Consorts for Ladies Ch. 04

Be aware, this chapter contains a scene of significant reluctance between Phaedia and Gabriel. If you'd prefer to skip that, scroll past the two Gabriel POV sections, which are marked with a ## instead of a # before them. There will be a brief summary of the plot-relevant details of these sections at the end.

The rest of the encounters in the chapter are enthusiastic, and include male and female chastity, crossdressing, female masturbation, hot wax, whipping, cunnilingus, and the use of a rack.

For those just joining, this story takes place in a universe where reverse-traditional gender roles are the norm. For the reading pleasure of interested adults only.

***

Sir Elizabeth lay naked on a cushioned, inclined bench on one of Heartgarden Castle's many verandas. A roaring fire in the veranda's hearth kept it pleasant, even as the sun set and a winter breeze rustled the treetops of the courtyard beyond.

Twelve aspirants were gathered around her, the wide skirts of their gowns competing for space.

Each one held a large silk scarf in his delicate, gloved hands, and fluttered it regularly over Elizabeth's skin in various pleasing patterns. Christopher was demurely rubbing her thigh as if he were polishing it, keeping his mouth closed around his freshly pierced tongue. It seemed there were no hard feelings between them.

Of course, it was always easiest for Christopher to behave himself in Daisy's absence, an absence which disappointed Elizabeth slightly. Out of all the unclaimed aspirants in the castle, Daisy was the one she would most have expected to be here for her now.

She shook her head and added Daisy to the list of things to keep out of it, along with everyone and everything else that wasn't currently within a two-foot radius of her.

The consort standing at her left shoulder, Edgar, held a carafe of wine, and meticulously topped off her glass after nearly every sip she took.

This made him her current favorite.

The warm intoxication already flowing through her blood, muffling her brain and rooting her to her body, was the only thing allowing her to enjoy any of the rest of it.

Another aspirant, David, swept his silk expertly across her collarbone and both breasts. Her nipples hardened in search of more attention, and without being asked, he took them between his fingers with a precise, systematic roll. His gloves were almost as soft as the scarves.

Elizabeth wasn't sure whether the aspirants had been encouraged to pay her extra attention, to compensate her for having her chosen consort snatched away by Princess Phaedia, or if they were hoping to be picked for his now vacant position.

How anyone could still see her as the lady of their dreams, she didn't know.

Today, she didn't care.

Silk caressed her neck, her arms, her breasts, her thighs.

One of the aspirants climbed onto the bench, kneeling between her legs, and spread his scarf over her pelvis.

With a mischievous smile, he lowered his head and licked her through the thin layer of silk. It was technically permitted, not quite an intimate sullying of his bare skin, so long as the silk didn't slip.

Elizabeth stretched out luxuriously and spread her legs farther apart, inviting him to continue.

The scarf was soon soaked with his saliva and her fluids. She could almost feel the texture of his tastebuds through it, as he licked her clit with abstractly knowledgeable precision.

How curiously balanced these virgins' training must be.

She hoped he might draw it out, give her time to feel nothing but the scarves on her skin and his warm, wet tongue on her silk-covered cunt. That wouldn't be such a horrible eternity to live in. But the licking aspirant's technique was refined enough to bring her to a quick, irresistible orgasm.

Elizabeth moaned and writhed with it, and against it. She clung to the mind-erasing pulses of pleasure, staving off the moment when they would peter out and leave her with an intolerable moment of clarity.

The pulses stopped, and the moment came, full of tears and wretched, mournful gasping. Elizabeth drank the full contents of her generously poured glass, to hurry it past.

When the licking aspirant began to raise his head, she pushed it back down.

#

Daisy sat at her favorite table in the rose garden, enjoying her coffee, paging through a book of poetry and woodcuttings, and watching Sir Elizabeth's pity party unfold from a safe distance.

There was a lot that Daisy struggled to understand about more traditional women — where the fun was in smashing breakaway sticks into each other's faces a full gallop, for example, or how they could be so obsessed with the aesthetics of men's lace and silk and paint without ever wanting to try those things on themselves.

She did know a thing or two, however, about how best to handle ladies who were not currently at their best. They were simple things, things she supposed every consort, husband, or other submissive partner would eventually have to figure out for themselves if they wanted to live peaceful, comfortable lives.

One of them was, when a woman seemed to be carefree at a time when there was no rational explanation for her to be so, it was best to give her space until she started making sense again.

Much as Daisy would have liked to offer Elizabeth comfort, it wasn't possible for her to be comforted yet, and any interaction that might take place between them while she remained in this condition would not be real.

Daisy turned a page in her book, and a person-shaped shadow cut into the fading sunlight on it.

Immediately, Daisy set her coffee down, stood, and turned toward the presence, sinking into a curtsy in the same motion. She fully expected to look up find herself the latest unlucky recipient of Lady Mary's ire. Between Sir Elizabeth suddenly making such a show of herself, and Princess Phaedia upending the Heartgarden with her royal presence, Lady Mary was likely to be feeling very small and eager to take her feelings out on any stragglers. Daisy had known the risk when she'd chosen her reading spot.

When Daisy lifted her head, however, she found that the shadow belonged not to Lady Mary, but to a handsome woman she had seen only once before, at the princess's grand entrance.

"It's all right, sit," the woman told her.

Daisy arranged herself cautiously back in her seat, smoothing wrinkles from her skirt.

"Do you mind company?" the woman asked.

Daisy shook her head and silently pulled another porcelain cup from the set she'd brought. She poured a second coffee with a well-practiced flourish.

"Thank you," said the woman, adjusting her plate armor to sit in the chair across from Daisy. She took a sip of the coffee, not troubling with the cream or sugar. "You're free to speak, by the way. That is, if I can give you that permission? I haven't been invited to choose a consort of my own, only to enjoy your hospitality while I tend to her highness on her visit."

"My duty includes treating all guests with the same respect," Daisy assured her. "So, yes, you have the authority to permit me to speak."

"Good," said the woman. "This would have been a very boring conversation, otherwise."

Daisy used the access to her voice to reply with a friendly giggle.

"I'm Sir Olivia," said the woman.

"Daisy," said Daisy.

Sir Olivia smiled with her lips pressed together, the way people did when they were too polite to point out that Daisy's reputation preceded her.

Olivia took another slow sip of her coffee without taking her eyes off Daisy, even for a moment.

"You can ask," Daisy told her. "I don't mind."

"Ask what?" said Olivia, with almost convincing innocence.

"Whichever question it is that's burning the tip of your tongue," Daisy said lightly. "Why would a woman want to be a lady's consort? Aren't men's dresses horribly uncomfortable? How do I walk in the slippers? Did the Heartgarden have to invent a new type of chastity belt just to fit me?"

"I imagine the answer to all of those questions, minus the last one, is much the same as it is for men," said Olivia.

Daisy's shoulders unburdened themselves of the weight of explaining herself to a stranger. It was a weight she was used to, but its absence was euphoric.

"Still, we've just blown past the most important question of all," said Olivia.

"What would that be?" asked Daisy.

"Well, men usually choose to fashion themselves as luxury playthings for one of two reasons," said Olivia. "Either for the chance to exist adjacent to a life of luxury, or for the love of being played with. Which particular reason drives you?"

Daisy felt herself blush. She had never blushed as easily as the men — one of the many differences that tended to make her feel unattractively tough and unmasculine — but the blood flowed freely to her cheeks now.

"Both," she answered honestly, "but especially being played with."

Amusement flickered across Olivia's lips, without breaking the aura of unflappable competence appropriate to a princess's guard.

"In that case," said Olivia, "within the bounds of honor and taste, is there anywhere the two of us might enjoy some private frivolity?"

Daisy nodded.

"Would you like that?"

She nodded again.

Olivia stood and offered an arm. Daisy linked hers with it, and started back toward the castle.

She restricted herself to one glance back at Elizabeth. Her current tantrum showed no sign of subsiding. The end was not something to hold one's breath for, not if one was sensible.

##

One trembling footstep at a time, Gabriel passed through the door that Princess Phaedia held open for him, into her suite at Heartgarden Castle.

She locked it behind them and marched forward into the palatial space, leading him through three doorways before reaching the bedroom.

Gabriel stood with his hands folded diffidently in front of him, counting the beads embroidered into his slippers, the way he always did when he was standing and waiting for something to end.

"Take your clothes off," Phaedia ordered without preamble. "No need to be shy. I'm going to keep you forever and ever."

This was it, thought Gabriel. The end of virginity. And once it was over, there was no going back. No great lady would have him except the princess herself. Or if they would, they would always look upon him as less than he could have been.

He could still quit, excuse himself from consideration as a consort altogether. He doubted that even Phaedia would try to hold him here against his will. The queen gave her nearly free rein in most things, but she would definitely have something to say about an act that dishonorable.

Gabriel paused with his hands on the laces of his dress, contemplating the one question he'd hoped never to have to answer.

Would he prefer to live as a pet to a powerful woman he didn't trust, or go home to his mother with nothing to show for his efforts, search for work serving in a tavern where he might someday catch a common woman's eye, and then live out his days raising her children for a life of labor in a cottage that probably wouldn't have a bookshelf, much less a conservatory?

He had never been able to settle that debate with himself, not in all the years he'd been preparing, and now there was an added complication.

Elizabeth.

Leaving now would clinch their separation for good.

If the two of them had happened to meet somewhere outside the Heartgarden, there would have been nothing to stop them from being together. Now that they had met here, however, circumventing the Heartgarden's rules would be considered very bad form, at best, criminal at worst. Elizabeth could relinquish her invitation and follow him away, only for them both to end up in a prison cell, or out on the streets with none of Elizabeth's lands and titles.

If they both stayed.... There was a reckless part of Gabriel that actually hoped Princess Phaedia would lose interest in him once the novelty of claiming him had worn off. If she set him aside voluntarily, and Elizabeth wanted to take him back, no one would stop them.

Of course, that assumed Elizabeth would want him back. She'd been talking just last night with such anticipation about taking his virginity for herself. It was only pillow talk, but he had no idea how she truly felt on the subject.

They barely knew each other, really.

Gabriel knew how presumptuous he was being, fantasizing about Elizabeth fighting to keep him beyond this moment. Her power as a knight was nothing compared to that of the heiress of the realm. She had done all she could for him, and he had no right to expect more.

The time for decision-making ran short, and Gabriel found himself undoing his laces and beginning to disrobe. He stripped off his gown, shoes, and stockings, and stood before the princess in only his corset and chastity belt.

"All the way," Phaedia corrected him.

Gabriel's voice started up in the back of his throat, but he caught himself just in time. Unlike Elizabeth, Phaedia had not given him permission to speak in her presence, much less to express a preference.

With resignation, he breathed in, unfastened the clasps of his corset, and added it to the pile of the rest of his clothes. He crossed his arms instinctively in front of him, covering his less graceful natural waist as best he could.

"Not bad," Phaedia assessed him, walking a tight circle around him, dragging her ceremonial riding crop over his skin as she went. "I imagined you a little leaner and softer under those dresses, but that can be fixed. Less rich food, more rest."

Gabriel tried to ignore the hunger and restlessness that sprang up already in response to her words.

"I'm going to unlock you now," Phaedia announced indulgently, removing her key necklace from around her neck and dangling it in front of him.

She looked into his face, for what, Gabriel wasn't sure. He waited in silence until she stepped around him to reach the heavy padlock at the back of his belt.

After a moment, the thick, protective plate of metal fell away from his delicate sex.

#

Swimming in the effects of three orgasms and more wine than she'd been able to keep track of, Elizabeth couldn't bear lying on that bench a moment longer. Stillness allowed thoughts to pool inside her like water in low ground.

She directed four of the aspirants to bring out some string instruments and play something lively.

Haphazardly re-dressed in her tunic and leggings, she danced frantically among the rest of the aspirants attending her. She shook the invisible weights out of her arms and legs, and swung herself from one partner to the next, holding each one close, breathing in a bouquet of perfumes and savoring the hints of a soft body under each stiff bodice and unyielding belt.

Though she knew it was her place to lead, and to give each man in her presence a steady source of strength to lean upon, she found herself leaning upon them instead, tumbling from one living crutch to the next to avoid falling flat on the dance floor and staying there.

She suspected she would fall anyway, sooner or later. She only hoped that, when she did, she would be tired enough to slip directly into unconsciousness, before the thoughts had time to pool again.

#

Daisy walked Olivia brazenly down into the dungeons.

"Whatever could we be doing here?" Olivia asked slyly. "I didn't see your name on the disciplinary schedule for today."

"You checked the schedule?" Daisy responded with a daintier sort of slyness.

"With the princess safe behind castle walls, I thought I'd offer up my spare time to assist our hosts," Olivia reasoned.

Half of her mouth had pulled up into a smile.

"How gallant," said Daisy. "Were you hoping to find any particular names on the schedule, in need of a volunteer to punish them?"

"If you'd known I would be checking," said Olivia, "would you have committed an infraction to add your name?"

"Never," Daisy declared, skipping and twirling down the aisles of the dungeon's tack room. "I would never shirk my duties on purpose."

"And yet..." Olivia prompted, watching her with rapt interest.

"And yet I've always been fascinated with this place," Daisy admitted. "Bit exciting, isn't it?"

"That must make things easier for you," said Olivia. "When you do break a rule."

"I wish it did," said Daisy. "The trouble is, I'm usually too ashamed of breaking the rule to even notice where I am."

She ran her fingers along a set of correction gags, a rack of whips.

"Tell me what you're thinking," Olivia prompted.

"It seems such a waste, to keep all this equipment on hand, but reserve it for moments such as that. I want to be a good consort. I want to be perfect, if I can. Does that mean I should never be permitted to feel any of these devices at work on me?"

"That would be a tragic injustice," Olivia agreed. "One we could put to rights."

"Could we?" Daisy asked, almost painfully hopeful.

Olivia's eyes assessed the room, the rows upon rows of equipment, and Daisy herself.

"I wouldn't want to ruin that lovely dress of yours," she said. "I recommend removing it and anything else that could tear or stain."

Daisy joyfully did as she was told, struggling not to rush or look more eager than was proper. She folded her clothes neatly onto one of the shelves and stood in only her chastity belt with her hands at her sides, thrumming with excitement for what Olivia would do next.

"Lie on the rack," Olivia directed her, pointing to one of the room's larger contraptions.

Daisy practically threw herself onto the horizontal wrought iron framework and raised her hands over her head for Olivia to shackle in place.

The thought crossed Daisy's mind, as it always did while she was being restrained, that there would be nothing at all she could do if her captor turned out to mean her true harm. The thought was fiercer than usual, with her captor being a nearly perfect stranger, and this encounter between them being unscheduled and unknown to Headmistress Jane.

As usual, the intensity of Daisy's excitement rose to match her fright, quieting any serious thoughts of escape.

Olivia finished securing the shackles around Daisy's wrists and ankles, and then set about lighting the partially melted candles on the iron canopy above her. In a few minutes, they would begin to drip their wax onto Daisy's naked, defenseless body. Only the area around her face was safe, that and what her chastity belt covered.

"You've been a good little aspirant," Olivia cooed reassuringly, petting Daisy along the bare skin between her breasts.

If Daisy had been a cat, she would have purred. No human sound seemed adequate to capture her delight at the touch.

"It's so unfair, what happens when you're that good," Olivia went on. "It's easy to ignore the person who causes no trouble. Everyone else needs correction, but not you, you can be left alone, trusted, taken for granted. And when someone does have a scrap of attention to spare for you, they never guess how you like it best, do they?"

Daisy shook her head, eyes closed, reveling in the words as much as the stroking on her skin.

"How would you like to be rewarded for all your patience, and thoughtfulness, and hard work?" Olivia asked.

"Turn the crank," Daisy whispered reverently.

"Manners," Olivia reminded her. "Don't go and forget them now, after all you've been through."

"Turn the crank, please, my lady," Daisy corrected herself.

"Very nice," said Olivia, reaching for the crank.

With several intimidating thunks, the chains attached to Daisy's wrists and ankles shortened, pulling in opposite directions. Olivia stopped them right at the end of Daisy's reach, leaving her comfortable but quite immobile.