Bellway Ch. 06: The Apothecary

Author's Note: All characters are adults, which in this context means they are at least twenty-one years of age.

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Dearest Emily,

The bonds of sisterly love compel me to relate the shameful pleasures I have experienced today, no matter how unwise, but pity me, my sweet sister, for already I suffer for it. The armour that confines me is now doubly secure, and the only key to its lock is in Lady Grey's locket. Therefore next time you dream of her fair breasts, as I am sure you do, remember that my freedom sits between them.

There is no possibility now that Charlotte will unbuckle me, or even that I might unbuckle myself. No, I am a prisoner, as surely as any criminal behind bars.

You cannot imagine the indignity of it! Where before I had to endure Charlotte's inspection whenever she unbuckled me, now I must do my necessaries while still firmly captured. I leave the uncomfortable details of this most unnatural act to your imagination. Suffice it to say that one must pass through a slit - far too narrow to admit fingers - while the other is - blessedly! - unobstructed.

It seems I am to be tormented most horribly during my stay at Bellway. How long it seems already, and yet scarcely a week has passed.

Charlotte and I breakfasted today with Lady Grey, over which the conversation dwelled sourly on the weather for it rained all night and threatened to continue. Despite which, it was warm outside, with hopeful sunlight to be glimpsed on the hills between cloud and rain.

Even as we finished, and I wondered what adventures the day would hold, and whether there was any hope of going outside - I had in mind to seek out the coachman again, for I am very fond of his virile member (and at scandalously short acquaintance) - a corsetière arrived and was admitted.

Mrs Allison was an elderly lady with a slight French accent, but there was no uncertainty in her hands. If she was surprised by my iron corset, or if she was shocked by my obvious arousal, she showed no sign. One would almost think she has a daily stream of maidens bound in chastity to clothe.

Charlotte and Lady Grey watched as I was undressed, and as my protective armour was removed. I scowled at Charlotte for so obviously enjoying my discomfiture.

So complex are my feelings about that accursed chastity device! It is extremely vexatious, denying me the touch of my own fingers (not of course that a proper young lady should want to touch herself the way I long to do) and yet its iron grip on me is at once intimate and undeniably comforting.

I felt quite naked and vulnerable without it.

Mrs Allison's rough hands brushed against my skin as she measured my waist and chest, and as she threaded her tape between my thighs I hoped she would stray a little higher.

See what has become of me, dearest Emily? I would welcome the touch of a stranger, even though it shamed me deeply. If I were to wear the corset to my own wedding, I would not care if the groom himself were veiled instead, for I would think only of the bridal bed. Though he were the foulest man alive, I would spread my legs and demand to be used most vigorously.

But under Lady Grey's attentive gaze, I didn't dare move, not to touch myself, not to bring Mrs Allison's dexterous hands into more intimate contact.

Despite having been washed by Charlotte before breakfast, the unmistakable aroma of sex and sweat clung to me. Mrs Allison had to be able to smell my lewd hunger for her, though it was surely obvious by my swollen nipples, so starved for touch they seemed almost angry.

Throughout her measurements, Mrs Allison muttered to herself, too quietly for me to make out any words, and she jotted down numbers in her pad. But finished at last, she wrapped my corset in a cloth, nodded curtly to Lady Grey, and departed.

I was thoroughly confused. Naturally I thought to dress myself, but Lady Grey stopped me. "I am not so foolish as to trust you, Miss Susan. Mrs Allison will return the corset tonight, but until then you must be restrained."

And what a devious restraint, dear sister! Surely you must recall the tall apothecary cabinet that stands in the corner of the dining room? It has lots of square drawers and looks so oddly out of place?

They are not drawers at all, but little doors that open on a dark interior. Indeed, the whole front of the cabinet opens as a door to reveal the space within. Imagine my alarm! Seeing the restraints within, and understanding at once I was to be confined in darkness for hours.

Though it was Charlotte who cried out. She takes great delight in my constant humiliation, but was suddenly pale at the thought of this imprisonment, for you know how she fears tight spaces.

I was more anxious about the restraints. I was soon pinned so firmly to the wooden back of the cabinet, by wide leather straps about my arms, and my legs and waist, that I had a good idea of what a fly must feel like when caught in a spider's web.

Like da Vinci's Vitruvian Man, or a prized butterfly in Sir Thomas's collection, I was spread wide and pinned in place, my breasts and my most intimate place on open display. A grotesque picture it must have made - at least until the door closed, sealing me in darkness.

Then, I confess, Emily, I did panic. To be trapped so completely in darkness, my breathing echoing in the closed space, not knowing if anyone was out there, not knowing how long I would be there. What if a certain need grew too urgent? Could I shout for Charlotte to bring a pot? Would anyone hear? Would I even be able to do it in this awkward position?

What if they forgot about me? What if I died and this ended up as my coffin?

But the darkness wasn't total, some light peeked in past the edges of the little doors, and once my breathing settled down and my heartbeat no longer pounded in my ears, I realised I could hear the maids at work as they tidied away our breakfast.

My panic soon gave way to a familiar excitement. I was so close to them! Naked, bound and utterly helpless, and they had no idea.

And though my body was for the first time in many days unguarded, it was still denied me. No matter how I struggled against the bonds, I could find no way to alleviate the lower itch. My nipples, however, pressed against the cabinet, and I was able with some considerable effort to brush against the smooth wooden surface.

Can you imagine me, Emily? Trussed up in darkness, squirming in a desperate attempt to rub my nipples against the cabinet. I have become the very thing pastors protect their flocks from, not merely lewd but licentious.

I pressed hard enough against the cabinet that one of the little doors popped open. Light flooded into my space, illuminating my breast and my engorged nipple. I ceased my struggling instantly, terrified that one of the maids might notice.

They did! There was sudden silence in the dining room. How strange it is to know that your breast is shockingly visible, and yet not be able to do anything about it. Yes, I should have shouted for help, but that would have meant revealing my predicament - and, worse, my willing submission to this obscenity - to the maids.

I prayed for them to choose ignorance, to close the little door and conceal me once again, but in truth my demonic lust wished for a far worse fate. I had a vision of the cabinet door being thrown open to reveal a crowd of maids (and butlers and coachmen) eager to take advantage of my helplessness.

Fortunately, that despicable fantasy did not result. The little door opened wide, however, and though I could not see them, I could hear their whispers and tittering, and I could feel their eyes on me, drinking in my outrageously exposed breast. The little door beside it was flung open, illuminating my other breast, and two more doors further down. I knew it could only be a matter of time before my face was revealed too.

And yet, they seemed as reluctant to learn my identity as I was to have it learned. Instead they reached through with their hands, caressing my breasts, pinching my nipples, and delving ever deeper between my thighs. I fought to stay still and silent, knowing it would be unconscionable to encourage these strangers' uninvited explorations, but my body betrayed me. I whimpered with unmistakable pleasure, writhing in a quest for further contact, and thus I - unwillingly! - implored their continuation.

Certainly there was no disguising my pleasure when I succumbed quickly to that wondrous ecstasy. I cried out, my voice both muffled and deafening in the tight space.

I am strangely cursed, my dearest Emily. My virginity was taken by a masked man, and today I don't know how many different hands touched me, or whose hands they were, or if there is anyone in all of Bellway whose hands were not on me - or indeed in me! Some were knarled with age, some were rough from harsh use, some were men's for sure, though most were not.

I had feared that I would be alone and forgotten in the dark, but instead I was seldom without company, and though I saw only hands for the most part, one group of young men took turns to point their erect members at my belly and work themselves to a messy end. I could feel their essence running down my thighs for a long time after, and the not unpleasant stench of it suffused the stale air of the cabinet.

Only once was my face exposed, and then only the lower part. A woman's lips pressed firmly against mine, a determined kiss that I responded to instinctively, only to find my mouth flooded with that same creamy essence. Charlotte, for it was she, pulled away with a peal of laughter. "Are you enjoying yourself in there?" she asked. Before I could answer, her fingers slipped into me and the only sound I could make was a guttural moan of grateful pleasure. "You certainly are," she said, and kissed me again before closing the door to conceal my face once more. Her fingers lingered a while, thrusting gently, but then they too departed.

After what seemed like an eternity, the cabinet opened and Charlotte released me. My muscles ached so severely I could barely stand, and that I made it back to our room is nothing short of miraculous.

I was clean again and steady on my feet when Lady Grey summoned us. At the sight of Mrs Allison and the corset, my heart misgave me. I am loath to admit it, but I would rather be used by strangers than sequestered in iron chastity. Not that I would ever dare confess that to Lady Grey.

Pity me, dear sister, and pray for my too corrupted soul.

Yours &c.

S.