Eliza marvelled at the old stately Manor as her taxi made the transition from barely paved road to gravel pathway. Sure the Pennington estate was long derelict and working for the National Trust seemed a bit menial for a Cambridge graduate, but without anyone who wanted to vouch for her, curator of an obscure part of history was better than the myriad of jobs she had previously taken just to make ends meet.

Eliza always had trouble fitting in at Cambridge University. Being half Vietnamese, half American and studying for a degree in History with additional modules in Victorian literature meant she was treated more like a Jane Austin fangirl than a dedicated historian by her stuck-up English classmates. Worse still, when she left University, she found herself knocking around whatever job satisfied her visa and kept her from being deported. She was thrilled to have a job that paid above the visa threshold, even if a large part of the paycheque would immediately go back to the National Trust to cover rent to stay in the stately manor.

The history of Pennington Manor was fairly boring, a string of not-quite-aristocrats trying and failing to break into the inner circles of power. All coming to an end when, at a last bash at remaining relevant, Baronet Charles Pennington married his daughter Rosetta off to a wealthy businessman. Their hatred for each other was well recorded and after their 30 year marriage they had sired no children so the family ended with them. They had however completely rebuilt Pennington Manor and now Eliza had the duty to show bored families on holiday in one of the nearby campsites around a very unremarkable part of British history.

Eliza stepped out of the taxi and through the front door into the visitors center where the regional National Trust manager, an upright middle aged woman who introduced herself as Gemma McMillan, was waiting to show her the ropes. She was given a tour, a pile of old history books and keys to the manor. She was expected to start tours tomorrow and work the gift shop at the end. Outside of opening hours she was to clean and maintain the grounds. She would however, be given free reign to try events and innovations to bring in new sources of revenue.

Eliza was then left alone to get acquainted with her new home. It was past closing time with night falling, she was left to wander the halls, studying every detail the guide book pointed her to. She went into the second master bedroom and was struck by the imposing four poster bed dominating the room. She wished she could sleep in here rather than the broom closet she had been given, then realised with no on site management, no other staff and no CCTV, there was nothing stopping her as long as she woke up early enough to put the room right before any tourists arrived.

Eliza put on her pyjamas and shimmied under the anachronistic duvet (old cover, modern duvet.) Eliza was shorter than the average girl, so she was surprised to find her feet pressing against the footboard, this bed was made to be the exact size of a woman in the times when women were smaller, clearly so Lady Pennington could sleep in a bed apart from her husband. She pushed her head against the headboard and a panel gave way, dropping a large and dusty book onto her face. Eliza stared at the book, it’s black cover giving away nothing of its contents, as she opened it up, she found pages and pages of handwritten notes.


Dearest diary

Forced into a life where there is no departure from celibacy on my terms, I am driven to vent my mental frustrations as manually as I have taken to venting my physical woes. My husband is, quite plainly, one of the most boring boudoir presences in these sainted isles. I have long held a predilection for the unusual when it comes to my body and the indulgence of its vices. I had hoped upon my marriage that, despite my reservations on the character of my husband, the new Lord Pennington would at least enjoy my preference for animalistic ravishment.

On my wedding night I left him with some friends while I went ahead and prepared the marriage bed. I began by ripping up my wedding dress, making me look bedraggled and exposed. My heaving breasts freed from torn corsetry and my quivering unmentionables moister than even the most coastal moorland. I used the rags of my wedding dress to gag and blindfold myself before proceeding to tie my arms and legs to the posts of our bed.

I sat in my self imposed isolation, getting more and more excited at the thought of the destruction of my purity. When I heard the door open, I confess a gasp of delight crept its way out of my mouth and around my gag.

But rather than ravishment I got a browbeating to rival the sternest of matrons. He was furious that I would damage an expensive wedding dress, he feared for my position of a chaste and loving mother if this was the degradations I sought, and worst of all he was fearful that had another discovered me, another man could have been able to take that which was rightfully his, my maidenhead.

Once suitably chastised and prepared we did consummate the marriage, it had all the intimacy of a handshake at the conclusion of a meeting with investors.

So, on this piece of paper I make this promise, I will not be reliant on this businessman to bring me release, if my journey of romantic awakening ends up being one I take alone so be it, I will discover myself deeper than any housewife forced to quench the raging furnace of her loins for fear of impropriety. I seal this promise with a kiss from my most sincere lips.

Lady Rosetta Pennington


Eliza’s eyes widened at where Lady Pennington had clearly poured ink on her pussy and pressed it against the paper under her name. Immediately she scanned the page with all the knowledge gained from a single university module in artifact inspection. The ink was pooled and smudged in all the right places to suggest it was written by someone right handed with a quill and the slight browning indicated it was Iron Gall ink that had oxidised over the years. Everything pointed to this being a genuine diary of Lady Pennington.

Eliza snuggled into the duvet and prepared herself for an exciting read.


Dear Diary,

Providence smiles on my endeavour of self discovery. No sooner had I finished my account of how I came to this mission, did my husband announce that his latest business endeavour more than paid enough for us to live in a manner in which a Lord and Lady should expect. The old Pennington Manor is to be restored beyond its former glory, and as head of the household it was, of course, my duty to oversee the workmen and construction. To this end I was given a thoroughly immodest budget and bid to remain present during the building works while Lord Pennington conducted his business in the city.

Imagine, at my fingertips I have an army of workmen who will build what I bid without question, followed by evenings without servants with which to use what I have commissioned. I wasted no time requesting the workman build me a chamber with a purpose to “punish immoral servants.” I have just emerged from the chamber and it certainly is effective.

In the hallway next to the library, I have placed a hidden room between the corridor and the outside wall, opened by pulling on the decorative songbird perched on the picture rail. Inside is all exposed brickwork with the exception of four metal clasps placed in a pattern to hold one’s arms and legs in place spread from ones body, forcing someone to be pinned to the cold outer facing brick.

Once the four clasps are locked in place the only way to unlock them is for the grandfather clock in the nearby library to chime at the time set by myself. It is my new favourite hobby to lock myself in at night, my naked form inches from the cold night air, setting my release time to be moments before the arrival of the workmen. I have taken to morning walks first thing to go bring myself to a fall I had been desperately craving but unable to fulfil tied to a wall for a night.

It is such a pity I cannot be restrained and self pleasuring at the same time, but I have plenty more ideas ahead for my journey of debasement.


Eliza immediately shot out of bed. There was an undiscovered secret room in the manor, she couldn’t believe the significance of her discovery if it were still there. Even though it was now late she rushed to the library corridor and pulled the indicated songbird. It yielded and the secret door in the wall popped open with a click, revealing the darkened room within.

She examined the clasps on the wall and found them rusty, but if she pushed down on them from the inside, they would click close and not reopen no matter how hard she pulled on them (luckily she pushed the inner clasp with her fingers and not her wrist). She then decided to investigate the clock in the library, there was no way that could still be connected, right? Eliza tried to move it and found it screwed to the floor, looking closer at the mechanism, it was clear there was a tense wire running down into the floor from a small switch hooked up to the clock’s bell system. She moved the alarm hand around until it made contact with the hour hand and the slow mournful bell rang at her behest. Back in the secret room the clasps clicked open.

Eliza had an invasive thought, she tried to smother it with logic and reason but she couldn’t shake it out of her head.

“Try it, be a real historian, learn history from a first person perspective. Live history!”

Not believing the actions of her betraying body, she set the alarm in the clock for exactly half an hour and walked towards the room. Ready to try a half hour of being chained to the wall only wearing her light pyjamas.

The invasive thought persisted.

“Lady Pennington didn’t wear pyjamas. Lady Pennington didn’t go for just half an hour.”

Eliza froze on the spot, she couldn’t, tomorrow was her first day on the job, she couldn’t be welcoming guests on no sleep and unthinkable latent horniness. Her better judgement won out and she went back to her bed.

At four o’clock in the morning, a wide awake Eliza finally conceded that she wasn’t going to get to sleep tonight anyway. Her racing mind could only be quieted by one thing, she got up, stripped off her pyjamas and made her way to the room, stopping by the library to set the alarm in the clock for 7am, the opening time for the manor.

She ran her hand down the rough brickwork of the wall, feeling how cold it was and imagining how it was going to feel against her naked back. As she did she realised there was a small oval groove in the wall at head height. She pressed her face against it and two things became clear; firstly she was meant to face towards the wall, pressing her tits and thighs against the cold rough brickwork, and secondly in the groove there were two small holes that allowed her to look out over the front garden, currently dimly lit by the moon.

Slowly Eliza pressed her feet against the cuffs, they were tight against the wall so she ended up turning her foot sideways, pressing her thigh against the cold brickwork. A shiver ran up her leg and made her pussy tingle in anticipation. The sound of a click lured her back to reality, her foot was now trapped in the clasp. The feeling of being trapped hit her like a rock, she looked around for a way out, realising the stupidity of what she had just done but it was too late. She felt if she was going to be trapped anyway, she might as well lock her other three limbs in to fully experience what Lady Pennington put herself through.

She moved her left leg into position and felt that familiar cold feeling run up her other thigh, she also gasped in shock as her nipples made contact with the cold wall. As she shuffled her leg closer to the wall she then felt another surprise Lady Pennington had neglected to mention in her diary, a dark bulge of heavily polished wood sticking out at crotch level, not large enough to go inside but well placed enough that every slight move would grind it against her pussy.

The second foot lock clicked in place. Eliza was leaning back so her thighs were pressed against the wall and her nipples were just touching, but she knew it was time to use the hand restraints. She raised her hands and leant forward, feeling her whole breasts press against the cold brickwork, her pussy rubbing against the wooden protrusion urging her on. She pushed both hands into the cuffs at the same time and heard two clicks sealing her fate, all that was left was to embrace the wall while staring into the front garden.

Eliza’s head was swimming, the thought of being locked against the wall for hours sent shivers up her spine, building on the cold until she was a naked shivering wreck. The protrusion keeping her deliciously aroused but never enough to bring her to orgasm. She was awash in the experience, imagining that she was Lady Pennington, fighting to embrace her sexuality in Victorian times.

Soon the sun began to rise and she looked out over the gardens anew, she felt like a goddess of lust, surveying her kingdom, if she stared long enough, in her mind the wall drifted away and she would feel naked and exposed, high on her manor waiting for the servants to come home and discover the lady of the manor in the most compromising position.

Her fantasy was then broken by the sight of a silver old style Jaguar pulling into the car park. Eliza pulled at the cuffs on the wall but they wouldn’t budge. She never suspected that someone would want to get into the manor the moment the place opened and now she found herself watching an elderly man in an old tweed suit get out of his car, his doting wife behind him.

As he swaggered up the front garden she fussed and faffed with the variety of things her husband had clearly delegated to her, as he got closer Eliza was able to hear what they were talking about.

“The website says the Manor opens at 7am, the employees are probably still hard at work setting the place up, they don’t want to deal with visitors yet.” The women stammered.

“Poppycock, how much work do they really have to do to make this tiny manor ready? Besides it’s quarter to seven, I’m sure they won’t mind the odd fifteen minutes.” The man approached the front door and despite his wife’s protestations turned the handle. “See it’s not locked.”

Eliza could have screamed, it was her job to lock up but she had gotten so carried away with the diary she had neglected her night duties. Now she was going to be chained naked to the wall for another fifteen minutes while this man explored the manor, slowly making his way towards her. She had not closed the secret door behind her when she had begun this silly plan so the moment they reached the first floor corridor she would be spotted.

“Hello, anyone around?” The wife yelled through the open front door. Eliza squirmed in place, knowing there was nothing left to do but pray they lingered downstairs as long as possible.

“Don’t worry about getting a tour together, we just wanted to have a quick look around!” The man yelled, confirming Eliza’s worst fears.

Eliza felt an eternity pass as she squirmed against her bonds, each time the visitors made a sound it echoed around her mind, driving her wild with panic. Then she heard the sound she was looking forward to, the slow mournful bell chiming in the clock in the library. She felt her hands and feet release from the wall and immediately dropped into a squat.

“Listen honey, they have a longcase clock somewhere. Let’s go have a look at that.” The wife announced. Eliza immediately bolted, she had to get back to her bedroom as quickly as possible and put some clothes on.

As Eliza got to her room she dived into her suitcase and pulled on the first dress she could find. The outfit barely falling over her head as the couple turned the corner to inspect the second master bedroom.

“Good morning sir. Sorry the room is a mess but in fairness you did let yourself in early.” She bluffed, the two people staring at the sweaty shivering wreck in front of them.

Eliza took the couple on a commando tour of the manor, the husband and wife stunned silent the entire time. The tour was over as quickly as it had begun when it was clear the couple were in a hurry to leave. The moment they left Eliza returned to her room to sort herself out, it was then she looked in the mirror and saw that the white dress clinging to her sweaty body had done little to nothing to obscure her naked features. As there was nobody else around, Eliza used this as an opportunity to get out her vibrator and work out the tension that had been building all night.

After the events of earlier that day, Eliza had half a mind to throw Lady Pennington’s diary out the window, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it, she was infinitely intrigued. Nevertheless, it would be some time before she would bring herself to read the next chapter of the book. She resolved to spend the next couple of weeks getting used to her new job and forgetting the silly fantasies of a long forgotten pervert.

She only lasted two days before she was once again opening the diary late at night, ravenous at the thoughts of its contents.


Dearest Diary,

I confess that the allure of the wall shackles has begun to wear on me. I have made some adjustments to allow me to see into the front garden and a repurposed door knob is doing an excellent job keeping my pot boiling, but I find myself looking for more. I have discovered a deep love of the craft of a furniture maker, as innovative as he is discrete. He has made the very bed in which my secret compartment keeps you safe. He has also created the wardrobe with the false back that allows me to store all my homemade mischievous outfits.


One paragraph in and Eliza already was leaping out of her bed for her next discovery. She flung open the old wardrobe in her room and immediately began searching for some kind of lever or hidden panel to reveal its secrets. Eventually she discovered a small wooden peg on the floor of the cupboard, that when pressed in, dropped the back panel revealing a second wardrobe of outfits untouched since the victorian era. Eliza’s only thought was as someone reading Lady Pennington’s diary, she should be wearing her clothes. She rifled through the wardrobe looking for something appropriate and came across the perfect outfit.

Eliza stepped into the long white nightdress, thinking how perfect it was for laying in bed. As she pulled it up it became clear why Lady Pennington had stashed it in the secret cupboard, the ruffles around the chest area hid the fact that there were two holes to allow a ladies breasts to be pulled through, meaning that a lady could walk around the manor knowing the correct angle or a slight breeze could expose her to some hapless servant. As well as this the sleeves were pinned to her sides, preventing her from covering up. A bit of squirming also confirmed that the sleeves had a hole bridging the gap between the dress and the sleeves, allowing the wearer to touch herself without anyone being the wiser.

Eliza clumsily climbed into bed and fumbled Lady Pennington’s diary onto her lap through the nightdress, her hands playing with her pussy in anticipation of the next adventure.


In fact I am fast accumulating an entourage of workmen who do extraordinary work while showing the highest commitment to secrecy. My stablemaster has not queried my requests for leather harnesses in human sizes, the builders continue to work on my whims and the carpenter must suspect that my designs have considerably more secret compartments than the average Protestant. All this left me feeling like I should reward my workmen.

My morning walks were a well known part of my daily routine, unbeknownst to the workmen that it served the purpose of allowing me to find a private section of the forest to disrobe and dispel the sexual tensions worked up in the previous night. To this end I never walked the same route twice and managed to incur a lot of exploration of my grounds. During one such walk I found a small lake, flanked on all sides by thick forest and bushes, filled with the clearest water flowing fresh from the hills. It was from this lake I would reward my workmen.