The Chateau

by Budman

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© Copyright 2023 - Budman - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/f; MF; mpov; bond; hum; objectify; rope; cell; mast; toys; cons; XX

Continues from

Author’s Note: As with most of my stories, you will get very lost if you don’t read this story from . I encourage you to go back and take the chapters in order if you aren’t already.

Chapter 7 – Settling In

At dinner, everyone was talking about their day. The whole group had really started to settle into their life at the chateau. You can only do so much laying around on the beach before even that becomes boring.

Carl had discovered the internet connection was indeed fast enough to allow him to code and he had been learning and playing with the latest updates in HTML5 and Ruby on Rails. When I showed him my sex toys e-commerce site, he had several great ideas for improving the user interface. So, I gave him the backend passwords, negotiated a price and he went at it. Now he spent almost all his time with his head buried in his laptop, even when he went to the beach.

Maggie, who was also an IT type, went into an appliance store in the local town to drool over the used refrigerators, dishwashers, and other appliances the chateau lacked. In talking with the owner, she discovered that he had no understanding of or patience for the new Smart Appliances and had several customers that were threatening to return purchases because he couldn’t get them to work with their apps. Maggie offered to help, and the result was her working there three days a week. She arranged to take used appliances in lieu of salary, which was fine with the owner since she didn’t have a work permit. Soon the chateau had a large, beat-up but perfectly functional refrigerator. No more ice chest and paying for ice. Next came an electric hot water heater which Mal hooked up. Hot showers for everyone, except of course Heather. A stove, dishwasher and even an icemaker followed in the coming months.

Reese had only helped with a few art restorations while at University, but that experience set her future career direction. She was admiring a beautiful statue of the Virgin Mary in the courtyard of the local church when the priest, one of the few locals who spoke perfect English, started a conversation. Turns out the statue was the only thing that survived a WWII bombing that destroyed the original church. The townspeople considered it an important icon. Reese offered to clean the statue and repair its mount if the church could pay for the chemicals.

The priest was skeptical, but Reese offered to put him in touch with her professor of restoration in London. It took Reese weeks, but the result was amazing. Mary’s white marble shone so brightly that some claimed an inner light was shining out of her soul. Thanks to Reese, the entire group went from ‘Those weird English kids illegally camping at the old chateau and doing God knows what’ to ‘those nice young people out at the chateau, aren’t we lucky they moved here.” After the statue, Reese started working on some bomb-damaged painting in the church basement that hadn’t been seen in 80 years.

And thanks to Reese, locals started dropping their excess fruits and vegetables from their farms and gardens by the chateau. In fact, the group never lacked fresh eggs again, but Paula had to get really creative finding dishes that could use zucchini.

Also, thanks to our new status in the community, Mal met some local craftsmen who started hiring him when they needed extra hands for a job. In return for the work, Mal started teaching them to use more western materials and techniques, like introducing PEX water pipes. When Mal wanted to take on a repair on the chateau, which he was doing more and more, he could always call on a local electrician, plumber, tile layer, carpenter, etc. As a result, the chateau was slowly becoming more livable. Even Paula started teaching English as a second language at the Church after Reese introduced her to the Priest.

It seems everybody was settling into life at the chateau so dinner conversations could be lively and were starting to sound like the average family evening dinner. Of course, there was still a liberal amount of open sex, grass, beer, and wine. It was at such dinners that I reminded the group we still have a slut caged up in the basement. And since their time squatting at the chateau had gone on longer than any of us expected, we really needed to talk about the slut’s health, both mental and physical.

“Mal brought up our caged slut’s recent lazy behavior,” I interjected into a pause in the conversation.

“Yea,” Mal affirmed, “she just lays there, she doesn’t say thank you anymore or anything.”

“Well, it’s got to be pretty boring down there, depressing even, even though that’s still where she wants to be,” Maggie observed.

“Several things to consider,” I offered. “One, she needs some sun, the effects of no sunlight on mood and health are well documented. Second, she needs some discipline.”

“You mean we get to beat her regularly?” Tim asked. Was Tim becoming a sadist, I wondered?

“Well, if she needs corrective discipline that’s a possible option, but I was talking about the kind of discipline the military enforces. I’m talking about the kind of discipline that gives structure and purpose to life,” I answered.

“So, we make her march around outside?’ Reese said sarcastically.

“Possibly,” I answered, “but I was thinking of some new rules.

One, any time one of us approaches her cell she has to kneel on the floor with but on her heels, knees apart, back straight and look only at the floor.”

“You’re talking about the Nadu position,” Paula said.

“The what?” Carl asked.

“A guy named John Norman wrote some of the WORST erotic science fiction, but it’s become a cult classic,” Paula explained. “Most of the women on his fictional planet of Gor are slaves and most of the men are bulked up warriors. It’s one of the slave positions described in the book. In the made-up native language, it’s called Nadu, N, A, D, U.”

“OoooKayyyy,” Carl drawled.

“Paula, would you care to demonstrate since you’re the expert in Gor,” I smiled.

She gave me a dirty look but assumed the position.

“Notice her hands. Notice her toes are touching under her butt but her knees are at LEAST a foot apart. Notice her back is straight but her head is bowed and eyes looking at the floor. And she is still, no fidgeting,” I pointed out. “Thanks, Kajira,” I said.

Paula broke position and gave me the finger.

“For this to work we need to be fair. As you head down the stairs, make LOTS of noise so she wakes up if she is asleep. But no matter what, once Paula explains the new rule and demonstrates and drills her on the position, any failure to be in position by the time any of you,” at I looked straight at Maggie, “gets to the wine cellar gate or any, even small, deviation in proper position should result in a punishment.”

“What punishment?” Tim again, asking about punishments; I’d have to keep an eye on him.

“Well, I think an appropriate punishment would be to make her kneel in dry beans for an hour,” I suggested.

“Is that bad?” Reese asked.

“Try it, I bet you won’t last five minutes,” Paula replied. Paula was beginning to intrigue me. She had implied she and her husband had experimented in BDSM before he was killed, and that she was dominant, but Gor? Kneeling in beans? Something tells me this woman has more experience than she is letting on.

“Paula, can you get some beans and put them in a cookie sheet? We can keep them in the basement within sight of the gate, so the slut is always aware of them, and they are handy if needed,” I asked.

Paula nodded.

“Why would she kneel on beans? I’d just tell you to fuck off!” Maggie asked.

“Maggie, you don’t really understand Heather as well as you think you do. She will obediently kneel and suffer if told. She will know if she broke the rules, and she will get on the beans and stay there until given permission to move. In fact, if she knows she messed up and you don’t punish her she will probably get depressed,” I explained. “And if she doesn’t obey you, tell her I or Paula will deal with her later and then report her behavior to me or Paula.”

“Why would she get depressed, I’d be very happy if I avoided a punishment like that?” Maggie asked.

“You aren’t a submissive, Maggie,” I tried to explain. “For Heather it would be a sign that you didn’t care enough to correct her. It’s the same with children, when we don’t make them behave it’s just like we’re telling them we don’t love them.”

Maggie looked like she was thinking that over.

“As I said earlier, we also need to get her outside, and we need to give her some exercise. I need to go shopping for some supplies to implement my exercise ideas and I won’t have a chance until tomorrow afternoon,” I continued. “But tomorrow I’d like to ask Mal and Reese to put the slut in her full transport chains, put a rope leash on her and take her into the back courtyard and tie her to a tree limb, high enough so she can’t reach it. You gauge how much sun she can take, don’t let her burn, but she should be OK between breakfast and lunch in the shade. Make sure to give her water too. And, of course, there is no reason she can’t be used sexually if anyone wants her while she’s out there,” I explained.

“And I guess we should talk about the, ‘if she gets out you all get evicted’, rule.” I continued. “I don’t think that rule is needed anymore. I’m pretty sure everyone here understands and believes that Heather wants this, needs this actually. So, relax, just enjoy the rush that comes from having total control over someone. Just keep each other in check, don’t get too sadistic. But also realize that Heather, the bondage slut, NEEDS to know that you, each of you, are in TOTAL control of her. Although she most certainly wouldn’t walk out of her cell if you forgot to lock it, she would be crushed if you failed to lock it. For her it would mean you don’t care enough. So NEVER give her a moment’s freedom. If she’s outside the cell, keep her in restrictive chains, leash her, make her obey instantly, make her show respect constantly. Pretend she is Dr. Hannibal Lecter and will eat your liver if you don’t keep her completely helpless at all times,” I smiled. “And of course, the most controlling and helpless thing we can do is limit her orgasm’s. It’s incredibly fun to keep her sexually frustrated. It makes her constantly wet and ready for any kind of sexual activity, just in the hope that it will lead to more. So, continue to make sure she NEVER gets access to anything she can reach her g-spot with.”

“I also want to tell you,” I continued, “that the probate on my cousin’s will was processed yesterday. I now own this chateau and the surrounding land free and clear. And I’ve decided I’m not going to sell it, I’m going, with Mal’s continued help, to improve it little by little. And you all are welcome to stay as long as you want.”

Everyone broke out in smiles and even applauded. But it was Maggie, looking out for Heather as usual, who asked the obvious question. “So, Heather’s imprisonment is permanent now? Now I understand why you want to get her outside, because she’s never going to get out on her own.”

“Maggie, Heather has always had a choice and will continue to have a choice. If anyone in this group ever doubts this, now or in the future, then bring it up at dinner and let’s discuss it. But have you EVER heard Heather beg to be let out?” I emphasized. “This is sort of the ultimate CNC situation, but Heather is still in control.”

“CNC?” Carl asked?

“Consensual non-Consensual,” Paula replied. “Even in Croatia there is no such thing as slavery. Only the government can do something to someone without their consent. So basically, in a CNC scene, a submissive gives their consent for the dominant or dominants to do whatever they want within pre-negotiated rules and times.”

OK, now I knew I was going to have to talk to Paula about her BDSM knowledge.

Maggie asked, “You think she consented to this?”

“Don’t you,” I replied, “have you forgotten how we found her, that first night, sitting in the wine cellar naked with the gate closed? Have you forgotten how, when she was fucked senseless, torn and bleeding she had a meltdown when she thought we weren’t going to lock her back in her cell?”

“There’s such a thing as brainwashing.” Maggie spat back.

“Yes, and the Stockholm syndrome and a lot of other psychological effects, but all those take time to develop, and Heather wanted to be locked in that Cellar, dominated, and used from day one. Look, Maggie, if you’re worried about it, someone needs to give Heather the news about probate and my not selling the chateau. I was going to do that but why don’t you. That way you can make sure she’s ok with this going on longer. If you don’t feel she is rational, in control of her own mind and wants this to continue, then report that back to the group. But promise me something.”

“What?” Maggie asked when I paused.

“Promise me,” I continued, “that when she tells you she’s excited that her imprisonment isn’t going to end soon, and I know that’s what she will say, promise me that you will punish her.”

“What? Why?” Maggie asked.

“Think about it Maggie, “I explained. “She needs to be controlled. For at least a few minutes during that conversation you are going to force her to take back control over her life, at least verbally. You are going to force her to convince you she’s OK and that she still wants to be locked up. What will she need after that? She will NEED you to reassert control. She will need to know that you understand and believe her.”

Maggie did go down after dinner and from the security video it was an interesting scene.

Maggie: “Heather, the group sent me down to talk to you.”

Heather: “Yes Ma'am?”

Maggie: “No Ma'am Heather, right now it’s just me, Maggie.”

Heather: “OK Ma'am.”

Maggie just shook her head.

Maggie: “So Heath’s cousin’s probate has come through.”

Heather: “Oh.” She said dejectedly, looking sad.

Maggie: “But he has decided not to sell the place, at least not right now, and he’s said we can stay as long as we wanted.”

Heather’s face brightened and she smiled broadly: “That’s wonderful Ma'am!”

Maggie snapped: “I told you; you don’t need to call me Ma'am right now, just talk to me.”

Heather looked confused: “About what Ma'am?”

Maggie: “Don’t you realize what this means? This whole ‘lock you up in the cellar’ thing was just a short-term game that had an expected end. Now it doesn’t.”

Heather was silent for a while, looking at her friend. Then she said quietly, “It was never a game to me Ma'am.”

Maggie almost screamed in frustration: “I just don’t understand you, Heather! Why would you want to stay locked up in this dark, damp hell hole.”

Heather said calmly, while looking right in her eyes: “Maggie, I don’t need you to understand why I need this. I just need you to help me stay here as long as this place is available, then we’ll see. I need you to be my friend and accept my needs. Ma'am.”

As I reviewed the video later, I could see that Maggie was confused and angry. She stood up and stormed out of the wine cellar, slamming the gate, and locking it without saying a word.

Heather called after her: “Maggie, please don’t be mad.”

Paula and I were making out on her sleeping bag when Maggie came storming upstairs. I could tell from how mad she was that the conversation had gone exactly as I predicted but I kept my mouth shut. Maggie went right through and out the front door, slamming it as she did. Paula got up and went after her, leaving me with a raging erection. Reese looked over from where she was working on a painting and offered to “lend me a hand.” Although she was smiling at my predicament, I knew she was seriously offering, but, thinking of Paula, I declined.

Paula later told me that she just let Maggie vent. She thought part of Maggie’s problem was that she felt like she had lost a friend to a fetish obsession that she just didn’t understand. Paula asked her if she had reasserted control over her friend, as I had suggested. Maggie initially looked angry, then determined. Paula said they discussed several torments that Maggie might use and then Maggie got up and came back to me.

“Where is the bag with those hanks of rope?” she snapped.

“Hey,” I replied, “I’m not the enemy here, and they are in the trunk of my car.” As I fished the keys out of my pants and threw them to her. “The leather cuffs are in there too; rope can cut off circulation.” I added.

Maggie later told me a story. She had sailed some on a lake with a previous boyfriend. He had taught her ropes and knots. She certainly did a good job with Heather. On the video I saw her walk up to the bars next to the gate and order Heather to come stand with her hands through the bars. She handed Heather the two leather cuffs and padlocks.

Maggie: “lock them on!”

Heather started to put on the cuffs but also said, “Maggie, please don’t be mad at me.”


Heather started to cry but finished the cuffs. “Sorry Ma'am.”

Maggie stood on an old chair and pushed a doubled over rope through the ironwork about nine feet up. She took one end and tied it tightly to both Heather’s cuffs. She pulled down on the other end of the rope, pulling Heather’s arms up until she was on her toes then temporarily tied it off to the bars. Maggie then went and got the key to the gate and unlocked it. She doubled the other piece of rope and ran it around Heather’s waist, put the ends through the loop at the small of her back and then created a crotch rope. Going back outside the bars she knelt down and made sure that the two strands of rope were on either side of Heather’s clit and inside her labia.

Once she had the crotch rope positioned, she tied a knot in the end, untied and ran the rope from Heather’s hands through the loop in the crotch rope and pulled it up violently.

Heather had decided that staying quiet was best until her friend had calmed down, but the violence of the upward yank surprised her, and she uttered “owww.”

Maggie: “Am I helping you enough slut!”

Using her knowledge of knots, Maggie tied a bowline knot and used it to tighten the rope until Heather was way up on her tiptoes. Since it was one continuous rope from her wrists, over the top bar, down under her crotch and around her waist, there was no way for Heather to relieve the pressure on her cunt. If she pushed up on her toes and tried to raise her wrists, she could relieve just a bit of pressure. But if she relaxed her arms or calves, the rope got tighter.

Maggie went back in the cell and got Heather’s water bottle, filled it and, pulling Heather’s head back by her hair, started pouring it in her mouth. Drink all of it slut!

When Heather had swallowed most of the pint of water, some of it went on to the floor, Maggie announced, “Get comfortable, cause as your friend I wanted to make sure you suffer all night! And when I come back down here in the morning, I better not find a puddle under you, or I may just leave you all morning as well.”

Maggie stormed out, locking the gate as she went and turning off the lights.

Paula and I were just starting to get back into it when Maggie came back upstairs. She looked like she was about to cry, so Paula invited her to cuddle with us. Shit, I couldn’t catch a break tonight.

Maggie ranted again about how any woman could possibly want what Heather was going through.

Paula had described to me the predicament she and Maggie had decided on.

“I have another suggestion,” I said. “Did you see Heather’s vibrator in the bag?”

Maggie nodded.

“Go get it,” I continued. “The slut’s clit should be standing out between those crotch ropes, use the vibrator to tease her clit. Watch the reaction you get. Of course, she won’t be able to cum that way, but just watch her squirm. And it may make you feel better to know she gets off on this treatment, that she really is a bondage slut, and that you can distract her and relieve her suffering for a bit.”

“Hea, I want some of that action,” Reese said from across the room.

Maggie just glared at her, so Reese went back to her painting. Maggie got up and left again.

Paula had pity for me and gave me a vigorous hand job, letting me finish in her mouth since we didn’t have a towel and she didn’t want a mess on her sleeping bag. I offered to reciprocate but she was too worried about Maggie to be in the mood. So, I started talking to distract her.

“So, I know you used to dominate your ex some, and you’ve mentioned visiting a London dungeon a few times, but some of the comments you’ve made lately, about Gor, CNC scenes, etc. tell me there’s more to your BDSM story than you’ve let on,” I asked.

“These people, well, with the exception of Heather apparently, are all vanilla,” Paula began. “I just haven’t made a point of talking about my time in the lifestyle. But yes, I read all the GOR books when I was a teenager. My friends in high school passed them around. Some thought they were hilarious. I thought the writing was hilarious but masturbated many times imagining I was a slave girl of Gor. A friend dared me, my senior year, to go with her to a BDSM club. I expected it to be creepy and people were wearing fetish clothing, there was nudity, and people were playing all over the place, but somehow it wasn’t creepy at all. Everybody was very nice, answered any questions I asked. Nobody hit on me. My friend never went back, she didn’t get it, but I did.”

Paula continued her story, “I met my first Dom on my third visit to the club. He already had a sub, much older than me but not very intelligent. She was a classic big tit dumb blond. She was submissive, but mostly she just wanted him to buy her stuff and fuck her. After the three of us had played together for a few months, he realized that, although I wasn’t as young or pretty, he could beat me as much as he wanted and didn’t have to buy me stuff. Instead of just dismissing her, he made her my submissive and ordered me to dominate and fuck her with a strapon. That’s where I got the monster, and she could take that thing in either hole without batting an eye.”

I gave her all the sex she could handle but he stopped buying her stuff and one night she left and never came back. But by then, I was addicted to topping and although I still enjoyed switching; realized this guy did not, and was never going to love me. He was just using me, so I left too. I pretty much dropped out of the scene at that point. A few months later I met my husband. He enjoyed being dominated in the bedroom, but we never went to clubs or parties. After my family died you know the rest of the story. I joined up on this trip and here I am.”


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