Bellway Ch. 02: Devices of Pleasure

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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My Beloved Emily,

Forgive me (as I'm sure you will, dear sister) for deluging you with my ill-considered words, but I am in turmoil! It was with great difficulty last night that I yielded to sleep, so full my thoughts were of yesterday's adventure. I awoke in darkness, a solitary ray of moonlight piercing the curtain in our room.

Lady Grey gave us the Green Room to share, knowing it to be my favourite. I still remember my amazement as a young girl that I could have a bed all to myself, and how you complained that I climbed into your bed during the night, afraid to be by myself even though the beds were within touching distance.

Thankfully, I did not feel the urge to climb into Charlotte's bed. My sleep was fitful, my dreams consumed as my waking thoughts had been with apple-scented kissing and rough fingers penetrating the flower of my maidenhood.

It was a gentle moan that awoke me and set my heart pounding. I lay there, uncertain, fearing that a stranger had entered our room - but it was only Charlotte. She moaned again, and I wondered if she were dreaming, or perhaps it was a nightmare and I should awaken her.

As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I saw that she was half uncovered, and with one hand she teased a swollen nipple. The other hand was concealed below, no doubt seeking that nubbin of pleasure, touching herself the way I had been touched.

I stayed quiet as mouse, not daring to move. Charlotte would be mortified to know that I witnessed this private moment. It is one thing to surrender helplessly to a man's determined embrace, but quite something else to be openly lewd. (Oh pity me, sister.)

Naturally I was shocked. I closed my eyes and sought again the ignorance of sleep, but alas I was wide awake - and worse! Charlotte's moans of pleasure awoke in me that same tormentous need. If those masked men had burst into the room there and then, I would have begged them to treat me as before.

I was tempted to do as Charlotte did, to throw off the covers and yield to the same solitary pleasure, but I denied the impulse, telling myself it was a test of character, even as Charlotte shuddered through a long moment of ecstasy and drifted off eventually to sleep.

Emily, sweet Emily, we are slaves to our bodies, and no amount of education can vanquish them. How long I lay there in the dark silence, I don't know, but my body's aching need denied me rest, and my imaginings bounced in a feverish fashion between the masked men's ravishment of us and Charlotte's private pleasure.

For a while I kept the inevitable at bay by pressing blankets against my chest and between my thighs, but I yielded slowly to the demand for more, pinching and rubbing my nipples. It is true that I have teased them in the past, playing lightly with them when no one watched, but this was no playful tease. I squeezed them until the pain was almost beyond endurance, and if Charlotte had been awake she would have been in no doubt what I was doing. Though I was determined to be silent, my breathing was heavy and quiet whimpers escaped against my will.

Blissful though this torture was, it did nothing to cool the ache below. I am deeply ashamed to admit this, especially to you, dear Emily, since I know how much you dislike men, but right then I needed one. I needed to feel a cock thrusting into me, filling the emptiness that even a day ago I had been unaware existed.

I slipped a finger within, and then a second, and this helped a little, but I fear nothing can truly substitute for the girth and length and ardour of a man. Now that I have known one, how am I supposed to endure until marriage?

But like Charlotte before me, I sufficed, tugging at my nipples with one hand, rubbing my nubbin with the other, a harlot at work on herself, until I too shuddered through a blissful release amidst sweat-drenched sheets - and drenched in more than sweat, I soon discovered, for in the throes of pleasure I wet the bed in a most alarming fashion. I shudder to think what the servants must be saying about me now.

[Evening]

I shan't bore you with details of this morning. Suffice it to say that Lady Grey is well, despite her advancing age, and the quality of her staff cannot be faulted. As usual, all of Bellway's rooms and halls are cleaned regularly, the food is excellent, and the gardens well kept. I would be quite happy to stay here forever, except that it is so far from you, dear sister, and I would soon miss London society.

Charlotte and I took a stroll around the gardens, and down past the church to Appleby, where we indulged in tea and scones at Miss Caroline's Teahouse - Miss Caroline asked after you, Emily, and had such a wistful look that I wonder if she is of your persuasion. Come to think of it, you did develop a remarkable passion for tea when we visited last summer.

In the afternoon, after Lady Grey retired to her chambers, as is her wont - and indeed all of Bellway seemed to doze, inviting a seductive lethargy - Charlotte and I set off to explore the west wing, spending a pleasant hour in Sir Eduard's library, and another perusing old Sir Thomas's collections of butterflies and exotic stuffed animals.

Indeed, with Sir Thomas permanently abed these days, Charlotte and I dared to peek within his study, curious to see what treasures might be hidden within - not that we anticipated any great discovery, but our curiosity was well rewarded.

Do you recall, dear Emily, the painting on the stairs that I always liked - the two women on a seesaw, their faces red, flushed with excitement, their long skirts sweeping and whirling about them in bright colours?

Well, that very same seesaw is in Sir Thomas's study - though I hesitate to call it that. This most private room is also home to a collection, the nature of which I can scarcely begin to explain, the instruments being so varied and often so obscure in nature.

The theme, I would hazard to guess, is the giving and withholding of pleasure. Indeed, the first thing I set eye on upon opening the door was a wooden mannequin dressed in polished iron armour sculpted to match her feminine curves, though her arms and legs, and her head, were all left free and unprotected.

I shall say more about that later. Our attention was quickly diverted to displays of wooden carvings, and ivory and some stone too, some very suggestive of a woman's most intimate regions, but most shaped very alike to a man's cock. Some were small and slender, some thick and long, some straight and some curved, some smooth and some ridged with twisting veins, and some had bulbous heads and wide bases and hardly seemed like cocks at all.

Charlotte and I stood there for an age, gaping at this astonishing array of lewd artefacts. There was a chair with a great hole in the seat, perhaps to allow its occupant to do their toilette - which I must admit has a certain appeal, until I imagine having to sit where someone else has done likewise.

"We mustn't be here," Charlotte said firmly.

"No," I agreed, though neither of us made to leave. It was the seesaw that lured us into the room. Without skirts to conceal its true nature, its appearance was altogether more ominous, for in the place of seats, the ends of the polished wooden plank were forked, a wooden cock mounted below so that the lady on the descending end would for certain be breached.

Suddenly I understood that in the painting on the stairs, the two women were enjoying no innocent pastime, but were rather engaged in an exercise of pleasure.

"We shouldn't," Charlotte whispered.

"No," I agreed again, but I closed the door of the study. We were alone, had seen no one else in hours, and the house seemed quiet. Emily, dear sister, how could we not, given such opportunity, recreate that scene in the painting? Despite my best efforts, my mind had continued to dwell on the events of yesterday, and the exquisite sensation of having a man's cock thrusting into me.

We made the mistake of mounting it at the same time, arranging our skirts about us as we lowered ourselves awkwardly onto the forked ends of the plank, the plank itself seesawing in response to our movements. The wooden cock itself was smooth and polished, of considerable length and at least as thick as the masked thieve's had been. It was mounted on a hinge that allowed it to move back and forward, and I was able to guide it between my legs.

I'm embarrassed to admit that I was very wet in anticipation - though I daresay that was useful, for Charlotte, frustrated in her attempt to do similarly, stood up abruptly and I fell down onto the cock. The pain and shock of that sudden penetration forced a cry from my lips, and for a good long minute all I could do was sit there, gasping.

Charlotte, after ensuring that I was not too distressed, collapsed with laughter. I could see myself in a mirror too, seated on the seesaw, fully dressed with my skirts falling about me, no sign that I just been so rudely assaulted by the mechanism except for my reddened cheeks glistening with tears - and soon I too was laughing hysterically.

Oh, Emily, I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard. It banished my lingering discomfort, and I begged Charlotte to take her place, something she found easier to do now that I could control the plank, and soon we were both impaled.

I think the real joy of the seesaw is not the penetration itself - although I enjoyed that fullness and the wooden cock felt almost alive the way it moved within me - but rather the knowledge that as one is pushing up, lifting until almost free of the cock, so also the other is being thrust down onto it. Indeed, it soon became a game between us to see who could stand quickest, which was not in itself easy, for the pure pleasure of seeing the other's face as they fell.

Charlotte derived a greater pleasure from this joyful exercise than I, her muted whimpers a crescendo that built to a crest, until she gave a loud cry and sat squirming in her seat, panting heavily.

Alas, Emily! At that very moment the study door was thrown open to reveal a furious Lady Grey. I at least was able to extricate myself from the seesaw, but for Charlotte it was a struggle, and it mattered not because the very nature of the device made clear what we had been doing. The wooden cocks were glistening with the evidence that we had done more than merely sit.

Speaking with an icy tone that terrified me, for I know my whole future now depends on Lady Grey's discretion, and indeed my behaviour since arriving at Bellway has been inexcusable as I'm sure you yourself will agree, she said, "While Sir Thomas no doubt will be delighted that his device is not neglected, for you to use it without his permission is unacceptable. It is outrageous too that you, unmarried ladies, in my care, should act in such an immoral manner."

I fell to my knees before her and burst into tears, sure that then and there my life was over. "Forgive us, Lady Grey," I begged.

She studied me coldly for a minute, and shook her head. "Forgiveness must be earned. Trust must be earned, and bad behaviour must be punished. Do you understand?"

Her words, though I didn't fully understand, offered me a ray of hope and I grabbed it. "Yes, Lady Grey."

"For as long as you are within this house, you must obey me unconditionally."

"Yes, Lady Grey."

She turned to Charlotte. "That goes for you too."

Poor Charlotte looked quite terrified. "Yes, Lady Grey," she whispered.

"Very well. Go to your room and wait there until I think of a suitable punishment."

"Yes, Lady Grey," she whispered again, and fled, leaving me alone.

Lady Grey returned her attention to me. "Remove your clothes, girl. All of them."

I obeyed as swiftly as my buttons and stays allowed, and soon I stood there entirely naked, as only you and Mother have ever seen me, my hands shielding my intimate region.

Lady Grey, meanwhile, removed the armour from the mannequin. It was lined on the inside with soft leather and silk, and there were buckles and laces to adjust the fit to its wearer - me! I was baffled as I slipped my legs and arms through the holes, and then laced up more tightly than I like, before the last buckles at the back fastened the armour into place.

At that point I still had no idea what the purpose of it was. If Lady Grey was so angry with me, why was wearing armour a punishment? It wasn't too uncomfortable, although I certainly looked very odd in the mirror, my head and various limbs sticking out of a metal torso.

Indeed, I can say now that only the leather and metal strip between my legs is really uncomfortable. It is hinged at the front with a buckle at the back, so that the wearer can do their toilette without having to get undressed.

Perhaps you suspect already what I was slow to understand. This was no suit of armour, but rather a chastity device that I have been ordered to wear at all times. "You must never touch the buckles," Lady Grey instructed, her countenance severe. "Any attempt to free yourself and you will be thrown out of my house. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Lady Grey," I said, my voice trembling.

Oh Emily, sweet Emily, I have been imprisoned in this cruel device for hours! How strange it is to touch myself and feel metal skin.

Lady Grey has given Charlotte permission to unbuckle me if I need to do my toilette, but she is to ensure that I never touch myself between the legs - what humiliation! The thought that Charlotte must watch me has kept me from asking at all, and now I am fit to burst.

Writing this to you has been a useful distraction from my body's itches and aches, but cruelest of all is the satisfaction Charlotte gained on the seesaw, but was denied me. The need to be touched, to be taken and filled, to have a cock thrusting powerfully into me until I find that blissful release I have known twice now...

I am denied the touch of my own body. My nipples are hard and press against leather, while my fingers caress only iron. My sweet nubbin of pleasure is guarded likewise. I am driven quite to distraction, and Charlotte, though she tries to conceal it, cannot help laughing.

Forgive me, dear Emily, and pity me!

All of my heart always,

S.