Chapter 2

“Are you ready young Cockle Shells? Tell me what you want.”

“Have me. F—Fuck me… plea—”

Shelly’s last word was lost in a rush of air expelled from her lungs as the Queen’s Catcher did exactly as she asked—and quickly. She had never felt such fullness, such aching. But the aching, she decided, was as much form her own yearning as from the Catcher’s ministrations.

Soon a rhythm was developed, an unspoken cooperation between the two, and Shelly’s own body surprised her by relaxing. She still felt the constriction of the rope to be sure, but from below, what she felt was hot and wet and wonderful. And as the Queen’s Catcher continued to lick in places that should not be licked. Shelly shuddered, not from revulsion, but from the pure pleasure of the Catcher’s gentle swirling.

“Ohh,” Shelly moaned.

The Catcher, true to her word, impaled Shelly harder than she could ever imagine, and much longer than she had ever anticipated. By the time Shelly was writhing and moaning, clenching against the Catcher’s hand, singing out her praises, the moon had moved a considerable distance.

After a final groan that came from deep within Shelly, the masked woman came around to kneel in front of here. Shelly was sweat soaked and heaving. Even with her eyes barely focusing, she could see the glistening trail covering the Catcher’s hand and smell the nectar that had been pulled from deep within her. The Catcher waited patiently. One by one, Shelly opened her mouth for the Catcher’s fingers, and one by one she gulped down the strong taste of her own lust.

The Catcher stood up and with her freshly cleaned hand, slapped Shelly hard across the ass.

“Mmm,” Shelly moaned.

“If I catch you out here again, young Cockle Shells, you’ll find my fingers curled up in the place where my tongue was playing this evening, and I dare say even a girl as wanton as you may have trouble finding the pleasure in that.”

Shelly shivered. But before she could fully consider the implications, the Queen’s Catcher plucked her up and tossed her over the back of her horse. Shelly bounced home with an aching in her loins and a smile across her face.

Part II — Silver Bells

Despite the stern warning given by the Queen’s Catcher, it wasn’t long before our young heroine was out for another moonlit stroll. For the Catcher was not bragging when she said that Shelly would never be the same. In fact, young Shelly shunned the advances of any and all boys in the marketplace now, not just the one who ran off leaving her alone and stranded. Though she held little malice in her heart for the boy, for if not for his cowardice, she would have slipped through life, never having met the Catcher in the Queen’s field of rye.

As it was, she now spent her time in the marketplace, not looking at boys, but secretly examining women’s hands. Shelly was sure she would be able to identify the Catcher by those long, graceful fingers she happened to glance in the moonlight on that night her whole world changed. Instead of a silly boy, Shelly would meet the Catcher, known her by her fingers, and make plans to meet her in the woods. She would be nervous, but the Catcher would be gentle, and Shelly would be a changed woman.

But the right hand never came along, and Shelly was left to wonder if perhaps the queen had hired the Catcher from another village. This also gave Shelly the urge for a clandestine rendezvous to investigate This time, however, she waited until she was sure her sister was asleep before slipping out and latching the family’s cottage door quietly behind her.

Shelly was standing in the middle of the rye field, shivering on a chilly night, ready to turn back home, when she finally spied the masked woman on horseback. Though there was no surprise this time as she felt to rope drop over her shoulders, she shuddered anyway.

“So this is how you want things to go?” the masked woman said.

“Yes.” Shelly didn’t even try to catch the woman’s eye as she was hoisted up and onto the back of the horse.

The ride seemed longer this time. Possibly because Shelly’s body betrayed her. Her nipples hardened and her thighs became slick with moisture as she bounced along helplessly. Any attempts to reach down and find out just how much moisture, were stopped short by the rope.

Again, there was a gentle lift down from the Catcher’s mount, but this time the rope was loosened rather than wrapped tighter. Shelly opened her mouth to ask why when the Queen’s Catcher spoke.

Shelly shivered and hugged herself.

“Strip, or I take you back home.”

Shelly untied her peasant’s blouse and slipped it over her head. She dropped her skirts next. She stood, shivering in the moonlight and studying her feet.

The Queen’s Catcher held up the end of the rope. Shelly felt a twinge from down below and slowly shook her head. The Catcher was much more methodical in her tying this time and soon Shelly found herself bound with her arms crossed behind her back, but with space between the coils to leave her breasts exposed to the air. She cursed this new arrangement with the first chill breeze that made her nipples stand proud.

“This is your second offense, Cockle Shells” said the Catcher. “If I were to report you to the Queen, she would have you sent to the garden for sure.”

Shelly swallowed against the lump in her throat and nodded. She considered the Catcher’s mention of the garden, thinking about her sister’s warning as well, as she watched the masked Catcher reach into her saddle bag. In the Catcher’s hand were two silver bells. Each bell was attached to a fine bit of silver wire.

“As a repeat offender I’ll need to keep better track of you. You will keep these with you at all times.” The Catcher pressed one of the bells against the skin just under Shelly’s left nipple. The cold of the metal on an already chilly evening made her shudder. The Catcher’s wrapping and twisting of the fine wire, tightening its grip on Shelly’s already aching flesh was enough to make her swoon.

The Queen’s Catcher lived up to her name and Shelly fell into her arms instead of on the ground in a heap. The next bell was attached while she stood with her back leaning into the Catcher’s chest and her head thrown back on the Catcher’s shoulder. Shelly moaned as the Catcher flicked each of the silver bells to test its grip. They held fast and Shelly marveled at how each movement caused the moisture between her thighs to run like a river.

“You do remember where I said you would feel my fingers if I caught you again?” The masked woman squeezed Shelly’s buttock to emphasize her point.

“Yes, Catcher.” Shelly felt her legs giving way, but the Catcher held her fast with an arm gathered tightly around her waist.

“And this is what you want?” The masked woman was sliding her tongue up and down Shelly’s neck as she breathed the question into her ear. “You’d rather let me have my way with you than to be sent slinking back home?”

Shelly shivered as the Catcher pulled on the ropes crisscrossing her body and led her to the familiar fallen oak. A new surge of moisture made its presence know as Shelly felt the rough bark beneath her.

The Catcher did not take her immediately. Instead, she turned and Shelly heard her digging in the saddle bag again. Just as Shelly was trying to figure out why, she felt something wet and cold, that made the tiny muscle where it landed clench in protest. But the protest did not last long, because very soon after, Shelly felt herself clenching against a slender finger.

The Queen’s Catcher did not open her slowly, nor did Shelly expect her to. This was her second time trespassing in the queen’s rye field, after all. She knew the consequences. The Catcher had warned her. But the Catcher had also warned her that she would never be the same after their first encounter. So while Shelly shivered against the cold and clenched against the Catcher’s invading finger, she wondered at what sort of new transformation she might discover tonight.

As the Queen’s Catcher rapidly added a second and then a third finger, Shelly began to think the transformation might very well involve a lifetime of incontinence. She moaned and clenched as the fingers probed deep. A bit of drool ran down her chin. The pealing of bells reached her ear.

“I warned you, Cockle Shells. But, since I’m in a generous mood this evening, you may still ask me to take you home.”

Shelly grunted. The feeling of such rapid stretching almost had her nodding her head. Her bells tinkled. But then the Catcher slowed and began curling her fingers to rub inside. She rubbed in a place that Shelly thought should hold no pleasure, but yet the feelings caused her to body to shiver and her eyelids to flutter.

“Yes.” Shelly arched her back.

“Yes, take you home?”

Shelly shook her head. “Yes. F—fuck me.”

“You won’t regret it.”

Shelly moaned. By the time a fourth finger was added, Shelly was sure she would never be the same. Even with the cold slippery stuff that The Catcher had painted over her, it was still a challenge. “Mmm. Mmm. Mmm,” Shelly grunted.

“Here we go,” said the Catcher.

“Ohhhhh,” Shelly heaved as she bucked her hips and pushed back against the masked woman’s hand. She squeezed her eyes tight. The silver bells on her chest rang out. Shelly pushed and pushed, everything twitching and spasming, until finally she felt the Catcher’s knuckles slip in and she was left squeezing against her wrist. “Ungh.”

“Rest a while, sweet Cockle Shells.”

Shelly willed herself to concentrate on the Catcher’s kind words rather than the urge to expel her invading hand. Her body shivered. Nipples, exposed through the coils of rope and gripped to the point of numbness by the tight, fine silver wire, were singing out their distress.

“You’re doing so well, young Cockle Shells.”

Shelly exhaled a long sigh. She wiggled her hips as much as she could manage and pressed back.

“So soon?” said the Catcher.

Shelly nodded and pressed back a little more. The more she pressed, the more she stretched, and the deeper the Catcher’s hand was buried. Shelly found her breaths to be shallow and ragged, either due to this new lack of space inside or the adrenaline surging through her system. Despite the cold air, she felt sweat breaking out on her brow. She squeezed her eyes tight.

“So lovely,” the Catcher cooed and drove a little deeper.

Shelly struggled to open her eyes again. She shifted her hips, moving against the masked woman’s invading fist. She moaned—pleasure bubbling up now in spite of her trepidation and discomfort. She felt fingers beginning to flex.

“Ohhh,” Shelly moaned again.

Another splash of cold jelly-like goo hit her skin and the Catcher buried herself a little deeper. Shelly shook, the sound of her bells muffled in her ears as the rush blood being pumped by her pounding heart drowned out all else.

The Catcher pulled back, causing Shelly to stretch, and then pushed forward as Shelly’s body greedily sucked her back in. The Queen’s Catcher cooed her praises, the words mostly lost, but the tone of her voice coming through, giving Shelly to know the Catcher was pleased with her performance.

Shelly struggled with consciousness. Her rapid breathing against the constriction of the rope and the constant invader of the Catcher’s forearm soon had her gasping.

“Too much?” the Catcher said, slowing her assault.

The Catcher wasted no breath with a reply. The last thing Shelly heard was a brief pealing of bells, before everything was replaced by her own guttural moaning. She began to shudder, though not form cold. It was then that Shelly knew the Catcher’s words to be true. She was changed forever. No boy in the marketplace could ever come close to exciting her now.

“Ohhh,” she moaned, and bucked her hips, pressing harder as the sweat beaded on her forehead and she caught her breaths in ragged gasps. The Queen’s Catcher caused pleasure where there should be none. But there was no denying what Shelly felt building inside. And when she let loose with a torrent of nonsensical words and gasps, while she struggled to stay conscious, she knew there was no going back. Her cries of ecstasy filled the forest.

And even as Shelly lay in her bed that night, after bouncing on horse back and sneaking inside on wobbly legs, she knew she would venture out again. Maybe not tomorrow night, but soon. She kept her silver bells hidden away under her pillow when she slept, and tucked in the waistband of her dress during the day—always a reminder of the evening the Queen’s Catcher brought about her undeniable transformation.

Part III — Pretty Maids All in a Row

You might be tempted to think poor Shells has endured more than any young girl should be asked to endure. But the Queen’s Catcher was not boasting when she said young Shelly would be forever changed by their two encounters. And even if the result of the third offense meant being sent to the Queen’s garden, Shelly did not view it as a punishment. If the Catcher’s ways were any indication of how the Queen ruled over her garden, then it was a risk Shelly was willing to take.

It was a sunny afternoon in the middle of the week, when after another fruitless day of searching the marketplace for the familiar but elusive fingers of the Queen’s Catcher, Shelly decided to visit the Queen’s field of rye once again. And though the sun was still in the sky, the silhouette of a rider was visible at the edge of the treeline. Shelly ran as fast as she could across the field. She looked up, smiling, trying to catch the rider’s eye.

“You’re trampling my crops, you know.”

Shelly looked up. The familiar voice belonged to a woman, but she was not the masked rider. She was dressed in royal robes.

“Your highness.” Shelly immediately dropped to her knees and cast her eyes to the ground.

“Oh get up, Cockle Shells.”

Shelly felt a rope dropping and gripping her by the shoulders. The Queen smiled. Shelly found something very familiar in the features of her face. The Queen removed the white glove from one hand and held her fingers up, pressing them through a circle made by her other hand.

Shelly swooned, but a tug on the rope kept her upright.

“Would you like to go into the forest with me?”