Be aware, this chapter contains a scene of significant reluctance between Phaedia and Gabriel. If you'd prefer to skip that, scroll past the two Gabriel POV sections, which are marked with a ## instead of a # before them. There will be a brief summary of the plot-relevant details of these sections at the end.
The rest of the encounters in the chapter are enthusiastic, and include male and female chastity, crossdressing, female masturbation, hot wax, whipping, cunnilingus, and the use of a rack.
For those just joining, this story takes place in a universe where reverse-traditional gender roles are the norm. For the reading pleasure of interested adults only.
***
Sir Elizabeth lay naked on a cushioned, inclined bench on one of Heartgarden Castle's many verandas. A roaring fire in the veranda's hearth kept it pleasant, even as the sun set and a winter breeze rustled the treetops of the courtyard beyond.
Twelve aspirants were gathered around her, the wide skirts of their gowns competing for space.
Each one held a large silk scarf in his delicate, gloved hands, and fluttered it regularly over Elizabeth's skin in various pleasing patterns. Christopher was demurely rubbing her thigh as if he were polishing it, keeping his mouth closed around his freshly pierced tongue. It seemed there were no hard feelings between them.
Of course, it was always easiest for Christopher to behave himself in Daisy's absence, an absence which disappointed Elizabeth slightly. Out of all the unclaimed aspirants in the castle, Daisy was the one she would most have expected to be here for her now.
She shook her head and added Daisy to the list of things to keep out of it, along with everyone and everything else that wasn't currently within a two-foot radius of her.
The consort standing at her left shoulder, Edgar, held a carafe of wine, and meticulously topped off her glass after nearly every sip she took.
This made him her current favorite.
The warm intoxication already flowing through her blood, muffling her brain and rooting her to her body, was the only thing allowing her to enjoy any of the rest of it.
Another aspirant, David, swept his silk expertly across her collarbone and both breasts. Her nipples hardened in search of more attention, and without being asked, he took them between his fingers with a precise, systematic roll. His gloves were almost as soft as the scarves.
Elizabeth wasn't sure whether the aspirants had been encouraged to pay her extra attention, to compensate her for having her chosen consort snatched away by Princess Phaedia, or if they were hoping to be picked for his now vacant position.
How anyone could still see her as the lady of their dreams, she didn't know.
Today, she didn't care.
Silk caressed her neck, her arms, her breasts, her thighs.
One of the aspirants climbed onto the bench, kneeling between her legs, and spread his scarf over her pelvis.
With a mischievous smile, he lowered his head and licked her through the thin layer of silk. It was technically permitted, not quite an intimate sullying of his bare skin, so long as the silk didn't slip.
Elizabeth stretched out luxuriously and spread her legs farther apart, inviting him to continue.
The scarf was soon soaked with his saliva and her fluids. She could almost feel the texture of his tastebuds through it, as he licked her clit with abstractly knowledgeable precision.
How curiously balanced these virgins' training must be.
She hoped he might draw it out, give her time to feel nothing but the scarves on her skin and his warm, wet tongue on her silk-covered cunt. That wouldn't be such a horrible eternity to live in. But the licking aspirant's technique was refined enough to bring her to a quick, irresistible orgasm.
Elizabeth moaned and writhed with it, and against it. She clung to the mind-erasing pulses of pleasure, staving off the moment when they would peter out and leave her with an intolerable moment of clarity.
The pulses stopped, and the moment came, full of tears and wretched, mournful gasping. Elizabeth drank the full contents of her generously poured glass, to hurry it past.
When the licking aspirant began to raise his head, she pushed it back down.
#
Daisy sat at her favorite table in the rose garden, enjoying her coffee, paging through a book of poetry and woodcuttings, and watching Sir Elizabeth's pity party unfold from a safe distance.
There was a lot that Daisy struggled to understand about more traditional women — where the fun was in smashing breakaway sticks into each other's faces a full gallop, for example, or how they could be so obsessed with the aesthetics of men's lace and silk and paint without ever wanting to try those things on themselves.
She did know a thing or two, however, about how best to handle ladies who were not currently at their best. They were simple things, things she supposed every consort, husband, or other submissive partner would eventually have to figure out for themselves if they wanted to live peaceful, comfortable lives.
One of them was, when a woman seemed to be carefree at a time when there was no rational explanation for her to be so, it was best to give her space until she started making sense again.
Much as Daisy would have liked to offer Elizabeth comfort, it wasn't possible for her to be comforted yet, and any interaction that might take place between them while she remained in this condition would not be real.
Daisy turned a page in her book, and a person-shaped shadow cut into the fading sunlight on it.
Immediately, Daisy set her coffee down, stood, and turned toward the presence, sinking into a curtsy in the same motion. She fully expected to look up find herself the latest unlucky recipient of Lady Mary's ire. Between Sir Elizabeth suddenly making such a show of herself, and Princess Phaedia upending the Heartgarden with her royal presence, Lady Mary was likely to be feeling very small and eager to take her feelings out on any stragglers. Daisy had known the risk when she'd chosen her reading spot.
When Daisy lifted her head, however, she found that the shadow belonged not to Lady Mary, but to a handsome woman she had seen only once before, at the princess's grand entrance.
"It's all right, sit," the woman told her.
Daisy arranged herself cautiously back in her seat, smoothing wrinkles from her skirt.
"Do you mind company?" the woman asked.
Daisy shook her head and silently pulled another porcelain cup from the set she'd brought. She poured a second coffee with a well-practiced flourish.
"Thank you," said the woman, adjusting her plate armor to sit in the chair across from Daisy. She took a sip of the coffee, not troubling with the cream or sugar. "You're free to speak, by the way. That is, if I can give you that permission? I haven't been invited to choose a consort of my own, only to enjoy your hospitality while I tend to her highness on her visit."
"My duty includes treating all guests with the same respect," Daisy assured her. "So, yes, you have the authority to permit me to speak."
"Good," said the woman. "This would have been a very boring conversation, otherwise."
Daisy used the access to her voice to reply with a friendly giggle.
"I'm Sir Olivia," said the woman.
"Daisy," said Daisy.
Sir Olivia smiled with her lips pressed together, the way people did when they were too polite to point out that Daisy's reputation preceded her.
Olivia took another slow sip of her coffee without taking her eyes off Daisy, even for a moment.
"You can ask," Daisy told her. "I don't mind."
"Ask what?" said Olivia, with almost convincing innocence.
