Breathing Patterns

It was three minutes after sunrise on what would turn out to be a wonderful day for all. At first, only the tiniest sliver of red poked up over the horizon; beyond that distant hilltop were lands belonging to another kingdom. The red became orange as more of the bright disk arose and enlightened the forests. A soft breeze nudged into the faces of two young women standing on a sturdy branch. They blew each other kisses, then one of them jumped to the ground.

Now sitting in the crook of a tree, at the top of the tallest hill in the region, was the former tomboy known as Harriet Shelton. She’d spent her entire life running and playing in the hills behind her parents’ home. Today was her twentieth birthday. She and her best friend Cherry Kale had spent the last two hours out here, waiting for the dawn’s early light. Taking one last look, Harriet jumped down to the soft, leaf-covered ground and headed back home. She hoped Cherry would have the bath water warmed up by the time she got there. Smiling to herself, she realized she loved her life. She’d known no poverty, no despair.

Sidney Shelton had seen to that. He and his wife Helga lavished constant attention on their only child, grooming her for what they all hoped would be a cherished place inside the castle walls of Mt. Olivet. Sidney had once been the greatest swordsman in the land. He’d saved the crown-prince (and now King) Lawrence on numerous occasions. The two had become fast friends and so, upon reaching his thirtieth year, Sidney was awarded a generous lifetime pension and a significant portion of the King’s demesnes, to do with as he pleased.

Helga, pleased herself by the King’s generosity, proceeded to clear the land for a vineyard. At first, it was just Sidney and her, hand-tying the vines to wooden stakes. They even took turns stomping the grapes, trying to turn it into something palatable.
In their fifth year, the two winemakers were sitting atop a well of good fortune. The entire operation employed nearly two hundred people. So Helga’s pregnancy came as a surprise to her and Sidney. When Harriet was born, she already had a room of her own and two matrons to look after her every need. The pretty baby grew into a precocious toddler and finally, a very cute teenager. It was at that point they decided to get some more help.
                             
....

Harriet Shelton sat in front of her most prized possession - a floor to ceiling vanity mirror and padded seat, in the lightest shade of melon anyone had ever seen. Born to Sidney and Helga twenty years ago today, the excited debutante watched in the reflection as her handmaiden brushed her luxurient waist-length auburn hair. Re-reading the note that had mysteriously arrived two mornings ago, her heart fluttered again. Ever since she’d read the second line, she’d found she had trouble breathing.

Cherry had been Harriet’s best friend since they were both thirteen. Back then, Cherry had been merely the first-born of the cook and scullery maid who worked for the Sheltons. One month before her own thirteenth birthday, she was told to report to Harriet’s room for permanent duty. At first, she’d been scared, but soon discovered she was glad she’d been assigned to Harriet.

Now, seven years later, the two had blossomed into lovely young ladies. Despite Cherry’s lower status, she could have passed for Harriet’s sister. Each had had the pleasure of losing their virginity while riding a horse. Each were a little fleshy around the middle too. They’d filled out quite nicely up top and their hips were already showing signs of widening. But it was their stomachs that displeased them the most.

“You are formally invited to attend the Sheriff’s Ball with the Sheriff’s son, Sir Edgar. Costume dress required. Meet your host at the kitchen entrance at eight-thirty sharp. Come alone.”

“What exactly does “costume dress” mean, Cherry?” Harriet asked again for the umpteenth time since she’d first read the note. Cherry rolled her eyes and obliged her Mistress. She explained all about the different types of costumes worn at these fancy balls. Over the last two days, they’d gone through every outfit Harriet owned, searching for something appropriate. It wasn’t until Helga offered her own closets full of gowns that they found something they both agreed on.

Here it was, the day of the ball. Both twenty-year-olds had been up since dawn. Cherry had drawn a hot bubble bath for her Mistress first. Then, as Harriet was cleaning every inch of her flesh, Cherry was laying out the garments. She stood just outside the bath, holding a soft white towel, which soon dried all of the excited young woman’s skin. From there, they’d padded back to the vanity, where Cherry had begun brushing Harriet’s tresses.

At noon, another maiden brought some refreshments for them both. She stood admiring her Mistress for a bit longer than anyone realized, then scooted on back to the kitchens. Her eyes had alternated between Harriet’s unmarred porcelain skin, and the aqua items laid on the bed. She’d practically drooled at the crinoline and lace. Never in her life had she imagined such a pretty outfit. She only wished she could see her Mistress in it, before she departed for the ball.

Cherry and Harriet ate together quietly. Cherry was dreaming of becoming a debutante someday. It was a pipe-dream though, and she knew it. Harriet was wondering why Sir Edgar had requested HER. Was her father still that famous? Would he kiss her? Or worse...would he expect her to dance up-close to him? She knew that was strictly forbidden, by today’s standards. Who knew what the future would hold?

Again, Harriet found herself having trouble breathing. She mentioned it to Cherry. Luckily, her handmaiden had a suggestion.

“Breathing patterns, Miss,” she began. Of course, Cherry’s accent made it sound more like “pattuns”. “You’ve got to learn to control how much you inhale!” So, during the next hour, the two practiced breathing. “You’ll need to learn this if you’re going to wear your mother’s corset,” Cherry told her.

Harriet studied the aqua corset as it lay on the bed beside her. Its color perfectly matched her panties, even though the knickers had never been in her mother’s possession. Cherry explained what to expect when standing close to a virile young man, such as the Sheriff’s son. Kneeling before Harriet’s feet, she began rolling the black fishnet stockings up her legs. Looking up into her best friend’s eyes, she fluttered her eyelashes and smiled seductively.

“It would help if you could do this,” she explained. Harriet blinked and giggled at the sight. Though she and Cherry had explored each other’s bodies thoroughly over the past few years, neither had firsthand knowledge of what was in a man’s trousers. So her handmaiden was merely teasing her. Harriet looked at the corset again.  At the bottom hem were four clamp, designed to hold garter snaps. Four white garters could be threaded through the corset and clamped to the tops of her stockings.

But first, she had to be properly prepared. Cherry picked up the powder pad and rubbed it all over her Mistress’s vagina. It was wet there, of course. But this would only keep it smelling fresh. Replacing the pad in its holder, Cherry knelt and helped Harriet step into the turquoise silk panties with lace ties on the hips. She smoothed the material in deeper with the heel of her hand, accidentally brushing against Harriet’s most sensitive areas.

She wouldn’t be wearing a bra tonight. The dress had its own support built in; a kind of wire basket designed to uplift and ‘present’ the breasts to an admirer’s eyes. But Cherry made sure to change the settings in Harriet’s nipple rings. Usually, the winemaker’s daughter had a thick wedding band pierced through each nipple. But on occasion, her handmaiden had swapped chest jewelry with her. Tonight, Harriet would have to endure the two-ounce weighted magnets. They fit nicely into the dress’s wire bra. Cherry finally picked up the corset and approached her Mistress.

Aqua had always been Harriet’s favorite color, growing up. Realizing that her mother owned something so exquisite, so naughty and yet, in her favorite color, made Harriet love her mother all the more. Cherry wrapped the stomach-flattener around her Mistress’s waist, connecting each loop-and-hook in front. From just below her firm breasts, to a spot two inches below the waistband of her knickers, the corset shaped her tummy.

Cherry stood directly behind her Mistress now, threading the laces through the enclosures along the back of the corset. Once threaded, she pulled and tightened.

“Ooohh,” Harriet said, inhaling sharply. Each tug Cherry made on  the laces elicited another grunted word from her Mistress’s  lips.“That’s...a...little...tighter,” she gasped. Her last word had barely squeaked out of her mouth. But there were several more loopholes to thread through.

“Small breaths, Miss,” Cherry reminded her. Then she started at the base of the garment again. Placing her foot in the small of Harriet’s back, the handmaiden yanked hard on the laces, tightening them as much as she could. Harriet tried holding her breath. But that didn’t work. Each (yow!) subsequent (ungh!) tug (nooo) proved to be worse than its predecessor. By the time Cherry had finished tying the last of the laces, her Mistress’s waist had been reduced from twenty-two to fourteen inches.

Harriet’s face was flushed. Her nipples were painfully erect. She could hardly breathe. Glancing at the clock, she realized she still had five hours to go.

“Get me out of this thing!” she moaned. But Cherry would have none of it. She continued to primp her Mistress, eventually helping her slide into the ankle-length dress. Her decolletage left nothing to the imagination. The steel-blue dress laced up the front ending at the base of the left cup, in a simple bow-tie. Cherry rubbed the back of her hand against her friend’s breast, keeping her in an aroused state of mind.The two friends stayed together until it was time for supper; handmaiden assisting her Mistress in the simple art of breathing.

At seven, after a very brief supper, again served in her private chamber, Harriet stood before her vanity, in full costume. Her feet had been strapped into a pair of very high heels. They added five inches to her original four-foot, eleven-inch frame. She wobbled a bit when she tried to walk out of the room on her own. With Cherry’s help, she got out the door.

Somehow, she’d made it down the stairs and out of the house. But negotiating the steps into the horse-drawn carriage proved to be impossible. The coachman leered at her as he helped lift her soft bottom into the cab. Harriet detected a strange bulge in the front of his trousers as he climbed back up into the driver’s seat. But she couldn’t figure out what it meant. She just barely got herself seated when the coach took off.

The ride was long and bumpy. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought he was taking a longer route tonight. Harriet found the ride so bumpy, she had to grasp leather straps on each side of the coach. She’d taken this ride many times before, but never dressed in so confining a costume as this.

As they drew nearer the castle, she could hear the sounds of partying echoing against the outer walls. A big burly man yanked open the coach door and reached a ham-hand in to pull her out, which proved to be quite difficult. After another pair of strong hands reached in, they were able to lift her from the coach and set her on the ground in one fluid motion.

“Oh!” she gasped as she touched down. She looked up into her hero’s eyes and was surprised to see Sir Edgar himself. “Sir! Sir Edgar!” her voice squeaked. Damn! She’d planned on saying something a little more elegant than that. But the tall, dark-haired man merely placed her hand on the inside crook of his arm and led her across the drawbridge, into the castle. They strode up the cobblestone road like a royal couple.

Heads turned from everywhere to stare at the couple. Harriet knew she was an invited guest, but most of the people who’d never seen her before didn’t know that. Dressed in this costume, she passed for royalty, nobility, or at least, someone in-the-know. She was eternally grateful for Sir’s arm, as she would have been unable to negotiate the cobblestone streets in her tall heels without his guidance.

“Nice outfit,” he whispered to her as they made their way into his private chambers. “You were supposed to come by the kitchens though. Did you not instruct your coachman correctly?”

Harriet gulped. She’d forgotten. Was he mad at her? What would he do? He stopped just over the threshold of his bedchamber and rounded on her. His index finger lifted her chin so he could stare into her eyes. When he had her complete attention, his hand slowly slid down her neck, into her cleavage, and under her right breast, cupping it.

“Ahh,” Harriet inhaled sharply. His hand felt wonderful, exciting, powerful. His other hand pushed aside her dress, as he brought the breast all the way out. He repeated the move with her left breast and then placed his thumbs directly against her nipples. Harriet was still having trouble breathing through the corset. Now, his fingers and hands were doing some fantastic things to her, making it hard to breathe in THIS way. She felt something wet trickle down her thigh and closed her eyes.

“Keep your eyes open, my pet,” Sir Edgar commanded. Harriet’s eyes fluttered open, and he could see the pure lust there. She quite nearly gushed when he’d called her the ‘pet’ name. She continued to gaze into his steel-grey eyes while his thumbs continued to brush the tips of her nipples. He inhaled her heady aroma. “Reach into my trousers with both hands and gently caress what you find there.” He was moving rather quickly, wasn’t he?

Harriet stared into her date’s eyes and did exactly as he commanded. She’d been warned by Cherry, so she wasn’t completely surprised by what she found. It seemed to grow in her hand as she caressed it. She felt his hot breath against her shoulder, followed by his hot lips against her neck. Tilting her head back, Harriet gasped in surprise. He knew exactly where to kiss her!

She practically melted into his arms. His thumbs were still playing with her nipples. Her knees were weak. She pressed her lips against his chest and swooned. His passion was inflamed now. Harriet could not dissuade him from his most urgent desire. She wanted it too. The damned corset was making it nearly impossible for her to breathe, let alone take a deep breath. Still, his manhood stirred in her fingers. It twitched and grew even larger.

Surprised and frightened, she let go of him and removed her hands from his trousers. But Sir Edgar caught her wrists and held them together in only one of his hands. Then he lifted them up over her head and held them there. His free hand traced lazy circles all around her upper body, causing her to shiver. She wasn’t cold. They were shivers of joy. Harriet looked into his eyes, silently searching for answers. Harriet felt herself lifted and thrown backward in one swift movement. She landed in the middle of a big soft bed, atop three comforters piled high. Each one was woven with a cotton side and a silk side, in pastels of lavender, aqua and salmon.

All the breath she’d still had in her lungs rushed out of her as she hit the bed. Sir Edgar pounced on her immediately, straddling her and ogling her body.

“How old are you, my pet?” he asked. “And you will address me as Sir, from now on. That is the only name you will ever call me.”

“Sir, I’m twenty years old,” Harriet squeaked. Breathe. Breathe. She kept taking little breaths. Sir Edgar misinterpreted it as her fearing his wrath. Lifting himself from her stomach, he flipped her onto HER stomach. Harriet had to turn her head to the side so she could breathe. Would he unlace her?

But the Sheriff’s son had other ideas instead. He removed the garter snaps from her stockings and rolled them down to her ankles and off. He then used one of the stockings to bind her wrists together behind her back. A little frightened at this turn of events, Harriet began to protest. But a sharp sound from behind her made her stop short. She felt something land on her ass, but the dress and knickers had absorbed most of the blow.

He’d slapped her! It had stung too. Not a lot, but enough to know he meant business. She was completely at his mercy, once he’d tied her wrists together. She should have realized that! There was absolutely no way she’d get free again, unless he so willed it. She was just glad he hadn’t spanked her bare flesh...yet. As if reading her thoughts, Sir Edgar’s fingers gathered up her hem and pulled her dress up into the small of her back. Now her panty-clad cheeks were in sight.

Instead of removing the garment, he pulled it up into her crack, tugging it against her sex, which was still pressing against the piled-high comforters. At this angle, it was all Harriet could do to keep breathing. Each time (oh!) he tugged (ah!) her panties (oo!) she felt a very pleasurable sensation. His finger pushed its way in past the edge of her back panel and it caressed her puckered rear before moving on towards her vagina.

“Sir!” she cried out in protest. But his finger kept moving forward. Harriet was afraid to tell him she was still a virgin. He had to know, didn’t he? That was why she’d been invited, right? Oh! It slid in past the first knuckle and then bent a little. It could feel her hymen now. Harriet moaned as she felt a second finger enter her now. They were widening her a bit. At first, it had felt painful - but now...she was beginning to get lubricated down there. This was nothing like the little experimenting she and Cherry had done.

She wished she could see his face. But still bound into this damned corset and on her stomach, wrists bound behind her, all Harriet could see was his left shoulder. The bed creaked a bit under his weight as he climbed on. A strong rubbery thing poked her outer lips, widening her a bit more. With a single grunt and shove, Sir Edgar entered his debutante captive. Harriet cried out in alarm first, pain second, and finally in pleasure as the dirty deed had finally been done. Each subsequent thrust from her captor, her SIR, made her wetter, until she climaxed for the first time under a man. Despite the restrictive corset, she was able to change her breathing patterns to accommodate the first of many orgasms to come.

Surprisingly, the first thing Sir Edgar unlaced was Harriet’s corset. When it was finally off her, Sir had pulled her to her feet. He bent her at the waist and bound her wrists up to a rope hanging from the rafters. Her weighted nipples swayed beneath her round fleshy globes as she tried to regain her balance. Her once-beautiful tresses hung all around her face, obscuring her view of him. She was even more vulnerable now, completely naked, her wrists bound by one of her stockings.

Harriet felt Sir Edgar’s hands on her thighs, spreading them, pinching and prodding them apart. Then it was the heel of his hand, grinding into her sex, and she found herself pushing back against his rough hand. He pulled his hand away and slapped her across both cheeks with one huge hand. Stepping around in front of her, he picked up her chin and aimed her open mouth to his still-slick mushroom head.

“Unngghhmmmmppphhhh,” Harriet said as he stuffed himself in. He grabbed handfuls of hair on the back of her head and began pumping himself in and out. Harriet was completely at his mercy, once again. She could feel him growing in her mouth. Every few thrusts, he seemed to be expanding. When he stopped briefly, she didn’t know what to expect.

The first time she’d ever tasted anything so sticky, Harriet vowed to do what she could to taste it again and again. Sir’s ejaculate filled her mouth, trickled down her throat and even spilled out of her lips. She did all she could to swallow it, but some had escaped. His massive head shrunk a bit as he withdrew and wiped its leaky tip across her cheek. He chuckled as he dropped her head.

“Good slut,” he said soothingly. “You fell for the bait, just like I knew you would.” He walked around behind her ass again. Reaching up to the top of one bedpost, he pulled down a simple leather tawse. “There is no fancy dress ball tonight,” the Sheriff’s son explained. “You were in the fancy dress. I just plan on balling you until I tire of you. Which should be in about ten years or so.”

He stepped to one side, raised the tawse and let it fall.

“Oh!” Harriet gasped as the two-tongued leather piece landed with a double-slap across both cheeks simultaneously. Ten years or so? Had she heard right? He spoke again as the next blow landed (and she jumped).

“You and your handmaiden will move in here with me, immediately,” he swatted her again. Stopping briefly, he slipped a thumb into her vagina and discovered she was quite moist. “And if she plays her cards right, the both of you will become my perfect servants, until such time as I choose to get rid of you,” he said smugly. The tawse landed again, this time smacking directly into her outer lips. Harriet danced away from the touch, but danced right back against his hand soon afterward.

The blows continued to rain down on her exposed flesh. But in-between them, Harriet felt Sir’s fingers playing her vaginal lips like a piano, eliciting a tune unheard of before. She could hear her Master’s breathing as he lifted the device; as he dropped it against her backside; and even as he entered her. His breathing patterns were quite distinct. Harriet Shelton planned on getting to know everything about Sir. And soon.