Part 3 – Hard Labour
Catherine grunted as she hefted another sodding river stone into the wooden cart. Lia hadn’t been joking when she warned there would be hard labour today. For the past few hours, Catherine sweated and toiled under the summer sun, loading large rocks from a pile laying beside a decaying stone wall. It wasn’t some magnificent castle wall, though. No, the small old structure she had willingly been held prisoner in by the younger German woman didn’t have grandiose stone ramparts. Outside of the gatehouse, the walls were actually wooden, in fact. A reproduction of what had once been there.
No, the stone wall next to her was a much more recent construction. Lia had slipped back into tour guide mode during a brief explanation that morning of Catherine’s task for the day. Lia had recounted that the chest high stone wall in need of dire repair was actually from the 19th century when a wealthy aristocrat had called the site home. The wall acted as a pen for livestock back then. That was fine and all, but for Catherine, it really held little meaning. The work was simple, if demanding. She had to load cartload after cartload of stones and take them perhaps 20 meters away to what seemed like a random point in the enclosed field. Her jailor had conveniently set up a folding chair and an umbrella to oversee the work in relative comfort.
The English woman’s labour hadn’t been easy, but she was grateful that her chosen captor had given her a bit of kit for her task. First was the rough, and she meant rough, spun sack of a garment she had been given to wear. It really wasn’t much more than a burlap sack, but it was something considering her nudity since her self-imposed imprisonment started. The sack, which only came to her mid thighs, had a tendency to ride up as she worked, giving off glints of the metal chastity belt in the sunlight. The sack also itched beyond description. Both the belt and garment were uncomfortable, even before you factored in the labour. They played into Catherine’s little prisoner fantasy though, and despite, or probably in part due to, the chastity belt, there was a certain arousal she was getting from her attire. Then there were the truly anachronistic elements of the outfit.
Lia had granted her a pair of heavy leather gloves. Catherine shivered at the prospect of what her hands would have looked like without them after hefting so many stones. Similarly, she was wearing a pair of heavy boots and thick woolen socks. The shoes were a size or so too large, but with the socks, she wasn’t too worried about getting blisters. She huffed, lifting another stone into the creaking cart. Her arms were burning at this point from the work. Sweat slicked her whole body.
She had a few other adornments at the moment. A set of 16th century leg irons clamped around the high ankles of the work boots, restricting her steps by a degree. Her wrists were held in the embrace of a set of heavy cuffs from the late 1700s, or maybe the early 1800s. Both sets of shackles from the museum’s collections. And last, was her own tried and true personal Scold’s bridle, suffocating her labored breaths. Honestly, the bridle made things infinitely worse, and while she didn’t like punishment style pain, things like how the wrist irons were slowly rubbing her raw or how the bridle made the physical exertion harder, drove her desires. It was a reminder of her chosen captivity and that long held desire to be a prisoner.
Even with that, though, doing the same repetitive tasks for several hours did wear thin and grow monotonous, if not mind-numbing. It was strange how she could feel a certain baseline of arousal while also being bored. Lia only afforded her one ten-minute break per hour, a stern look and a vicious-looking whip, all the incentive Catherine needed to keep up the draining task of moving the stones at a steady pace.
Lia had been different today. She was stoic and strict. Gone was the thoughtful but embarrassed young woman who had brought her a smoothie and a blanket after that first night. It made her think, and the tedium of the task at hand left the auburn-haired prisoner with ample time to contemplate many things. It was as much to keep her mind off the aches building in her as to keep herself entertained that she meandered through a range of thoughts.
At first, she had focused on dreaming of fantasies. Visions of being a prisoner sentenced to manual labour for some contrived offense. Perhaps she had told off an imagined drunkard and abusive husband or had struck the local magistrate in a fit of rage over unfair taxes. The fantasies had sustained her for the first hour. The second, she had tried to take in the sights and sounds that surrounded her. She could hear a nearby river. Its waters rushing by in the distance. She would have thought the castle would have been closer to the river based on her experiences at other sites, but perhaps Lia had an explanation for that, though Catherine, gagged as she was, had no way to ask.
She’d also admired the forest that surrounded them and shielded their little game from prying eyes. She was no small village girl back home, having grown up in a proper city, so the greenery had a certain pastoral charm. And of course there was her companion in this mad game of theirs. Lia was quite the pretty young woman. She was on the smaller side, thin, but not worryingly so. Her brunette hair had been pulled into a tight, neat bun high on her head. Her brown eyes were intelligent, but always with something simmering underneath. A narrow nose sat above thin lips. Catherine had even made note of a small birth mark where her jaw and neck met.
Her natural austere beauty was only amplified by her attire. She wore a classical style riding outfit with knee-high boots, jodhpurs, and all. It called Catherine back to her younger days. She had never ridden a horse, but she had posh friends growing up that did. Catherine supposed the young lady must have thought the clothes would give her a more official and imposing appearance, even if it did not fit with her captive’s prisoner fantasies.
The whole ensemble did, however, make Catherine wish she were a few years younger. She believed she had at least a decade, if she were being generous, on her captor. She would have loved to have taken a pass at this woman, who seemingly shared her kinkier interests. The age gap felt too immense for her to initiate anything, even if Lia had looked so very attractive locked in the pillory the other night or now as her pretend warden. Thoughts of the idyllic scenery, young beauty included, dominated the second hour. It was an hour when her gaze kept drifting to the young German. More than once, it had resulted in both women flushing, and occasionally Lia would rise hand on whip in stark threat to keep working when the staring caused Catherine to cease her labour. By the third hour, dark storm clouds were gathering in her mind, though.
Foremost was how insane she was putting herself at the mercy of a total stranger, even a cute one. Catching Lia in self-bondage helped build an instant sense of connection between them, a sort of shared comradery that had disarmed Catherine’s cautiousness, but it didn’t change the fact that Catherine knew nothing about her jailor. She had basically enslaved herself to a random person she had met, and in another country, no less. It was mad, looney even. Sure, they had worked out a clear set of parameters for their play, but how could she be certain Lia would honor their verbal agreement?
She couldn’t, well, not without blind trust. This was an irrational and surreal situation. She was living out a version of her fantasies she’d never dared to hope would come to pass, but also, she was completely at the mercy of another person whose intentions were opaque at best. After all, why was Lia doing this? What did she get out of it? It seemed from their first encounter that she might share similar tastes in being restrained, yet here she was acting solely as the captor, not the captive. Perhaps this was a way to live vicariously through Catherine for the younger woman. Or maybe Lia was a switch and enjoyed being dominant. There had, at times, been an unsettling glimmer in Lia’s eyes. One that Catherine could not fully place, but that sent a shiver running down her spine and made her stomach churn nervously. It was rare, but it had slipped out a few times over the past couple of days.
Was it simply the awakening of a dominant’s desires, or something darker? The truth was, if Lia harbored ill intent, there wasn’t much hope for the older English woman. Lia had taken her belongings, including her identification, and was constantly keeping her in one form or another of bondage. To make matters worse, no one in Catherine’s life knew where exactly she was. That had been intentional on her part. She didn’t want people parsing together her clandestine little expeditions into dungeons for her self-bondage pleasure if it went wrong and made the news. Now, that meant if Lia did do something, no one would likely come looking for Catherine. At least not here.
Catherine wiped the sweat away and seized the cart handles, pushing another load of rock to its destination. Each step pulsed with ache. It was a small trial pulling the cart, shackled and tired as she was. She stole a look again at Lia as she trudged past. Lia’s face lacked the kindness that was there that first morning. What is she thinking?
Troublingly, to Catherine, it didn’t seem implausible that Lia might take full advantage of the situation. That last thought sent a strange set of feelings through the tired woman; a cold fear, but also a desire-filled heat behind her chastity covered sex. She grunted through her bridle, not from exertion, but from frustration. Fuck, am I actually entertaining the thought and daydreaming that this younger woman would actually take advantage of her power and actually abduct me? What is wrong with you, Catherine? she thought. It was a fantasy, and one she knew she ultimately didn’t want to be a reality, but frighteningly, with how strict Lia had become yesterday and today, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.
So, the day went. Catherine physically slogged her way through the task, while her mind swirled with fear, desire, lust, and uncertainty. It must have been late afternoon when Lia stood and sharply commanded, “Stop, prisoner! Work is over for the day.” Lia walked over to Catherine beside her remaining pile of unmoved stones. She walked with what looked to be manufactured authority. It was, actually, a bit adorable, and the English woman snorted involuntarily behind the bridle. A mistake.
Lia wheeled on her boot heels, turning, her face set in a grimace. “Something funny, prisoner?” Catherine shook her head, her eyes wide at the tense tone in the younger woman’s voice, eyes dropping to see a delicate hand wrapped around the whip’s handle, knuckles white. Catherine genuinely feared what might happen next. Doubts about this whole scenario surging back in a torrent of tension.
Lia’s face broke into a smile, not a reassuring or kind one, but an unsettling one, mirthless and intimidating. “Thought so.” She sneered. “Such a worthless prisoner. You couldn’t even finish your work for the day.” Lia absently tapped a stone with the toe of her boot. The sinister smile broadened. “You know what that means, prisoner?” The auburn-haired woman stood held in silence both by the unfolding authority she had so recently found amusing, and by the bridle welding her mouth shut.
“Ja, there will be punishment for such poor work.” Lia stepped forward, seizing Catherine’s manacles and began pulling her back towards the small castle. The pace was faster than her shackled and exhausted legs could keep up with, especially when they hit the rising ground near the gate. She stumbled, but Lia compelled her back to her feet without a bit of sympathy in those young eyes. Had this been a terrible mistake? Were her fears being realized slowly? Catherine’s mind, gripped by doubt, now continued along best as she could.
In short order, the two women traversed the small courtyard and central building of the small castle, finding themselves back in the cramped exhibit room filled with old tools of torture and confinement. Lia finally released her grip and unlocked the wrist and ankle irons, and even the bridle, never even looking at Catherine in the process. It felt unnervingly cold and impersonal.
Turning away completely, Lia gave a simple command over her shoulder, “Strip, prisoner.” Lia turned away towards a series of items on a side table. Catherine obeyed, the soreness in her body made apparent by the act of shedding the sack and pulling free the work boots. By the time the jailor turned back, Catherine stood nude, save for the chastity belt, once more in the torchlight of the underground room. She felt more exposed than ever, her eyes trying to read Lia in the dim light.
“Did you forget your manners, prisoner?” Lia asked, a forced harshness to the words. Catherine looked on, perplexed for a moment, then it dawned on her. She had forgotten the position she was supposed to assume when not bound during their game. It was still a game, right? Catherine questioned herself as she groaned and knelt on the cold floor. Hands behind her head, legs spread and eyes looking to the ground. She hurriedly muttered an apology, “Sorry, Ms. Richter.” There was a pause. Did she hear a sigh, or maybe a moan, come from her jailor?
After a few more seconds, a pair of riding boots appeared on the floor in her field of vision. “Better,” the word laced with a mix of command and disinterest.
The tip of a riding crop, not the whip from earlier, touched Catherine’s down turned chin. A gentle but firm pressure made her head rise. She struggled to keep her eyes obediently on the floor before Lia’s words made that failing effort erroneous. “Look what we have for your torturing pleasure, prisoner.” Catherine’s gaze fell first upon Lia. The woman’s features told the story of a delighted sadist, as did the eyes, but was there a tremble of something else, or was that just Catherine’s imagination?
The auburn-haired woman looked to where Lia was now, pointing with the crop. Behind a set of stocks was a wooden horse, its four wooden legs marred by years long past. The wooden surface was so simple and unassuming. Catherine tensed. Another device she had willingly tied herself to in past clandestine escapades in other museum dungeons. She had never truly embraced any of the ones she came across before. She had sat on them, hands cuffed behind her back, but she had never had the initiative to ride one without at least some clothing, and while iron currently covered her womanhood, she suspected it wouldn’t for much longer.
“Crawl, prisoner,” a smug countenance on Lia’s features, though again undercut by something lingering beneath the surface. The willing prisoner placed her palms on the rough stone floor and did as instructed once more. Her heart fluttered faster as she approached her destination. Fear festered alongside excitement. Reaching the device, Lia commanded her to stand and place her hands behind her back. A pair of manacles were attached. Catherine winced. Despite the gloves today, the near constant restraints were taking a toll on her wrists. She had never spent so much time continuously in unforgiving wood and metal. A moment of silence followed, Lia’s light touch on Catherine’s wrist making it clear she saw the reddened and inflamed skin, but she said nothing. At least for the moment.
Lia then released the chastity belt, setting it aside. Cool air wafted between Catherine’s legs. It felt refreshing. She hadn’t noticed how much it had bothered her. Of course, the sensation antagonized the ache that had been building there over the day of forced labour. That heat was only made worse as she stared at her soon-to-be punishment.
As Lia drew a small step stool over, she explained that the wooden horse before her had been a real piece and appeared to date to the 1500s, possibly. Catherine imagined the poor souls who had been hoisted on top of the horrid thing. It fueled the macabre masochist in her. She would soon know a version of their pain. She was positively dripping. Her recent second thoughts about her pretend, at least she hoped it was still all pretend, captor banished for a brief moment by the lust filling her mind.
She looked down as Lia set the stool before her. Catherine noticed that as Lia stood, the woman’s gaze lingered on her exposed lower lips and the slight glistening there in the flickering torchlight. The look on the younger woman screamed for a brief fleeting second of a carnal passion of her own, or perhaps it was just a reflection of the other woman’s sadism. Maybe both, but right now I don’t care, Catherine laughed to herself.
Lia’s face soon turned to the uncaring, severe look she had held most of the day. “Prisoner, up.”
On aching and wobbling legs, Catherine ascended the stool, and then, with considerable help from Lia, she mounted the wooden contraption, nearly falling sideways off of it at the start. It was a comical sight, most likely to any imagined audience, but as soon as her weight had settled on the wooden ridge of the device, Catherine found nothing humorous about the situation. Pain piercing her sensitive spot. She was surprised how much it hurt already. She gritted her teeth and huffed through the initial pain as her body settled. The pain worsened by how tender her arousal had made it between her legs.
She hated pain, but also loved the idea of being a prisoner and tortured. It was a difficult duality to reconcile in most circumstances, but right now that contradiction played havoc with her body and mind. The pressure and situation made her horny, while the actual pain from the predicament she found herself in denied any hope of actually reaching a climax.
For a heartbeat, the need to orgasm compelled her to try to rub against the surface. Instant regret spewed from her in the form of a gasp and a short scream. The movement had caused her to settle deeper on the wooden horse’s back. The folds of her ladyhood parting as the wooden edge cut into her pussy. Her thighs clenched instantly and her cuffed hands pushed upwards, trying to raise her off the pain inducing surface, tears already welling at the corners of her eyes. The intensity of doing this naked had proven severe. Straining leg and arm muscles, weak from the day’s work, tried and alleviated some of the pressure, making it slightly more tolerable.
Eventually, she looked over to see through wet eyes, Lia staring at her. For an instant, a cocktail of fear, worry, and guilt were there before they vanished, replaced by that stern look of the day. Had those other emotions writ upon the brunette’s face actually been there, or had they been a mirage? A hopeful, wishful desperation in this moment of paradoxical pain and pleasure. The answer soon felt like the latter as Lia took a length of rough rope and lashed it about the older woman’s ankles and connected it to the horse’s supports with a sharp tug.
The action drove Catherine back down fully upon the demonic edge of the horse. Her head jerked back in agony, her tangled and matted auburn hair dangling against an arched back. A guttural scream loosed from her lips. She squeezed her eyes shut, warm tears running down her cheeks. She wanted to shout ‘red’ and end this torment, but she didn’t. Perhaps the pain shorted her ability to form coherent words, or maybe her mind still sought the fantasies she’d had about this sort of moment.
The white-hot pain subsided, if only by the barest of increments, to a duller ache she could manage. She wasn’t sure how long it had taken for her to focus on something other than the discomfort plaguing her, but when she finally opened her eyes, she saw Lia sitting intensely, staring at her, her emotions unreadable now. Does she have no sympathy? Catherine thought. No, this is what I asked for, she reminded herself.
She sat there in a twisted paradox of arousal at finally fully experiencing one of her favorite devices while unable to capitalize on that desire thanks to the blistering pain that it created. Catherine’s breathing was shallow, her cuffed hands trying to help steady her. All efforts to minimize the movement of her body as every miniscule twitch or shift caused the pain to flare again to unbearable agony. Stress induced sweat poured down her body. Minutes ticked by and the anguish only worsened. Catherine dropped into a fogged fugue state of mind. The fantasies fading to the real suffering her body now endured. She had no way of knowing how long this spiral of misery went on, but eventually, her mind snapped back.
Lia stood at the front of the device, speaking. “So, you have learned your lesson, prisoner?” What lesson? she wanted to scream. That some fantasies should remain in your dreams? she thought dejectedly. Despite her flippant thoughts, Catherine answered through clenched jaws, “Y-ye-ss, hmmm, Ms. R-richt-er!”
“Gut, and tomorrow you will complete your work in a timely manner, ja?” Lia asked.
In her pain, she couldn’t discern the tone of her jailor, nor able to read any subtle body language. In a broken hope to end this painful experience, Catherine gave another strained answer, “Ye-ss, ha, y-yes, Ms. Richte-rr!”
To her relief, Lia seemed satisfied. The ropes fell away, the manacles as well. Soon Lia was awkwardly assisting the older woman to dismount her hellish horse. The first rise from the ridge caused a burst of agony that ripped a howl from Catherine as she dropped back down, eliciting a second wave of misery. After the first abortive attempt, the two managed to dislodge Catherine.
Lia gave her time to recover. A few minutes into the needed respite, Lia stooped and carefully cleaned Catherine’s chaffed wrists before applying a cool antiseptic ointment. The younger woman worked with focus, but her touch was gentle and caring. It was a tenderness that felt alien after the sternness of the past two days. Lia’s eyes never left their work, but Catherine couldn’t mistake the hint of glistening eyes filled with a maelstrom of feelings; regret, guilt, sympathy, and that something else that had confounded Catherine. Now, in this quiet, tender moment, the fears of Lia the sadist faded as the puzzle pieces fell into place, turning this game on its head.
She’s putting on a persona, thought Catherine. And while that was obvious to a degree already, in this moment of realization, the older woman saw the weight the domineering façade was placing on the younger woman’s soul. Lia clearly enjoyed some similar fantasies to her, but this game, and her role in inflicting harm, seemed too much for her.
Even if she had sadistic or domineering dreams, it was clear the reality of making another suffer was not as appealing to Lia as it might be in her thoughts. Yet, also just as Catherine’s arousal and pain dueled on the horse, Lia seemed to regret some of her treatment of her captive, while she demonstrated signs of sexual desire as well. The root cause of that desire was all too apparent to Catherine in this kind moment. The younger German woman was infatuated with her in only the way young hearts could so intensely feel.
It was clear now in hindsight, Lia had leapt to make her offer both to fulfill kinky dreams, but because she fancied Catherine. The older woman wasn’t so old as to forget the vibrance of a young adult fumbling her way through those early days of instantly being enamored with another person. And what am I to do about this? Catherine wondered, as Lia finished her first aid. Then suddenly, the laughable stern mask raised once more, Lia clamped a metal collar and chain to Catherine before anchoring them to one of the stone walls. The chain was long enough to allow the auburn-haired woman some degree of mobility and would certainly let her sleep on the stone floor.
Lia doused the torches one by one as Catherine considered her epiphany and its implication for their play. This stern controlling jailor was indeed an act, and one that seemed to maybe be causing Lia stress. Catherine felt immense guilt for making the young woman feel she needed to do this for her sake. What was worse, this young woman appeared to have latched onto her in some semblance of romantic inclination. Catherine was flattered and genuinely wanted to embrace and reciprocate it.
She knew she couldn’t, though. The age and experience gap meant she needed to set aside her own attraction for the young lady and be the responsible one. Lia was most likely enamored with Catherine simply because she was the first person the young adult could, and had shared this deviant side of herself with. That would be a powerfully intoxicating experience, and clouded the young woman’s mind, Catherine was sure. After all, they had only just met a few days earlier. How do I proceed? Catherine thought. She didn’t want to hurt Lia, but she needed to figure out how to navigate this tricky situation. Catherine swam in a malaise of uncertainty and anxiety.
Lia seized the last burning torch and made for the door as Catherine continued her contemplation. The young woman paused and turned to look back at Catherine. For her part, Catherine was huddled against the side wall, holding her knees as she pondered everything. Lia held the look now revealed to be false severity, and her parting words betrayed her truer feelings. “Schlaf schön.” The words delivered abruptly, but with an undertone of softness and yearning.
The wooden door closed and Catherine once more heard the lock click into place. Soon she was cast in darkness to nurse her aching body and grapple with the new, more troublesome dilemma she found herself in. One worse than any physical predicament she had endured, even the wooden horse.