There is some duplication of introductory content here wth a sister post in the Cruelties section.
As usual, the advice about stories in the Cruelties section is, don’t go there!
Around this time of the year - in early sumer, The Castle holds its annual Garden Party.
The Castle gardens are really rather wonderful - unlike most French gardens, which tend towards carefully manicured beds and regimented planting, this one is in the English, half-wild, more natural style. It was mostly laid out in the 1920s by an acolyte of Gertrude Jekyll, a Society girl, whose husband had found her, one day, in bed with the youngest, prettiest housemaid, and decided to send them both to the Castle, his wife to be trained to share her perversions with him and his friends, and the housemaid to be debased and sold into slavery to pay for his membership.
Little is recorded, as might be imagined, of the poor housemaid, save a single ledger entry; Maudie, english, branded ‘453’, transferred to Sultan of Oman, FF500.
The wife apparently took to the regime rather well, and although she had returned to her English ‘Society’ position after the brutalties and humiliations of her three months confinement as a Castle girl, she agreed to return for 6 weeks every year. The contract - written in her own rather beautiful cursive - specifies that she is to be used, abused and beaten as viciously as the very meanest of the girls held in servitude, her husband (and owner) particularly requesting that she be made to perform with trained dogs for the entertainment of the membership at least once each week.
Each year, she had begun to arrive earlier and earlier, to work on the gardens, rather than to begin her term of debasement (although rumour had it that the garden staff and the stable boys made very free with her during their breaks, and that at night her room in the guest wing was often invaded by groups of men who ignored her feeble protests, thrashing and raping her mercilessly).
Whatever the truth of the rumours, the reality and delightful quality of the gardens is remarkable. It was the genius of the Anne-Marie of the 1950s, to realise that a Garden Party could be the ideal setting to introduce potential novices - both Members and girls - to the delights of The Castle in a ‘soft’ way.
Members would be invited to bring with them girls whom they hoped or intended to deliver into the cruel clutches of the Castle, for whom the prettiness of the gardens and the relatively sedate nature of the afternoon section of the party would help to establish the Castle as both rich and sophisticated, well managed and well connected, in a girl’s mind, and so add weight to the inevitability of her surrender. Depravity was not so much hidden away, as presented elegantly. As well as girl guests, the Castle fillies were present at the party, most (though not all) wearing summer dresses that were superficially ‘decent’, while being at the same time very short, very revealing, often gauzy, and of course offering easy access to groin and breasts both.
Since a summer garden party is often a place a perfectly ordinary girl will choose to dress to impress , and since the young girls invited are mostly in sexual relationships with controlling and demanding men whom they are already at least partially in thrall to, it is often only possible to tell the difference between Castle inmates and vistors by the slave collars Castle girls wear.
Even then, there can be confusion, since some of the guest girls are already well on the way - having attended the evening parties which some members choose to bring girls to in order to prepare them - (for more on these parties see the first part of She Asked for it - although there is not yet a story which lays out those evenings in full). These girls, some of them, choose to wear slave collars.
This confusion, plus the free bar, well stocked with Bollinger and Remy-Martin, means that, as the evening wears on, the younger members, naturally wishing to use the Castle girls as they are intended to be used, sometimes make mistakes; there is often at least one filly in residence at the Castle whose time began earlier than intended, with a violent gang-rape of a relative innocent during the evening of the Garden Party. The screams and begging of these girls are of a particularly desperate piteousness, which can drive members into a frenzy, so that they actively hunt other victims. These ‘accidents’ can of course create significant reputational risk for The Castle.
This is considered highly entertaining, of course, in the Club Room; girls who arrived in this way are made to tell the story of their trauma, as often as not resulting in a terribly distressed girl being further traumatised by a rough and heartless re-enactment of the tragedy that had destroyed her life.
One year a girl who was really rather damaged by her ordeal turned out to be the wayward daughter of a important industrialist (physically, she healed, but never recovered from the terror of that night, with the result that she became almost pathologically eager to please, a helpless nymphomaniac). The negotiations around this incident were lengthy and awkward, but in the end Anne-Marie achieved a notable success. The industrialist, having sampled a few of the Castle girls as an initial consolation (they had been shipped to his island, off Brittany, in large packing cases, and were held in deep damp cellars for a few weeks as he had discovered just how far he could go with them - and how much he liked pushing that envelope), eventually agreed to a free lifetime membership, and to have his daughter fully broken in by Anne-Marie, to the point where she willingly signed a lifetime indenture, which her father bought and then gave to a Russian oligarch who had been holding out particularly hard on a massive deal. He had been introduced to the girl at the Castle, of course, not knowing who she was, and had become infatuated (she had been trained, very specifically, to please, in relation to a couple of his rather disturbing fetishes, Anne-Marie’s expertise put to the test, and proved yet again, as the girl learned, eventually, to orgasm in the bizarre circumstances demanded of her, despite her justified horror and disgust). The Russian had offered to buy her from the Castle but of course her father held the indenture, and he could not have her without doing the deal.
For Castle girls, the Garden Party is a rare ‘special’ moment in the otherwise relentless round of dungeon and club-room service, occasional maid duties at the Paris dining rooms. Monotony is part of Anne-Marie’s regime, another ‘inevitability’ about the life of a Castle girl. Up at the same time every day (no matter what the depravities of the previous night), simple breakfast in silence with the other fillies of her dormitory, followed by cleansing and dressing each other - always the same style of outfit, always the same duties, always the same afternoon nap time, a ‘teatime’ with Anne-Marie each week, always the need to earn ‘doses’ of semen. Of course, the details of the fuckings, beatings, cruelties, humiliations vary wildly from hour to hour, day to day, but the rigid timetable rolls on, unstoppable, like time itself.
This means that there is much excitement in the weeks leading up to the Garden Party. Girls are assigned small groups, and work together to design their outfits, within a budget. During these weeks, at set times, girls are allowed to talk to each other (always supervised, of course). They can increase their shared budget by achieving targets allotted to each - mainly in respect of ‘doses’, but each with an additional, unique challenge - to do something that they find too repugnant to do beautifully, or to achieve orgasm from something they find appallingly degrading, ask to be tattooed or branded, or sign up for another three months of slavery.
Since the budget is shared, and it will be the one time in the year that a girl gets to wear an outfit of her own choosing (albeit that choice is very heavily constrained by the Castle’s requirements), each girl finds herself under heavy pressure from the others in her group to achieve her individual target. The emotional and psychological temperature gets very high in these weeks - girls fight, fall out for life, enter into strange pacts to inflict awful things upon each other, simply to be able to have a pretty dress for one night.
Here we present the first in a series of pictures and accompanying vignettes from this year’s party.
The Lady Eleanor Farejon-Coutts
Lady Eleanor’s husband, Lord Tranton Farejon-Coutts, Bart. married her last year. She had come to his attention as a member of an all-girl singing group vying for the Belgian representation in the Euro-vision song contest. After this attempt failed, and her unceremonious firing by the management, she responded positively to the messages delivered by her agent about a week’s free holiday in the Carribean, which was not a surprise to anyone concerned. What was a surprise was the announcement, a month later, that they were engaged to be married.
It is an ill-kept secret that the terms of the marriage included a break clause after a year, clearly set out in the pre-nup.
What is still a well-kept secret, known only to the couple, to Anne-Marie and select Great Table members, is that the break clause will be triggered by Lord Tranton if Lady Eleanor is not wearing, every day, and as of right, the Triskelion ring that graduates of the Castle’s three month initiation wear to announce to anyone in the know that they are available for both use and abuse by any member.
Lady Eleanor has attended a dinner evening at which not one, but two fillies were abused by the company after the meal, and, in a passionate bout with Lord Tranton afterward (the noble lord having taken two of his blue pills), expressed herself as confident that she could not only survive an initiation, but declared herself eager for it, and looked forward to serving her Master better once it had been completed.
In fact, she had been horrified and appalled by what she had seen; underlying her passion that night was an urgent need for physical excess, to flush the stress from her body. She has reminded herself since, that she signed up for the marriage knowing what it would take, that she really does want to keep the privileges attendant on her role as the old fogey’s wife (not to mention the wealth she anticipates after his death, albeit she has not seen his will), and for the Garden Party she has chosen to dress almost as if she were an inmate, to keep up her pose.
She is acting as boldly as she can manage, doing her best to hide her turmoil. But after a rather intimidating little exchange with a smiling but flint-eyed Anne-Marie, and then observing the demeanour of the fillies in attendance, she is beginning, very much, to fear that, far from coming back from the Castle armed with enough sexual technique to bring her Lord to heel, in awe of what she can do in the bedroom, that she will, in fact, be all too easily broken. That maybe the old fogey is smarter than he lets on.
Part of her is envious, anyway, of the sexual abandon that is evident in every move of these degraded slavegirls; and they laugh so happily! She hasn’t known a day’s genuine happiness since she started dance classes in earnest, at the age of 6.
Picture: Lady Eleanor; bold but nervous
Titi - a recent acquisition
Tatiana, as she was, having stammeringly, prettily, hopelessly, begged Anne-Marie to be permitted to be indentured, would now be known, simply, as T, were it not for the fact that there is already a filly with that letter in the stable.
In these cases, the Castle habit is simply to double the letter; hence Titi - often simplified to Tits. That her breasts are the part of herself that she finds the most embarrassing to have on show, makes the name excruciating to her, but there it is.
In fact, many things are excruciatingly embarrassing to Titi; she is one of the shyest girls Anne-Marie has ever accepted; she is often overwhelmed, easily brought to tears, trembles pathetically, and bleats, softly, like a terrified lamb, as she is being used. All this would have disqualified her after her first ten days, had Anne-Marie not observed something about the girl’s shame - that what she was ashamed of was her own hair trigger sexuality. A little experimentation made it clear that even the crudest, most casual touch between her legs, even a brush of fingers at the side of her neck would trigger a powerful sexual response.
Ruthless questioning had the girl in a tempestuous crying fit very quickly, but Anne-Marie was not to be deterred until she had the truth. It transpired that, when her vulnerability to intense arousal had become evident in her teens, she had been overwhelmed by it in front of her classmates not a few times, so that she been the subject of bullying and shaming from the girls at her school, and sniggering crudeness from the boys, which had scarred her.
It had been the kindness and gentleness of the man who had delivered her to The Castle, his patience and sweetness with her over a year, that had saved her from an all but suicidal despair, and she had quickly found herself fixated on him. When he had presented the idea to her of The Castle as both cure and validation of her naturally loving character and qualities , as he described her condition, she was petrified, and had remained petrified throughout, only submitting because of her dependence upon him as her saviour.
Now, as Titi, she knows that it is in fact Anne-Marie who has saved her - saved her by convincing her that, in The Castle, her shame, her blushes, her trembling, are all treasures, that she must use them to excite the gentlemen to excess, offer herself to that excess; that in the violence and intensity of their usage of her, she will be able to forget her shame and meet them in passion.
And indeed that has been her experience. These days, held by the iron regime of The Castle, her ridiculous, foolish responses are celebrated, valued - and at the same time ruthlessly exploited (which Titi knows, and has resigned herself to as the price of her new-found self-acceptance).
This garden party, though! Never having experienced one, and caught up by the infectious excitement of the other girls, the chance to actually talk with them, she had happily joined in with designing dresses, and tearfully but sweetly agreed to have her breasts enlarged in order to unlock her contribution to her group’s additional funds, and she had, genuinely, imagined that she would enjoy herself.
But now, with all these strangers, with no simple ‘display yourself enticingly to the Members until one or more of them decide to hurt you, or fuck you’, with this freedom to wander about the gardens, even talk to people, look men in the face; worst, to be in the presence of all these non-enslaved women, to have them all looking at her, knowing she has been broken, that she is a helpless, eager whore, fucked in the most degrading of ways by twenty or thirty different men even on a slow week, regularly whipped; she can’t bear it, and freezes, unable even to take another step, closes her eyes and finds herself praying for a man to take her away; she doesn’t want to be used here, in the garden (although it is early enough for decorum mostly to be in place, there are noises from behind the bushes, and in the from the gazebo, and L had been pushed to her knees under the Great Table almost immediately that old guy that likes her so much had arrived), so she tells herself that, if a man should come for her, she will beg him to take her to the Dungeon and do something awful to her, if that’s what it takes to get fucked, and to get away from this awful exposure.
Picture: Titi, frozen
