seen it, years previously. Down its centre was a rounded wooden projection that stood out from the board by three inches or so. Only some three foot long, its base was fitted into a brass-railed slot so that it could be moved up or down the back board.
Finally, on either side of the projection were wide leather straps equipped with heavy buckles. As I made my way over towards the device with close hobbled steps, the governess moved past me and began to adjust the sliding rod that ran up the centre of the board. Then she looked at me, and back at the board before smiling slightly. When with a final shuffling motion I reached the board, she made me turn round. Then, with surprising ease, given the bulk of my clothing, she lifted me onto the low step, an action made necessary as the severity of my hobbling would have made it impossible for me to mount it on my own.
She had guessed right about my height for, as I shuffled slightly backwards until my spine came into contact with the vertical rod, it was correctly positioned, reaching down from the base of my skull to below my posterior. I winced from the added bindings and their inexorable pressure. But the governess paid no attention to my soft moans as she fastened cross straps about my upper body so that my shoulders were brutally pinned back to tough the board on either side of the upright.
She reached up and passed a strap round my head, buckling it hard down so that I was incapable of moving it at all. Finally she dropped down on her knees and secured further straps about my cape at knee and calf levels before raising my skirts to remove the hobble bar and to replace it with double straps. I was now more firmly fixed in place than any butterfly on a setting board, incapable of the tiniest of movements.
Before she rose, she flipped down the step on which I had been standing, and passed straps about my in-steps, buckling my feet together and robbing me of any chance of even moving them. Then she rose and smiled at me. But there is no need for those tears. Several hours each day on your lovely back-board are going to be a routine part of your daily life, my child. Now open you mouth.
A moment later a leather gag had been forced into my mouth to be held there by straps brought across my face from the back-board at either side of my head. With the metal clamp biting down on my tongue, the simple silencer was effective enough as far as Miss Leys was concerned. No one will be in this room to hear you. You see, part of my agreement with the gallant Captain is that I may have the afternoons off if you are properly secured.
She laughed to herself as she shook out a heavy canvas cover. I watched as she lifted it up in front of me, reaching up to hook it in place at the top of the back-board above my head. Then she let it fall about me. Like a heavy grey shroud, it draped itself about me, cutting out all light and, as I was soon to realise, grossly hampering the circulation of air under its weighty folds.
Tears welling from my eyes, I tried to beg the governess not to leave me alone. But, from the other side of my canvas shroud, I heard a low laugh and then the fading sounds of footsteps.
A moment later the door closed, and I was left alone in darkness and silence to contemplate my fate during the hours to come. A week had passed since I had been brought home from St Sybils. A slow painful week. One that, at times, almost made me wish that I was back within the walls of that awful Institution, returned to the unrelenting discipline and heavy silence of that prison-like place.
I almost yearned to be lost again amongst the ranks of the junior pupils, to be surrounded with the soft shuffling of young feet as the grey-swathed girls went about their tasks, eyes lowered, bodies encased in their closed-up cape that swept the floor as they made their hobbled way about those fear-filled building.
But, at home, there was no anonymity for me I was the centre of attention in the old nursery wing, spending my days in the dimly lit schoolroom, eternally under the vigilant gaze of the governess or of her helper, the maid. Not that Miss Leys directly punished me or was cruel with me beyond the parameters of her employment. But being kept armless and corseted 24 hours a day, and spending so much time pinned to the backboard provided me with misery the like of which I had not previously experienced.
Each day was identical to the one before and the one after; each meal was the same, each action taken by me or performed on me was merely a repetition of other such actions, as I strove to prevent myself falling into the dark pit of despair. Then, one morning, the maid had briefly smiled a knowing smile as she got me up as usual. After letting me use the toilet and after she had wash my face, she re-tightened my stays, forcing new tears from my eyes as she remorseless crushed my pulverised body more cruelly than ever.
Then the heavy layers of my armless clothing was draped about me, to be buttoned in place until I was covered from head to floor, only the front of my face exposed. I groaned inwardly as the maid fastened the final button of my all concealing cape and then stood back to admire her handiwork.
But this day was to be different. For once I did not have to wait long in the silence of that airless room. I heard the door open and then close behind her, and listened to the swish off her skirts across the bare boards of the floor until she mounted the podium in front of which I knelt, motionless and rigid from knees upwards.
For long moments the room was quiet, the sound of my shallow rapid breathing seemingly deafening as my corset-crushed lungs sought for life-sustaining air.
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And it is about time you and I had another little talk. But I did my best to remain impassive, to maintain my unwavering pose, and to hold my tongue.
For this type of talk was liable to be extremely one-sided. In fact, if called upon to do so, I could respond. For the vicious clamp had never been replaced after my first day wearing it on my tongue and, for some reason which would doubtless become apparent, I was not yet silenced in any way. I was utterly helpless but at least I could speak. His demands are really quite simple but they will involve you learning new behaviour, new reactions, even new emotions.
You see, the captain wants to you come to love the way in which you are kept. He is a kind man and does not want you to be unhappy. Rather, he would like you to welcome being made so helpless all the time, and for you to see that the highly restrictive and ultra-strict manner in which you are to be kept as being almost a delight.
He even wishes you to attain enough insight so you can ask to be punished or corrected, and so you will want no other life than the one he offers you. I knew what each one meant, I could understand the sentences they formed, but the true meaning of what the governess was saying to me seemed beyond my grasp.
Only when she spoke again did the full realisation sweep over me like a noxious flood, drowning my mind in its terrifying implications.
And to offer them up to him as symbols of your devotion to your new husband and to your marriage. Kneeling on swollen knees in front of the governess, I suddenly remembered a girl at St Sybils.
Her name was Heathcote none of us were ever honoured by the use of our Christian names; only our family names were used. She had arrived in my class when I was nearly seventeen, though I judged her to be older than the rest of us. Tall and straight-backed, she never made any attempt to make friends with other girls, her eyes always dropping to focus on the floor when you looked at her. But, as we were not allowed to talk to one another, except in the presence of a governess, and making friends was frowned upon if it had been possibleher behaviour did not seem too extraordinary.
Apart from one ct. When, at the end of the day, Punishment Roll was read out, her normally composed features would become alive. Her eyes would sparkle as she waited for her name to be read out. If it was not, it was possible to see her shoulders droop, and her eyes to glaze over as though with disappointment.
Whereas we dreaded punishment, Heathcote positively seemed to welcome it. To the degree that it appeared she would often commit careless little mistakes, almost as though she was trying to get herself brutally punished.
And it was not as though she was any less cruelly treated than the rest of us. She could be seen limping out of the Punishment Room, tears running down her cheeks like any girl after correction.
But, next day, she would seem to be driven by some terrible urge to have herself punished again. She did not last long at St Sybils. In under six months she had left us as mysteriously as she had arrived, a young woman with some dreadful secret that remain hidden from her fellow pupils.
Only after she had departed did a single hint come our way. One morning, when another girl had got into trouble, our form governess had stood the offender up before the class.
Someone so used to pain that, later in life, she actually misses being kept under harsh discipline. We knew that she liked to mentally torment us, so her words were largely ignored when she was trying to frighten one of her pupils. But later I asked myself if Heathcote had been twenty three. It was certain she looked older than the rest of us. But why? Why come back to school at such an age? In the end I had stopped hunting for an answer to that conundrum.
But, when Miss Leys spoke of my asking to be punished, the memories of the secretive Heathcote came flooding back to me. Had that young woman been subjected to something like the future that my husband-to-be was promising me? Had she too be taught to welcome pain? Again I saw a flutter of crisp white petticoats and the swishing fall of her black serge skirt. Delicately she stepped from the platform, skirts raised momentarily to reveal shiny buttoned boots enclosing her delicate feet. Then she was in front of me, towering about me as, with eyes downcast, I knelt at her feet.
After all, that sort of pupil would be a problem to them, I imagine. But NOT to me. It really is such an interesting problem, my dear. And I think I am going to enjoy my part in your training. Now get up, girl; I want to have a good look at you. Fighting the stiffness in my legs I swayed upright to stand before the governess. As I have said before, I am tall but Miss Leys, slender in her tailored blouse and heavy skirt, stood an inch or two taller than I.
With my eye demurely lowered, I sensed rather than saw her reach out towards me. A neat hand came into my field of vision, followed by a crisp linen cuff tidily buttoned about her wrist as she moved to touch the harsh fabric of my cape.
I have never seen an attire so unflattering, so all concealing as yours, my dear. Slowly she walked her fingers up the boned collar and onto the matching material of the coif that tightly covered my head, before allowing them to stroll upwards until her hand was level with my eyes.
Gently she slid it sideways until her index finger touched the corner of my left eye. I blinked, choking back some unknown moan that came from deep within me. An empty feeling seemed to fill my corset-crushed stomach as I felt the very tip of her finger brush my eye lashes before falling away to leave me bereft and lonely. Laughter - such an unknown commodity in my life for so many years. You MUST know that you are more than pretty.
She tilted it up a fraction as far as my collar would allow. As I did so I realised that I had not looked at her properly since returning home. Sybilienne discipline had made me keep my eyes lowered in her presence.
But as a grown young woman looking at a fellow female who was in truth not that nearly as old as I had thought. Perhaps in her mid thirties, she possessed clear grey eyes, a firm chin, generous mouth and a smoothly contoured nose. I obeyed, frightened but also thrilled in some strange and novel way. But I am still your governess. I will and can punish you until you wish you had never been born. You understand that, Claire?
Very cruel indeed if need be. I winced but did not look down. Firstly, are you afraid of me? Surely even you know the meaning of that word. Are you afraid of me? You see, girl, I know the wonderful affect of fear on young women.
I know it very well. Because I have experienced it. Abruptly she released my chin and turned away, gesturing to me to kneel again. I sunk to my knees as she climbed back onto the platform and took her place behind the desk.
Well before I came here some eight years ago as a junior governess, later taking over from Mrs Sykes, I was a pupil at a school not unlike St Sybils. My father was a clergyman, a far from wealthy one, I am afraid. The only condition as that, after our schooling was over, we had to stay on as unpaid junior teachers for a minimum period of five years.
It was an excellent arrangement - for the school. She paused and I, motionless, eyes focussed on the floor boards in front of me, wondered what this history had to do with me. It might amuse you to know, my dear, that if I was ever invited to a ball, I would not be able to wear one of the now fashionable off-the-shoulder gowns.
Such gowns were unknown when I was at school, so the Discipline Governess was happy to birch us across our shoulders and back.
And mine to this day bear graphic evidence of the zeal with which that woman punished her victims. So it is fortunate that a humble governess such as myself will never be invited to a ball, or else how would I explain away the network of scars across my upper back! She laughed softly at her own rhetorical question, though I shuddered at the thought of her long-ago suffering.
The birch is a crude instrument and you are to be the wife of a wealthy gentleman, so nothing crude will be used on you. Suddenly there was the sound of Miss Leys rising again from her seat. A moment later she had dragged me to my feet. Again she grd me by the chin and forced me to look into her eyes, our bodies close together. With barely inches separating our faces, I could see how the governess nostrils flared as she breathed rapidly in and out.
Her lower lip was curled inward and I could see the way she bit down on it, her white upper teeth visible. Her eyes, calm when she had looked at me before, now seemed flecked with gold. They were bright and captivating. Abruptly she opened her mouth slightly and took a deep breath. Then she slowly breathed out and I could smell the sweetness of her breath, its warmth and distant hint of moisture as it fanned across my mouth and nose.
I breathed in her breath and felt my legs turning weak beneath me. IF it is true. To the point of pain? To the point of death?
You are willing to let me discover how much you trust me? To find out how devoted you are to me? They crept towards the governess and, reaching her, made her smile. Now go and sit down on the punishment seat and I will test you. I turned and started to make my hobbled way to the cast-iron seat at the back of the School Room.
It looked simple enough, a replica of a plain armless chair except that its legs were bolted to the floor and, rising behind its back, was a steel upright.
It was not a welcoming sight. My heart was pounding as I moved towards the heavy iron chair. It had been many years since I had been seated there, but memories of the times the governess had strapped me in place on it flooded back as I approached its wrought-iron frame.
My perennially lowered eyes caught sight of the seat and I knew that the immediate future was going to be unpleasant for me. For the chair had been designed to ensure the person seated on it knew that she was being punished. Instead of having the usual flat area on which to sit, this chair allowed those placed on it the less than welcome privilege of being perched on three narrow bars, each triangular with a pointed edge facing upwards.
No comfortable seat to sit on; just three cruelly-placed bars on which I would be perched and then secured in place. And those bars were far enough apart and sharp-edged enough to ensure that not even a plethora of petticoats, skirts, and my cape would protect my poor backside from their ghastly pressure as I sat on them.
I instantly obeyed her, knowing what would happen if I took even half a step more. I heard her move towards me, her long skirts swishing across the stone-flagged floor. Moving without any rush she came past me and went towards the cupboard to my left. I did not dare look to see what she removed from it but, when she came back to me, I saw she held a heavy clothe bag in her hand. Well, that is no great problem as they are designed to be altered fairly simply. Now stand still.
The governess moved behind me and I felt her raise my cape, then my skirt and petticoats, easing even the ties of my long flannel pantaloons so she could lower them in order to reach the lower part of my stays. It was not a procedure unknown to me, as the maid was forced to do the same when I was permitted at set times to use the bathroom. At last came a feeling of indescribable relief as the lower parts of my corsets, that which crushed my legs from about the knees to the lower edge of my posterior, was loosened.
I fought back a sigh of near pleasure as my upper legs and thighs escaped from the crushing pressure under which they were normally confined. Unseen behind me, I could feel the lacing being adjusted and, to my initial surprise, the lower lacing as removed and the stays pulled apart at the back, this latitude seemed unnecessary just so that it would be possible for me to sit down.
My thighs and lower posterior no longer compressed by my terrible stays, but all above that region as crushing as ever, Miss Leys pulled up my pantaloons, dropped my petticoats and skirts and adjusted my cape so that no onlooker would have been able to tell that my manner of the restrained had been altered one iota.
Standing motionless, I next felt the governess loosen my outer coif, and I knew that my last opportunity to speak would shortly be upon me.
A moment later I was gagging as she forced the grim mass of the silencing plug into my mouth, forcing it deep until my wide stretch mouth. With its bulk in place I was able to close my lips slightly, my teeth dropping into the shaped slots at its base.
Then, with practised hands, behind my head the governess laced up the leather mask that held the plug in place, until it brutally compressed all my face from just below my nostril to the base of my chin, forcing my mouth to close even more tightly over the gag. I suppose he is a trifle worried that, now you are grown-up and about to be wed, you might become a chatterbox, or start making demands on him. As he is very anxious that does NOT happen, he wants you to know that you will not only be under The Rule of Silence after your are married, but you will be also have your silence guaranteed by devices such as this excellent gag.
But I hurried to obey her. I did as I was ordered, stopping my backward movement as my legs met the chair. I stood still, waiting for the order to sit down but, to my surprise, it did not come immediately. Instead Miss Leys seemed in a talkative mood for she left me standing in front of the iron seat while she stood before me.
Although I kept my gaze lowered, I could sense her looking at me with her calm blue eyes that never gave away any hint of what she was thinking. And such a well trained one too. But you will be by the time I have finished with you, sweet Claire. The gallant Captain will wonder how any girl could possibly be as well behaved as you, my sweet girl.
Because you will have learnt by then that being well behaved is the only option open to you. The governess laughed softly to herself and moved closer to me. Her sweet breath brushed my face and, even though I look to the floor at my feet, I saw her face inches from mine. Then she abruptly stepped back. Now she was the severe governess.
I obeyed and lowered myself down onto the chair. With the corset open behind my posterior, not even my welter of petticoats, skirts and my cape could prevent me from being aware of the fact that I was sitting on three bars. Initially it did not feel too uncomfortable but I was only too aware that would soon be an illusion.
But, for the time-being, I had other things to worry about as the governess passed a wide leather strap about my cape-shrouded chest. As she started to tighten it, I was dragged back against the metal upright behind me, the iron straightening my spine as effectively as the central bar on my back-board.
Further tightening and I felt a though my rib cage would be crushed under the strain. Breathing in tiny rapid breaths through dilated nostrils, I sought to drag in enough air for survival, my head spinning. Crushing corsets and now the steely band across my chest were going to ensure that I had problems breathing for as long as I sat on that seat. Next Miss Leys fastened a further broad belt across my lap, drawing my posterior back to the bar behind me, so I was pressed hard up against it from head to the base of my spine.
Then she dropped to her knees and bound my legs immobile with further straps so that only my head was free, although my high collars with their whalebone reinforcement made sure I could not move it more than an insignificant trifle.
Oh, you are crying, and that distresses me. You know how I do not like to see you unhappy. She leant over me and, with feather light lips, kissed my eyes before I felt something brush against my cheeks.
It was warm and flesh, for Miss Leys was carefully licking the tears from my face. Perhaps this will solve that problem. Suddenly everything went black and I felt pressure on my eyes. I knew well enough what was happening; the governess was fastening down thick pads over my eyes that would be sewn inside a leather band.
In a moment she would secure it in place and sight would depart out of my life until it was removed. I felt her reach behind my, tightening the securing strap and then bucking it in place. All was inky dark under those thick pads; they were no amateur devices and I knew no light would come to me until they were removed.
So chaste, so quiet and so still. I knew she was going to hurt me in some way, but I almost felt that it was right that I should suffer at her hands. Why I did not know and, in that moment of rising fear, I was unable to analyse my feelings. Tears soaked the thick pads so tightly fastened down over my eyes, yet I was no longs crying through dread of pain or suffering but because some greater emotion was swelling up within me, an emotion new to me. Well, here is your chance to prove yourself, my sweet little Claire.
And all you have to do is to sit nice and still and just not struggle or do anything silly like that. I vaguely heard the governess move away and, in darkness and silence, struggling for breath, my heart pounding in my crushed chest, I sat on the chair awaiting my fate.
I sensed and then felt something being pulled down over my coifed head. Material razed my nose which, with the area between gag strap and blindfold was the only exposed skin on all my body. At last I realised that the woman must have dragged some sort of cover down over my head and face. A moment later as it tightened, I knew it must be some sort of hood. Seconds later, as I sensed it billowing in and out as I breathed, I realised to my horror that it must be a closed hood or something similar, hermetically sealed down over my head and face.
Panic rose like bile in my throat. I moaned silent, now away that it was getting warm under the hood as well as finding my breath, never fluid or less than minimal when fully corseted, was starting to speed up as my lungs sought fresh air. But, with a manacle amount trapped under the sealed hood, no fresh air was available. I was suffocating and I was helpless to do anything about that fact. My head started to spin as my lungs seemed to fill with fire.
I struggled against my bonds, desperate to free myself and to rip the murderous covering from off my head. I screamed into my gag, terror engulfing me.
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The fire in my lungs grew in intensity searing through body and mind until. The sharp jolt of smelling salts held under my nose brought hideous consciousness back to me. I was sucking air greedily through flared nostrils, still gagged and still blindfolded and strapped to that awful chair.
My lungs still burnt but the murderous embers inside them were dying away as I dragged fresh cool air into them. But, as that pain eased, I could feel how my backside hurt where my struggles must have caused the sharp edges of the bars upon which I sat to dig into the soft flesh. Yet you thrashed around, thinking yourself cruelly kept short of air; perhaps unto death. I am fond of you and my job is such a pleasant one. Do you really think I would risk losing you. I howled mindlessly into my gag as I felt the hood being again dragged down over my head and face, its walls being drawn close in as it was sealed in place.
I screamed and silently begged for mercy. But none was forthcoming. But I do recall her words as she informed me that she was suspending my testing.
But do not think I will be beaten this easily. This done, my clothing straightened again, I was lead shuffling across the room to the backboard. But at least I was free of that terrible chair and even being strapped to the backboard seemed might paradise. I might be kept motionless, my body compressed back against the spine-straightening rod, but I could breath and the terror was slowly subsiding.
Fear might be my constant companion but no longer was I sure I was dying. Suffering, yes, but alive. Pinned like a butterfly to that cruel board, I spent the rest of the day motionless and silent, thirst building up within me until is became the focus of all my attention.
When I was taken down and, my awful gag removed, to be given water to drink, it tasted so wonderful, so cool and reviving. Behind my blindfold pads I wept in gratitude to the maid who poured that liquid into my parched and gag-bruised mouth, allowing it to flow down the arid passage on my throat.
Drinking it, I was actually happy, content to allow the joy of being given a drink to outweigh my bodily sufferings and the nightmare memories of the passing day. The cup from which I had drunk was taken from my lips. Have you showed the trust in me that you promised? Living in the black world forced on my by my blindfolds, I groped around for the right words but could find none.
Ah well, I should have expected that. But I suppose I should be grateful that you have not sought to excuse yourself. Standing immobile before her, I tried to recapture her face in my mind, seeing her as smiling in a manner that would go with her chuckle.
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But I could not see that expression. I must have moaned my frustration for she now laughed softly to herself. Instinctively I obeyed, silently terrified at the prospect of having a hard gagging plug rammed back between my teeth to make me dumb once more.
But, instead of the vile tasting bulk of the silencer being inserted into my mouth, I felt a soft fingertip playing across my lower lip. I was appalled, for I was forbidden to speak unless answering a direct question or if I had been given specific permission so to do. But I thought I could sense something approaching amusement in her tone. However, that was soon swept aside as she continued to speak. He is looking for a young woman like you who will be eternally obedient, completely chaste and forever silent.
The finger resting lightly on my flesh was joined by another and together they sneaked over my lip and past my teeth, into the mouth itself. A nail softly scraped against my tongue and I moaned again. Not with pain but with some other, incomprehensible, emotion. Unable to control myself, I closed my lips softly over the two invaders and sucked gently on them, like a baby sucking a dummy.
They tasted sweet as they explored the insides of my mouth. I sighed, losing myself in strange and novel feelings that half horrified me and half filled me with joy. Abruptly the fingers jerked from my mouth, leaving me feeling bereft and empty. Somehow I suppressed a cry but, unseen beneath the dense pads covering them, my eyes shed fresh tears.
It is NOT ladylike to act in such a way. In fact, I think you are becoming too excited, for some strange reason. Well, I see I will have to give you time to calm down.
I heard her move and call to the maid. Moments later I was being led towards my night room, my close hobbled legs making me shuffle along like someone ten times my own age. When at last I reached our destination, the maid halted me and I stood still, blind and silent, wondering what lay in store for me. At last I heard someone entering the room behind me. From there, the governess ordered the maid to remove my blindfold.
The maid unbuckled the strap that held the blindfold pads in place and then pulled them from my eyes. So long kept in total darkness, I blinked at the flickering light of a single candle, its luminescence almost blinding me. The maid, having placed the blindfold down on a nearby table, gripped my shoulders and turned me round till I was facing the door.
Strangely she was smiling, but her expression was of little consequence to me. For I saw what she held and my blood ran cold.
I felt my stomach knot with fear as bile rose in my throat. I wanted to howl and beg for mercy. But no sound came between my gritted teeth. For I was too terrified even to speak. After all, it must have been familiar to you at St Sybils. I shuddered, an icy chill spreading through me from my terror knotted stomach. For the governess carried a garment feared throughout the pupil population of my old school.
It looked innocuous enough, but. Girls over the age of sixteen who had done something to bring down on the hapless heads the wrath of their mistresses might be punished in several ways.
The rod, the birch, isolation, starvation rations. Oh, there seemed to be a hundred ways in which recalcitrant girls might be brought to heel. Some were merely unpleasant, some agonising, but the one which every senior girl dreaded was the strait-cape. Not that the control garment itself was all that terrifying; it was what accompanied it that had even the most headstrong girl quivering with fear at the thought of it. The governess walked across the room and spread out the white canvas garment on my bed.
With fear welling up inside me, I watched her as she straightened up the lacings and straps that would, I knew, all too soon be fastened it about my helpless body. He knows how bad for your women it is to allow them to become agitated or excited. Just for a day or so, to allow you to see what fate has in store for you. The words themselves were harmless enough, but as a Sybilienne I knew the implied horror that lay behind each one of them.
Transfixed with fear, I stood motionless as Miss Leys walked towards me, still smiling and, as always, unhurried.
She stretched out a soft hand and ran the nail of its index finger down my nose, gently scraping the flesh from bridge to tip. I shuddered, electric pulses running through my body. I swallowed back a moan, and fought against my overwhelming desire to take that finger in my mouth and to taste her sweet flesh. The finger tapped my lower lip and I released it from between my clenched teeth. I opened my mouth slightly, hoping she would insert her finger into it. But, instead, she turned on her heel and signalled to the nursery maid.
Breathing shallow and fast, I felt my head spinning and wondered if I was about to faint. But the moment passed and I was aware of Miss Leys looking at me with those calm eyes of hers. Then she looked across at her assistant. And I will not need you until tomorrow morning. The nursery maid bobbed a little curtsey and left the room, no doubt delighted at the prospect of some free time.
As soon as the door closed behind her. Miss Leys came to where I stood, looking into my eyes, her gaze so candid that I lowered my eyes and looked down at the half yard of floor between us. Well maybe it is time for you to grow up a trifle. Maybe it is time to show you what it means to be married. Suddenly she moved, walking across to the bed. Then she returned to me with a smile, moving behind me, her skirts swishing softly across the hard floor.
To my surprise, I felt her tugging at the lacing at the bottom edge of my extraordinarily long corset. With skilled fingers she eased the lacing so that, from hip bones downwards, the garments terrible pressure was eased and then released totally. Face down, child. For once, maybe for the first time for years, I could walk freely, my stride unfettered, my legs free. But that pleasure lasted for only three paces.
Then I was by the side of my low hard bed, looking down at the grey blankets that covered the wafer thin mattress. Firm hands took my shoulders and, my arms pinned to my sides and helpless, I allowed the governess to lower me onto the bed so that I lay along its hard length. I felt like moaning or even begging for mercy.
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But long years had taught me to remain silent, even when I desperately wished to plead for forgiveness or mercy, to be spared from some awful fate that awaited me. So I bit my tongue and remained mute, expecting my corsets to be laced up again, probably even tighter than normal, for I would not be walking anywhere for some time; of that I was certain.
Miss Leys must have gone across the room to the locked cupboard behind the door. Because the next sound I heard was a key being inserted in a lock. For a minute or maybe two there were indistinct sounds. There she stopped to the accompaniment of other sounds, one of which I recognised as the gentle creak of her own well-laced stays, perhaps as she bent down. Then the bed moved slightly before it was dragged from the wall.
I suppressed a frightened moan, for the movement was unexpected, even shocking. For, although the bed was relatively light, and I certainly was, it seemed hardly possible that a women a slightly built as Miss Leys could pull us both sideways a foot or so.
Again there were more indistinguishable sounds until I felt my right ankle being pushed to the side and something being secured round it. It felt like a hobble cuff as it was ruthless tightened about my thickly stockinged flesh.
Then my other ankles was pulled outwards, my legs now wide spread in a shockingly lewd manner, before it too was girdled by a tightly fitted cuff.
At last the hand that had held my lower leg released its grip and it was then, to my speechless horror, I realised that something was holding my ankles and legs apart. Well, dearest Claire, there is no husband of yours here now, but I am acting in his place. It is my duty to introduce you to cts of married life which - I sincerely hope - are unknown to you. If I am forced to gag you, you will certainly live to regret your foolishness. Remember, not a sound, be it of pleasure or pain.
Pain, yes I could understand that. But pleasure? How when the strait cape awaited me and my legs were so horribly spread apart in such a disgusting manner? All I felt was shame, and most certainly not pleasure. A hand, warm and soft, suddenly touched my left inner thigh. I bit back a moan perhaps of fear.
Jun 29, Claire's Tale by D February A New Introduction to 'Claire's Tale' This story, as originally published In Tales of the Veils, was written by me many years ago - in fact between and - at the behest of my then Master, TB. As far as I remembered it was first published in. lizajdyer.com 'jodi west' Search, free sex videos. Essie Davis is nude actress in this video. Naked scene with Australian actress Essie Davis(age 47). She shows tits, ass in sex scene. The celebrity nude a Kate Dickie from the TV movie "Philip K. Dick's Electric Dreams" (release ). Season 01 sex videos. Nude scenes, naked .
Perhaps of yearning. For my flesh tingled as finger tips brushed across my skin, rising slowly upwards towards.
Instinctively, I tried to close my legs, to prevent those insidious fingers from coming nearer to my most secret of places. Like all girls of my age and upbringing, I had been taught about the dangers that lurked within the crannies of my body, of how they were sources of evil, and how I must never touch myself there, and never allow anyone to touch that forbidden zone.
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And now my own governess, the woman sent to train and correct me, was invading that vile territory in a way that sent icy shivers coursing through my whole body. I bit my tongue, choking back a cry as the fingers reached to the secret entrance to my body. A nail ran across the lips that sealed the entrance; lips I had secretly touched but which I had never dared look at. I knew their elongated shape, their soft heat and the way they protected further folds of petalled flesh.
The nail was joined by a finger and, to my delighted horror, it began to burrow in between the lips, seeking to pierce my innermost secrets. I shivered again, for once glad that my arms were pinned to my sides, my hands made helpless.
For, had I been free, I would have grd that hand between my legs and guided its questing fingers deeper inside my shaking body. A moan rose in my throat, soft arrows of velvet pleasure spreading through my body. The finger, now joined by another intruder, was past the initial barrier of rose lips and together they wiggled deeper into my body.
Now I felt sweat on my brows, warmth between my legs and then the moan I had been choking back forced its way out between my clamped lips. The fingers stopped their inward progress, freezing inside my opening. Download p quality 1. Published by longperv. Electric Blue 1 48, Electric Blue 12Vintage Striptease Show 2 73, Vintage Striptease Show 1 88, Best Chest in US 30, Takin' It Off 58, Fit Stripper Babe - Nurse Outfit 42, Brunette model strips outdoor 52, Billie Jean 46, More Girls Chat with x Hamster Live girls now!
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