Cat and Mouse

Krissie, the lowest chamber-maid to the Crown Princess, was the only one of the Princess's entourage left behind in the empty wing of the Palace.

The Princess was making a month-long tour of the countryside, bequeathing gifts to each town and settling any ruffled feathers over the taxes that had been raised recently to fund her upcoming wedding; her ladies-in-waiting and attendants had all gone with her, ready to serve at her convenience even as she travelled. Krissie alone had been left behind, deemed not necessary for the trip.

She was somewhat hurt to be left out, but that was nothing new. She had been assigned to her post by the Queen, and it was an ill-kept secret that Krissie's post was meant as a bribe, to keep her mother--a former palace maid herself--quiet about the fact that Krissie was the bastard child of the Queen's brother.

The Crown Princess resented Krissie's presence among her attendants, and was disgusted by the gossip that followed Krissie. Being left out was often preferable to having the Princess's attention, and honestly, the opportunity to have a few weeks to herself--not being submitted to the unkindnesses of the Princess and her bullying ladies--was enough of a relief that she almost didn't mind.

If she could only give herself one other kind of relief.

Alone among the Princess's entourage, Krissie was forced to wear a chastity belt, a hateful assemblage of metal and leather straps that kept her delicate bits safe from the encroachment of any man--and from her own ministrations.

The Princess had forced Krissie to put it on when she began serving. The Princess asserted that it was to ensure that Krissie wouldn't engage in the same licentious activities that her mother had been known for, but Krissie was convinced that it was simply another means of torment. The belt was locked with a key, which the Princess would hand over to one of the attendant matrons to oversee Krissie's bathing once a week or so; she always chose the meanest matron, the one who looked at Krissie as if she were a slimy bug if she requested a moment alone while bathing.

Years of service, locked into the belt and sleeping in a small room with a few other maids, had left Krissie with a reputation and without friends. Unable to sneak off and relieve herself in the way the other young women did, she often moaned in her sleep. She would wake panting, her hips rocking fruitlessly into the hard mattress of her bed, and find the other girls staring at her or giggling. At least waking to an audience was one thing she wouldn't need to worry about while the other maids were gone.

She had approached the Princess--not in private, because the Princess would never deign to speak to her in private, but in front of several of her ladies-in-waiting--shortly before the trip, and inquired about how she would handle bathing while the Princess was away. She had tried to keep the hope out of her voice, but from the cruel sneer on the Princess's face and the way the ladies tittered, she hadn't been successful.

Not that she had hoped the Princess would simply give her the key; but she hoped that perhaps it would be handed over to someone kinder than the older matron, someone who might be convinced to allow her to bathe in private after unlocking the belt.

Instead, the Princess had simply said, "you'll have to do without, I suppose. Try not to get too rank down there." The ladies around her tittered again and looked sidelong at Krissie.

For the first week, simply being alone in the massive palace wing--while a bit spooky--was relief enough to keep Krissie occupied. She had very light duties while the Princess was gone, simply tasked with keeping the empty rooms dusted and the linens fresh; she filled the rest of her time with pleasant walks outside the palace and with reading books from the small library that the maids kept for their own use.

Then she made the mistake of picking up a particular book, one that the other maids only spoke about in whispers and giggles. She had gathered that the story was about a young noblewoman being abducted into the harem of some savage warlord; it hadn't sounded especially appealing to Krissie, but she felt a little bitter about being left out, being the only one who didn't know what happened in the book, because someone else always had it.

Krissie soon found herself wrapped up in the story, engaged by the plight and the fear of the noblewoman, and by her boldness as she forced the trappings of civilized behavior on her barbarian husband. As afternoon turned to evening and the sun set, she retreated to her little room and lit a candle to continue reading.

And then she reached the portion of the story where the warlord, tiring of his new wife's reservations and timidity, carried her to his bed to consummate his claim on her.

Shockingly, the book--unlike others that Krissie had read--didn't skip over the event. Instead, the author described in lurid detail how the warlord pried apart the creamy thighs of his conquest, how he licked open her womanhood until it "unfurled like a budded flower" to welcome his "burgeoning staff". It described how the noblewoman's protests quickly turned to cries of abandon, how she delighted in the bliss of her husband's touch despite his animal ways.

The flowery language made Krissie wince, but the images that the book painted burned inside of her. She squirmed in the chair she sat in, then chewed her lip to stifle a groan of frustration as she felt only the barest press of flat metal against her slit instead of the firm rubbing that her body craved.

Deprived of any other stimulation, she set the book aside and passed a hand over her breast, rubbing her nipple through the thin fabric of her night-dress. The flare of pleasure made her sigh and squirm again. It wasn't the first time she had touched herself so, but stolen moments in linen closets or in the dark while the other girls slept wasn't enough to get her off with nipple stimulation alone; now that she had truly all the time that she could want, and no other maids sleeping nearby to overhear, she allowed herself a moment of hope that maybe the throbbing in her core might be satisfied this way.

She teased and rubbed her nipples for minutes upon aching minutes, until she could feel her virgin tunnel clenching and squeezing on nothing, as if seeking the stretch of a manhood to fill her. Every touch across her tingling nubs brought out an answering twitch in the little focus of pleasure at the top of her slit, that spot that she most wished she could rub. She bit her lip again and rocked her hips, her body automatically seeking to get any friction at all in the places that she most needed it, and then sobbed with need as the motion brought her no pleasure and only made the tension in her pelvis and her lower back wind up even tighter.

It occurred to her, finally, in a flash of desperation, that the Princess may have left the key behind; it may be just down the hall, in the Princess's quarters.

She tried to put the thought out of her mind--tried to re-read the filthy passage of the book, hoping that the words would drive her arousal even higher and bring her the release she needed--but it crept back in: it seemed even likely, didn't it? Why would the Princess bother to bring the key to Krissie's chastity belt on her trip? It wasn't as if she would ever expect Krissie to be so bold as to look through her things.

Because Krissie would never do something like that. She would be severely punished if she ever...she wouldn't dare to...

She shuddered as she pinched her nipples and a burst of something almost like a climax went through her, her hips rocking desperately as her body demanded to be touched, caressed, filled. The wave of near-painful need left her with no satisfaction, just feeling even emptier than before, tingling and throbbing. Krissie whimpered wretchedly.

She tore her hands away from her nipples, recognizing that she had reached the heights of what she could achieve with stimulation there alone and that she was only making herself even more miserable, and stared out the window at the rising moon.

The palace around her was silent and empty. It was late; everyone was in bed, except for the night shift guards stationed mostly at the entrances to the building and to each wing. The closest guard was so far away that he probably wouldn't even hear if Krissie yelled for him.

The desperate maid turned her eyes down to her hands, which twisted up in the thin fabric of her shift, pulling it tight against her thighs until she looked like the heroine of the book, like an innocent virgin begging to be ravaged.

Krissie stood and grabbed the candle off the table.

She crept down the dark hall, shielding the light from the candle with her hand and placing her bare feet carefully on the stone so as to make as little noise as possible. The silence of the empty rooms around her made her feel like she needed to be even quieter, to leave no trace of her passing, as if the palace itself was watching her.

The ornately-carved double doors that secured the Princess's rooms were closed and locked, but that was a key that Krissie had; she was expected to keep the Princess's quarters fresh, after all. She slipped the key ring from her pocket and unlocked the doors, then pushed the right door open just far enough to let herself inside. She held the large, heavy door to force it to close quietly behind her.

Only once the door was closed did Krissie turn around and look right into the eyes of the man standing in the shadows at the far end of the room.

Krissie let out a breathless gasp and dropped her candle, leaping back against the door. She scrambled behind her to pull the door open, but in her panic, she couldn't find the latch that she had held only a second ago.

The man--dressed in dark, rough clothes to help him blend into the shadows--crossed the room quickly and grabbed Krissie, covering her mouth with his gloved hand before she could scream any louder. She struggled and kicked, but he was strong, with the brute strength of a thug, and he easily hauled her off her feet and tossed her onto the Princess's massive bed. He yanked her wrists behind her back and tied them tightly with rope, and then stuffed a wad of stale-tasting cloth into her mouth and secured that with another length of rope, muffling her cries.

He let her go then, and she kicked and squirmed, rolling herself onto her side. She had the brief thought to throw herself off the bed, but with her wrists tied, she was afraid that she'd be more likely to crack her head or her elbow on the stone floor than to land on her feet.

The soft light of the candle returned as the man retrieved it from the floor and re-lit it. As he stepped closer to her and placed the candle on a bedside table, it became obvious what he was doing in the room, and how he had come to be there: one window was open, and the Princess's armoire was in disarray, expensive clothing and glittering jewelry sorted into piles as if he had been perusing at his leisure and selecting only what was most worth his while.

"Thief," Krissie screamed, or tried to. With the cloth in her mouth, it came out more like a muffled yelp.

The candle-lit man looked down at her curiously. His eyes were pale, the blue-green color of them barely visible in the dim lighting; the flicker of the candle etched out shadows in a deep, old-looking scar that crossed his cheek.

"Who are you, then?" he asked. Krissie stared at him, hoping she looked less frightened than she felt. "Nobody's supposed to be in this wing of the palace while the Princess is gone. A little mouse, perhaps, sneaking in to steal a bit of something to line your pockets?"

At that accusation, Krissie had to squawk in anger, shaking her head. The man laughed.

"I suppose not. Even a silly palace maid wouldn't be sneaking around in her sleepwear if she got it in her head to steal from the Princess. It wouldn't be very wise of you, anyway. The silverware in the kitchen would be much safer, and easier to sell as well."

He stepped closer until he was looming over her, examining her, as if he could read answers to his questions from her half-dressed body. Krissie realized abruptly how far up her shift had rucked around her legs during their struggle, and her cheeks heated as she squirmed, trying in vain to tug the skirt down with her bound hands.

The thief interrupted her, grabbing the hem to lift it up instead. Krissie squealed and kicked, but he easily batted her feet away, pinning her ankle to the bed as he pushed the fabric up around her waist to expose the belt.

"What do we have here?"

"Get off!" Krissie screamed, but again, her words were muffled by the gag. She flailed her free foot, knocking it against his shoulder, and he captured it easily with his other hand. Rather than pulling it down to pin against the bed like her other, he kept it there, high against his shoulder, which left her feeling regretfully exposed; he rubbed his thumb against the sensitive skin on the inside of her ankle, and the flush on her cheeks deepened.

"Do they keep all the maids locked up this way, or are you special?" The man's gaze was intense as he stared down at the belt, as if he was boring through the metal, somehow looking at the delicate folds of her untouched womanhood concealed underneath. Krissie grunted in protest and tried to close her knees, and then the man huffed out a quiet, almost surprised laugh. "And look at that. You're feeling a bit hot, are you? You're leaking through the slot here."

Krissie's eyes went wide as he released her ankle to reach forward and rub his thumb over the slot in the belt that allowed her to use the chamber pot without removing it. When he lifted his hand, his thumb glistened in the candle-light, undeniably slick with her fluids. He rubbed his finger over his thumb, as if testing the viscosity of it, and then--with a vulgar smacking noise--stuck both thumb and forefinger in his mouth, sucking them clean.

He looked down at the belt again, and reached down; Krissie tried to flinch away, ashamed and distraught, but he didn't try to collect further evidence of her arousal. Instead, his hand went to the side of the belt, fingers outlining the key-hole of the lock that kept the stiff leather straps in place.

The thief's pale gaze met Krissie's, and his mouth curved slowly into a knowing smirk.

"Were you in here looking for a key, little mouse?"

"No," Krissie tried to say through the gag, and then shook her head. From the way the man laughed, he didn't believe her.

He let go of her legs then, though, and stepped away, going back to the piles he'd made of the Princess's belongings. Krissie let out a shaky sigh of relief and shifted, trying to pull her nightdress down from around her waist; the thief looked back over his shoulder at her, and she quickly stopped, flushing as she imagined how she must look, squirming on the bed with her thighs exposed. She glared at him. He smirked again.

"What an angry expression for a meek little mouse," he said, turning his eyes back to the jewelry he was pawing through. "I guess you're not too happy to be caught in my trap. Seems to me this is your own fault, though, sneaking around in the middle of the night. That's not how dutiful maids behave, is it?"

He swiped a handful of glittering gems and precious metals into a heavy canvas bag that was propped open on the floor, then moved to the armoire again and pulled out a dress. Of course, the Princess had taken all of her favorite dresses with her for the trip, but those that were left behind--old, out-of-season, slightly worn or no longer in style--were still made of expensive, rich fabrics, likely worth a fair bit of money if sold for parts.

The thief folded the dress carefully and stuffed it into the bag, layering it over the jewelry. Despite his thuggish strength and his short, stocky build, he moved with a certain grace that reminded Krissie, begrudgingly, of one of the more battle-worn and bedraggled tomcats that hunted vermin in the stables.

The sack was half-stuffed; he had clearly already gotten a fair amount of clothing and jewelry into it before Krissie had interrupted him. Once the dress was well packed in, he lifted the sack and jiggled it a couple of times before setting it down again. Testing to see that the jewelry wouldn't knock together and make noise, Krissie realized.

He looked over his shoulder again, and she startled, feeling caught-out to be seen staring at him. He smirked, this time showing a flash of teeth. "Now that's how a little mouse should look. Sit quiet just like that for me."

Krissie huffed in outrage, and the thief laughed at her before returning to his work. He filled the sack in quick, efficient movements, stacking in jewelry and then clothing in layers. The sack wasn't very large, maybe a re-purposed potato sack, and Krissie found herself faintly amazed by how much of the Princess's belongings disappeared into it. It wasn't even stuffed full before he hefted it a final time, then, apparently satisfied with his take, he pulled out another length of rope and tied it off securely at the top.

"There," he said, then made his way to a pile of belongings he'd left at the far end of the dresser, odds and ends that he had obviously set aside for lack of interest--breakable baubles and mirrors, costume jewelry, wooden hair-pieces. Keys. "Let's see if we can't find what you were looking for, miss mouse."

Krissie made another attempt at denial, though she didn't even bother with words this time, just grunting into the gag. He ignored her anyway, flicking through the pile with one gloved finger. Krissie watched him, her stomach squirming with a mixture of fear and something else that she didn't want to admit to.

He turned a minute later and walked over to her, dropping a small collection of clinking keys onto the bed beside her hip. "These all look to be the right size," he informed her, pulling his leather gloves off as he spoke. She expected that maybe his hands might be scarred or malformed somehow, but that was just her fanciful imagination; his hands looked perfectly normal under the leather, if a bit weathered. A working man's hands.

He tugged up the hem of her skirt high on her hip again, and she squealed in protest, trying to roll away. The thief easily pinned her in place with one hand on her stomach; this immobilized her, not just because of his strength, but because the pressure there was shockingly personal, pushing down into the muscles that carried all of the tension of her unresolved arousal. Krissie immediately went still and willed herself not to squirm or shiver.

The thief seemed unaware of the effect his hand was having on her, fortunately. Unfortunately, he only needed to try two keys before he picked up one that was very familiar to her.

His pale eyes slipped up to meet hers as the key slid into place. He jiggled it, as if testing how it fit, and smirked at her. "I think we have a winner, little mouse. What do you say? Should we take this contraption off of you so that I can get a proper look?"

There was only one possible answer to that. No matter what Krissie's body wanted, she couldn't allow this man--this criminal--to take her virginity, to potentially get her with child. Krissie shook her head emphatically.

The thief laughed. "Oh, sweetheart, I wasn't really asking." He turned the key.

For one hopeful second, it stuck; then the thief gave it another firm jiggle, and with a final, betraying clicking noise, the lock fell open and the belt went loose around her waist.

The man hummed in appreciation as he pulled the belt away, his eyes immediately fixed on Krissie's exposed privates. She tried to pull her knees together to hide herself, but he easily batted her legs open again, then pinned one of her thighs to the bed with one of his broad hands as he tossed the belt aside with the other.