"Blackfriars' Web"

David knelt at the feet of the housekeeper in his chambers, his new life a heavy, velvet cloak of responsibility. His unwilling wife, Beatrice, was tied to a wooden board he had fixed to the wall. Her legs were spread wide, and she stood on two narrow iron pipes, six inches off the ground. Her ankles were bound to rings in the wall, holding them in place. Her arms were extended above her, pulled taut, so her body formed the shape of a tortured 'X'. Another iron bar, cold and unyielding, protruded from the wall directly between her legs. She struggled constantly, trying to relieve the searing pain in her crutch by lifting onto her toes, until her burning calves gave way and her full, agonizing weight shifted back onto the bar. It was an endless cycle of torture. She had lasted an hour, but David had calmly informed her she had two more to go.

The housekeeper sipped her tea, her voice a casual murmur as she gave him his updates. "Your son has accepted the full scholarship to The King's School, a very prestigious local school. Apparently, he's also been named captain of their football team and is excelling in his classes." The news was bittersweet, but true to the deal he had made. A more bittersweet update followed. "Your ex-wife... she's seeing one of the single fathers she met at a school function. A lawyer."

The housekeeper stood and walked over to the shivering, hanging form of Beatrice. She pinched Beatrice's nipples, twisting them cruelly. "I'm glad to see your new husband is looking after you." Saliva dripped from the gag in Beatrice's mouth, pooling on her heaving breasts. "The Matron would like to invite you and a guest to a little party tonight. Why not bring Isabella? We understand you've been seeing a lot of her lately."

David said nothing, his face an impassive mask.

"Oh, and you'd better bring her," the housekeeper added, her voice losing its casual tone. She pointed a finger at the writhing Beatrice. "Maybe dressed in something uncomfortable and restrictive."

"Thank you, Mistress," David said, his voice low and respectful. He leaned forward and kissed her feet. She turned and left him to his duties.

***

Isabella's husband, Stewart, had been removed from the cell. His mind, unable to endure the constant torment and the drugs, had finally given out. He had been taken to an institution run by the Sisterhood, a place for the truly broken. As she polished the silver in the grand dining hall, Isabella wondered whether the Matron would keep her promise to release her at the end of the year. Then her mind drifted. Her thoughts went to David. 

He could be harsh, a brutal enforcer of the rules who would tolerate no misbehavior. But he was also a gentle lover and mostly kind in bed, a stark contrast to the man who had put her in this position. 

Generally, things hadn't changed much at the Priory. There were new intakes, and others left. Thomas had retired from general service and spent most of his time on clerical work for the estate, his loyalty now a quiet administrative function.

The party that night was a surprise to David. The Matron and the Housekeeper had been very pleased with his behavior and the way he had navigated the past eight months. He had chosen to keep the peace rather than constantly punish the staff, though if anyone wandered too far from the rules, he was swift and harsh. He was the perfect buffer between the staff and the ladies who actually ran the Abbey.

In the private library, the two ladies thanked him. "You have exceeded our expectations, Lord Ashworth," the Matron said, the new title rolling off her tongue with genuine approval.

"We would like to give you permission to release one person," Jenny added. "As a sign of our gratitude."

David knelt between them, a picture of humility. "I am honored, ladies. I have a request."

They chatted among themselves for a moment, their heads together. "It will be on your head if it goes wrong," Elizabeth warned him.

"I understand," David said. He stood and looked over at Isabella, who stood by the wall, holding the leash attached to a severe posture collar around Beatrice's neck. The leather straightjacket that held Beatrice's cramped body was liberally dusted with dried rose hips, resulting in a constant, maddening itch she could never scratch.

David walked over to Isabella. "Your service is at an end," he said, his voice low enough for only her to hear. "You will be free by the end of the week."

Isabella's eyes widened, a flicker of long-dormant hope in their depths.

"But," David continued, "I would like you to consider another option. To volunteer to stay here as my second in command." He let that sink in. "No collar. No chastity device. A new wardrobe. A life of authority, not servitude."

Isabella stared at him, then at Beatrice, who was shifting miserably, the itching from the straitjacket clearly tormenting her. She thought of the world outside. She had no home, no money, and no family who would speak to her. She had nothing to go back to. Here, she had power. She had David. She looked back at him, her expression hardening with resolve.

"I accept," she said, her voice firm. "I will stay."

David gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. "Good. Go and prepare Lady Beatrice for the night. The two ladies want to give her some attention.”

End.