A Kind of Freedom Pt. 01

"Yes, my Lady," her constant companion replied, offering her a polite smile under his well-groomed mustache. Jachir was a keen student of the art of inoffensiveness, so keen that at times Bliss wished he'd be gruffer, louder, manlier, as would befit his bulky bodybuilder's frame and ruggedly handsome features. "A fortnight will allow ample examination. Will you be changing for dinner?"

"Mm... No. This is a journey, even if, well..."

"Even if it seems more like a stay in a fine hotel?" Jachir offered, his smile turning genuine with slight amusement at the eccentricities of wealth.

"Yes, exactly. We'll do my hair but that will be quite enough."

Jachir wasn't wrong, Bliss mused, as she moved into the bedroom of her luxurious promenade suite. The oval porthole windows betrayed they were on a ship, but there was very little else to do it save the general compactness of it all. From the carpets to the oak panelling to the opulent bedstead and even the duchess she planted herself before, it all would've been equally at home on land. The Maenad seemed to lack every spark of wildness that its namesake possessed. It was, she sighed to herself as Jachir plucked the pins from her hair and began to tease it down and out, something of a disappointment.

Hainora's stories of a life at sea were always so terribly thrilling. Rough, violent, and brutish, certainly, but exciting. The degrading grime and misery of the conditions was as much a part of the adventure in those stories from her earlier life as the actual storming of merchant ships. This, by contrast, might as well have been a trip on the family yacht, though it lacked even the cramped intimacy of that. One of the smaller suites or staterooms might have offered some small taste of the genuine life at sea, but Hainora had arranged for the largest of them for her. Her world was filled with finery, suffocating and stultifying, drowning her in fine silks and velvets. Even in disgrace, Hainora sent her away coddled and spoiled.

"Lady Bliss?" Jachir repeated, drawing her back out of the seething pit of resentment.

"Mm?"

"Would your Ladyship like her hair up or down?"

"Oh... Up, tonight, I think. A concession to propriety."

One of many on this particular trip. The dresses in her travelling chests were all drawn from the more conservative end of her wardrobe. No great expanses of cleavage this time. No exquisitely tight busts and bustles. Keep her hair up. Dress elegantly, but conservatively. Avoid further scandal, for the sake of the family.

She leant back into Jachir's expert hands, her heart at once sinking and in her throat as she realized that even her clothing was a kind of bondage to her Mistress now, another way to control her. To shape her, to mold her. The corset was the most obvious piece, but even the rest - from her neckline to her shoes - was tied inextricably into her strange position in the world. An aristocrat to manage and a disgrace to be managed.

Her fingers nestled at her neckline as she contemplated the alternative. Tear her silken dress off, parade naked onto the promenade deck and loudly shout her name to the world to look at her, to get a good look at the slut in all the papers. The possibility was strangely thrilling, and she distracted herself with it while behind her, Jachir worked his magic. She was idly conscious of the chignon taking shape in the mirror before her, of his fussing to achieve the perfect blend between elegant formality and insouciance that would match her travelling dress, of the agonizing over which pin to secure it with, but the thought of exposing herself to the world instead rose over and over into her thoughts.

When Jachir finished, she rose to inspect the work in her reflection. It was, as ever, perfect - he was a true artist with the brush and the hairpin, and she nodded her satisfaction. The slight mess of the chignon fit the theme of a journey, without sacrificing elegance. Her green silk dress lacked the extravagant sensuality she enjoyed flaunting, but still made no secret of her outrageously lavish body, of the impossible tightlacing of her specially-built corset and the great immensity of her bust. That, she wryly considered, could be achieved only by clothing her in a tent. Even dressed conservatively, there were some things that could not be hidden.

"I think I will take dinner alone, Jachir - I believe that is suitably appropriate at sea, with all the waiters. You have my leave for the evening."

"Thank you, my Lady." He offered a small bow. "Would you like me to prepare anything for your return?"

"No... No, that won't be necessary either. Some time on my own to think will do me wonders. I will see you in the morning, Jachir."

She had no intention whatsoever to spend the evening alone. Not with a boatful of handsome aristocrats to distract her from her exile.

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Tune in next time to find out if Bliss finds a man to fuck (This is literotica, so it's probably smart money to bet she does), if Dreya ever sleeps properly again, what kind of talent Tifereth is scouting, and just what that burning scar is all about. Don't forget to vote, comment, or write with your feedback. This one's been in the pipes for quite a while, but as I keep rewriting it over and over, it was time to just pull the trigger. No doubt I will be returning to revise it later, but for now - enjoy. Part 2 will have significantly more sex acts.

To read more about Karandreya's seduction, Sex and Vengeance is your go-to. For more on Bliss, the same series along with my other stories, A Long Night and Wine Sodomy and the Lash. And for Hainora, check the same and my other stories, Pray and Happy Anniversary.