The Tickle Dungeons Pt. 04

She kept waiting for some revelation that the woman wasn't really that dedicated to her staff--but Mistress York seemed to have a supernatural understanding of what would raise Fresta's emotional vulnerability and she used it with an almost terrifying frequency.

Thus being in Mistress York's presence, which she almost always was as her secretary, was a nearly unbearable tension of not wanting the woman's attention--which often came with some punishment--desperately wanting it--which she all too frequently got in a kind, maternal fashion--and then being desperate to escape the woman's notice as soon as it was on her. Even if she wasn't under some discipline, just being favored by the woman felt... overwhelming.

Now she cowered at her writing desk (she certainly felt that a secretary who 'cowered' before her mistress was one who should've been let go at once--but Mistress York seemed completely unconcerned with her timidity and found it an amiable enough excuse to apply gentle punishments) as her Mistress met with the only other woman Fresta had every seen who intimidated her more. The Dame Knight.

She was tasked with taking notes--in a code that Mistress York had taught her, should they fall into other's hands. She was amazed that her mistress would trust her with such sensitive meetings: could the woman really measure her loyalty? Did she understand that Fresta was never going to betray her?

Her buttocks had patterned echoes of discomfort from yesterday's spankings. Mistress York had used both light canes, soft paddles, and her hands. Fresta had been spanked by her mistress several times for minor infractions as well as by the house-matron. The spankings were mild--but were carried out to be intimately humiliating. She transcribed the conversation, sitting bare bottom on the wooden seat.

They were talking about an ancient mythological god named Zet. He, or more properly, It was one of the primary gods of the Aegyptian family of deities. Mistress York had found some connection between trades of goods and movement of materials in the ring cities to the south and the ancient ruins of the Zet (or Zeth) temples.

Fresta wasn't stupid: she understood that what was being talked about was conspiracy--Mistress York had seen something that worried her and was explaining it to the Knight.

Dame Listily: So, who is making these trades and moves? What is the orchestration?

Mistress York: I don't know yet. I've very carefully put out feelers. I think asking through proxies is best. If there is an advantage to be gained, it will be gained in subtlty.

Dame Listily: The chess pieces we failed to recover--idols--icons--do you think Zeth is among them?

Mistress York: I would guess, perhaps, the primary one. I think it may be the point of coordination.

Dame Listily: Why?

Mistress York: The transfers of material--I believe are being sent as sacrifices. It is only a theory, mind. But I believe that both people--judicial slaves, submissive persons of note, and so on, are being aligned. I also believe that the coordination is being driven from some area close to the capital. Close to the Crown and Throne. Inside the ring cities.

Dame Listily: We should inform the Throne then.

Mistress York: I think not. I may be wrong, but I believe there are tripwire defenses--persons who, if a message of such kind is received, will raise an alert. These persons may not even be compromised. They may feel this notification is part of their duties. But I have read the protocols for the throne's great bureaucracy and I feel it is likely held in a fine but pervasive net of these.

Dame Listily: Sophisticated.

Mistress York: Yes. But--If the idols were sent here--in the north--there may be a reason for this. If the goal is to unseat the Sattvan Order and Domination, the Crown and Throne may be too powerful. The hold may be more tenuous here.

Listily: I have thought so. My union to a scion of the great houses could be useful there. I have spoken with lady Verah on this.

Mistress York: Yes! And this is most fortunate. It also, I suspect, presents a weak point. Your union was plotted during the Key Ceremony?

Listily: It was. At least the beginning of it.

Mistress York: So if there were to be interference or weakening of it--delay? Destruction? It could be the tipping point.

Listily: What do we know about where the icon chess pieces came from?

Mistress York: Fresta? Please come here, dear.

Fresta swallowed. Being the center of attention was suddenly uncomfortable--her face flushed as she got up. Her dress was partial: the back of it was cut away, leaving her bare from behind. A quick look back showed small amounts of discharge on the chair.

"Curtsey to Dame Listily," Mrs. York instructed.

Fresta did, cheeks flaming. Mistress York was older, tall, and regal looking. The Dame Knight was elemental. Powerful, fair, young--not just tall, but bigger in all proportions to any woman Fresta had ever seen. As the two dominant women looked at her, she felt like a field mouse in the open, circled by two predator hawks.

"This pretty young thing is the former secretary of the merchant woman who was smuggling the idols into the city. I have the woman as well--as a judicial slave. The Dame Knight looked impressed. Mrs. York cupped Festa's buttock with a hand. "Tell the Dame Knight about your former mistress's trip to purchase the box."

Festa blushed, and the Dame Knight leaned in, interested. The direct attention of these two women was overwhelming! She was desperately aware of her body's warmth and arousal. Her sex was lubricating just inches from her Mistress's hand! Ohh!!

"Tell her what you remember," said Mrs. York gently, "Then I'll see if our visitor wishes to attend you with a punishment while I fetch your former mistress from her's."

Ahh! The idea of a punishment as an entertainment for a guest was one thing--the idea of being punished as a kind of reward was awful! It was awful because it spoke directly to the idea that she was submissive enough to want or even need to be disciplined by a dominant--and that however much she disliked or resented it, doing so was simply being a good mistress.

When Mrs. York had picked her up from the order enclave where she had been delivered by the woodland bandits, she had spoken with the senior acolyte about Festa being extremely receptive to discipline and with her skill as a secretary being well suited to Mrs. York's household.

She told the Dame Knight about her long trip down the Sendias river with her former mistress and the two cruel partners. She'd been under nearly constant use by the two men.

On the slow trip of the riverboat, she spent many nights in the beds of the men. However vigorously her body reacted to their humiliations, she resented her mistress's willingness to make her a play-thing of them. The fat one had been especially bad about using her in the worst ways possible.

When they had reached the Sendias Delta her own delta had been sore with the effects of their pleasures. The hand-off was done in the infamous Everhard Market that was a sprawling maze of tents and shanties. It was a place where the exotic wares of the Island kingdoms and the sea-going coastal tribes of the Western wastes and desert met. It was well within the lands of the mythological age and there were ancient and mysterious ruins scattered across nearby lands. It was where the ruins of Aegypt rose to the west.

It was said that things found nowhere else were found there--and it was probably true.

She hadn't seen it--she'd been left with the fat man while her mistress went to find the item that had been prepared for them.

"Prepared by who?" asked the Dame Knight. "I assume you were not told?"

"I was my mistress's secretary," Festa spoke softly. "I wasn't told, no--but I know that the three--my former mistress and the two men were--reached by a letter from the Ring cities. It was with a kind of code--symbols. Alchemical and astrological."

The two women exchanged a glance.

"So," said Dame Listily, "Back to the Astrologers then?"

Mrs. York held up a finger. Festa felt her heart flutter as the women's full attention turned back to her. "Tell her what you told me two days ago," said Mrs. York.

Her current mistress had instructed her to speak of it to no one without her express permission--for her own safety.

"I had seen the code before, mistress knight," she said. "My former mistress didn't know--I--I saw no reason to tell her. I didn't think it that relevant."

The knight nodded. "Where?"

"In the Indexium, Mistress Knight. It is a numerical code--it was used in ancient texts to obscure the writings. There are full books of these symbols and numbers. The histories were meant to be secret so that the historians could record the truth without fear of retribution."

The knight nodded.

"It is known almost nowhere beyond the Istorian's Societe. The department of the Indexium. My mistress had--had a cypher device key."

The two women looked at each other.

"The Istorian's Societe..." said the dame knight, considering.

Mrs. York nodded. "I think you ought to hear from this girl's former mistress. It seems the two men were under the impression that they were conducting the affair on their own. It was the woman who knew there were greater forces involved. The men, in common fashion, were led to believe they came up with the plot themselves."

"They were fools?" the Dame Knight asked.

"Not especially," Mrs. York said. "A bit clever really--but they that was used against them as they were fed information and opportunities that it took them some work to come to understand. As such, it probably never occurred to them that they were being manipulated by manipulators far more adept than them."

The former Lady Astalia, successful, powerful merchant woman, was off the punishment machine and scrubbing floors on her hands and knees dressed in only an apron and her judicial collar.

"Keep yer knees spread and arse up to show off that spanked fanny," Selsa, the youngest of the on-staff maids, chirpped at her, from her seated perch. She groaned internally, and blushing, spread and rolled her hips. The girl spoke with a lower-class accent. She was pretty sure that's why the maid had been chosen to oversee her.

She scrubbed angrily at the tiles. She could hear sobs and whimpers coming from the ballroom--but whatever was going on in there, she wasn't allowed to go look. No, she was going to scrub the grouting between the tiles until Selsa decided to punish her for something. She was clear that the condition of the tiles didn't matter. There were servants who weren't purchased from the judiciary who would care for that.

No, she was an entertainment--a reward for maids who got to supervise her--a treat for her fucking former secretary. She grit her teeth.

She felt fingers on her vulva and gasped, her head popping up. The maid had snuck up on her while she was scrubbing and stewing! Her sex was sore and reddened from the spanking machine. The slaps had been light, and the slapper was flexible and comparatively soft--but oh, it had hurt--and she had sustained sixty over the long course of the hour.

Her eyes widened as the maid's fingers touched her clitoris. The younger girl was stroking her. Oh! She forced herself to hold still. The touching was invasive--violating--and thanks to her collar; she didn't have any defense against it!

She heard the footsteps she recognized as Mistress York--her owner.

"Ah, very good Selsa--I'll take Astalia-slave for now. Wait until I return her."

"Yes, mistress!" said the maid.

"Come along--" Mrs. York turned and strode from the room. Astalia stood and waddled after her. Being called into Mrs. York's sitting room was especially awful because Fresta was there. Now the girl--her former secretary--lay over the Dame Knight's lap--having received what was probably a very mild spanking. From the doorway, Astalia could see her engorged vulva in full aroused flower... and smell her musk heavily in the air.

Astalia went and stood before her mistress and the Dame Knight, hands clasped behind her back. She was curvy--and while she had lost weight since being under the discipline of the household; she was still heavy.

She was sure the Dame Knight looked on her with cold scorn--probably deservedly--for having tried to overthrow the kingdom. Mrs. York was more of a cypher: Astalia couldn't tell if the woman held her in contempt or not. On one hand, the woman saw to it that she was constantly under discipline and in humiliating ways--but when they interacted in person, the stately woman was generally measured--never sarcastic or snide.

"We have been discussing your venture to the Everhard Market," said the Dame knight. She gave Festa a sound smack on her bottom and the girl's head jerked! Oww! The Dame Knight rubbed Festa's bottom. Astalia could see the slight girl tremble. She was quivering with emotion and excitement--Astalia guessed the girl could barely contain herself.

In brief words, Astalia told them about the directives. The men had researched rumors of uncovered pieces and the Astrological practice of creating a 'game board' to represent states-of-play (one of her two co-conspirators even got a rare, astrologer judicial slave). She had reached out to suppliers in the ring cities closer to the capital and she had gotten a hint about the find and then had worked with a contact in the Indexium. He had used the code. He had provided some of the key missing pieces.

"Do you know who it was? Who you corresponded with?" Mistress York asked.

Astalia very briefly considered asking for special considerations to give it up--but she knew better. They wouldn't torture the information out of her--but if she even suggested such a thing, she'd be punished badly whether she told them or not. She inhaled and looked down.

"It was a Master Scholar of Mythological Historie, mistress," she said. "I was put in contact with him through a supplier of exotic fabrics. He was presented as a contact who sometimes examined material for authenticity. Not just clothes--certain paintings and upholstery remnants and--" she trailed off, thinking she had probably talked too long.

The women exchanged looks and nodded.

"How fares your sex," Mistress York asked.

"Sore, mistress," she said, swallowing.

"I should think. Can you sit without too much discomfort?"

"I... am sore just standing, mistress. Sitting would be unpleasant."

She was sure she was going to be told to sit on one of the bare-wood chairs--but Mrs. York nodded. "Festa, take her back to Selsa. Have a look in on our young gentlemen in the ballroom."

The Dame Knight gave Festa a pat on her bottom and when she stood, a short but warm hug that left her sweating and frazzled.

Festa took her former mistress out of the room.

"Is your sentence proving more than you can handle, miss?" Festa asked Astalia. Astalia was annoyed that her former secretary, who she'd submitted to numerous indignities, managed to sound concerned.

"I can stand it, miss," Astalia grumbled. "And j-just call me slave--you don't need a 'miss' or anything."

Festa blushed and almost apologized. "I'll look in on you tonight," she promised. She gave Astalia a quick kiss on the cheek and hurried to the ballroom.

She opened the door carefully and with trepidation. She knew well that the son of a great house was being put through his paces inside. She was hesitant to even look on that without her mistress there.

Furthermore, the two 'songbirds'--personal servants, handmaidens, and bodyguards of her mistress intimidated her dreadfully even if they were usually kind to her.

The humiliation wedding planner was even worse: it was her job to humiliate and degrade her charges, and she terrified Festa, even as Festa assured herself she was too lowly to be within the woman's notice.

Cais lay on his back on a circular velvet bed. He was moaning in discomfort, his cock thickly erect and purple with need. The veins were inflamed all along it.

The songbirds knelt by him, their fingers stroking his hair, his thighs, his scrotum, and his cock. He was in tears of frustration and discomfort. His anus was filled with a thick, red rubbery plug. Miss Turnbolt stood over him--she glanced at Festa.

"Girl?" she asked.

"Mistress York asked me to look in and present a report, miss Turnbolt."

She beckoned Festa over. "Come here--let's see--good--" the woman turned Festa, checking that her buttocks were bare and her sex was exposed. One of her girls set up a hose connected to the plug on one end and a funnel on the other. It had a second hose with a hand pump.

"Pee in the funnel, girl," instructed Miss Turnbolt The boy moaned, a high-pitched and watery sound.

"Oh, dear," Festa blushed badly. The songbirds brought the funnel between her legs and held its mouth over her sex. She put her face in her hands. The girls giggled and stroked her buttocks and anal cleft.

She squatted and moaned. She knew the girl holding the funnel could feel the flow when she released her bladder.

"Good girl," the girl smirked and kissed Festa on the lips sensuously. The boy let out a small sound, his cock jerking as he squirmed feeling the warm fluid enter him. Festa looked down: the poor boy was really in for it, wasn't he?

ELSEWHERE -- THE BLACK TOWER - ZET

The black tower rose in a wasteland that wasn't quite the western desert but was an expanse of scrub that, although it drew storm clouds and rain, little grew. It had been thus for centuries and the black tower had stood for many of them.

At the top of the tower, under its pointed roof, was a chamber with windows in all directions. In the center sat a jackal-headed man, broad shouldered, muscled, and tanned. He sat naked, a female goddess in chains sucking hard and urgently at his cock.

Her back was lightly striped from a whipping and her buttocks were swollen and bruised from a more severe hand spanking. If she didn't satisfy his cock, he would whip her feet.

Across from him stood a human. The human wore a dark robe and a golden head-piece of Zet. He wasn't a priest of Zet--those had vanished long ago--but he understood the rites and the rituals and he had awakened Zet from his slumber. He and his had created the hole in the Sattvan Sky in the wasteland around the black Tower.

"Things are arranged," the human spoke, voice low, and with reverence.

"Good. I will add the bitch-goddess to my stable, then," mused Zet. His hand stroked the hair of the bound goddess who was already in his harem.

"She is prepared," said the man. "She has entered into a compact with the Astrologers. They with the Pink Throne. The pyramid of dominance has been established."

"Then I am pleased," Zet said. "Await in my chambers. This whore has failed my cock. After I've punished her, I shall sate myself in your anus." The man was powerful, knowledgeable, and adept--but he whimpered as he genuflected. Zet stood at nine-feet all and his penis was large even for that stature. The man would suffer for days from this. Zet was, technically, in his debt--and it would be paid--in full--but the humans had to know their place.

THE DUNGEONS OF ISHIS - CHLOE

Chloe was standing on the low wood platform with her wrists bound above her head. She was in the sandstone halls and chambers below the great pyramid. They were lit by flames--torches that burned forever in the dream of the goddess.

She wore a silk loincloth that was translucent enough to leave her nearly naked. She wore a kind of chain bra that affixed itself to her breasts with some kind of art in most places and a set of clamps on her nipples that squeezed and released and squeezed and released to make the discomfort and stimulation constant.

Worst of all, her ankles were chained with fine but strong chains to the board so they could move somewhat--but not much.