Oct 162006
 

Stewart waited. The sitting room was completely dark, cloaked in lightless night, the kind that happens only out in the country. The chair whose stocks held his hands was nailed to the floor and resisted his best efforts to tip it over. He pulled and tugged on his arms, but the wooden frame refused to release his hands from behind his head. After trying to escape for what seemed like hours, Stewart knew all he could do was wait.

He spent the time worrying. After all, he was sitting there nude and sporting one of the hardest erections of his life. He couldn’t get rid of it no matter how hard he tried. When he tried recalling schoolbooks, he found himself thinking of Ms. Hershey’s sex sliding over the ebony phallus. When he tried to think of his bank statements, he instead recalled her pierced nipples and how hard they’d looked from across the room. When he thought about how much the taxes on this house would cost, he kept wondering if Ms. Hershey would let him add the figures on her naked back. Despite his anxiety, his erection was still throbbing.

The bound man sighed when he thought of Ms. Hershey. The young woman reminded him of his untouchable students at the college. She had a vitality that was lacking in Annette. Stewart knew he had been improperly leering at Ms. Hershey all day, but he just hadn’t been able to help it. She hadn’t been shocked at all by the sensual style of the house, and given the Foxgloves’ frigid marriage, a casual attitude towards sex was the greatest aphrodisiac.

Of the two people who could find him like this, one was his wife. Stewart agonized over what kind of excuse he could possibly give. He debated telling her the truth, but he wasn’t even sure if he knew the truth. He thought that Ms. Hershey had been seducing him, but he remembered how she didn’t cast a reflection in the mirror while she was humping that dildo. Stewart shivered as he remembered her mocking laugh. He also wondered how she could have turned off all the lights so quickly. There hadn’t even been a click from the lamps. It had been a pure plunge into darkness. He wondered if his mind had finally snapped under the pressure of his wife’s henpecking.

He trembled as he thought about the creepy experience. As he shook, his erection bounced against his belly. Each touch on his cock reminded him of the slender and young Ms. Hershey stripping before him. Perhaps the worst feeling he was experiencing was simple disappointment. God, how he wanted her! From the moment he’d seen those lovely legs, he had fantasized about them around his waist. Being bound and naked was bad enough, but it would have been worth it if he could have sunk into Ms. Hershey just once!

An angry scream ripped through the quiet house. Stewart tried to yell back, but he’d forgotten about the gag in his mouth. The scream turned into an indignant complaint, and he knew it was Annette. His wife called his name several times before cursing his failure to answer her. He shrunk in his chair and found himself grateful that he was hidden in the dark. He certainly didn’t want to be rescued by Annette right now.

Stewart jumped in his chair as he felt something touch him. He kicked out with his legs, but he met with nothing. Something cold and hard was slipping around his neck till it tightened and locked. Dimly, he understood that it was some sort of collar. Someone then pulled on the collar, and he heard a click that chilled his skin. The collar was tugged forward, and Stewart realized that there must be a leash. He groaned beneath his gag as the leash pulled his neck to the limits of the chair.

He felt cold metal slip around both of his hands. A click from the stocks told him his hands were free! He tried to pull his hands loose, but the metal slipped down to his wrists and clamped together. There were handcuffs joined on a very short chain!

Stewart brought his hands down in front of him and was surprised that the leash didn’t get in the way. He was so surprised, in fact, that he forgot to try to escape. When the leash pulled him forward to the ground, he offered no resistance. To his analytical mind, the mystery of the leash was invalidating the rest of the experience.

He was on all fours on the ground in complete darkness. Part of him wondered how his captor could see, and part of him wondered if he were having a nightmare. The door to the study opened into the hallway, and he was grateful for the light that came in. He could see the silver links of the leash, but he couldn’t see who was holding it. His erection throbbed when it occurred to him that it might be Ms. Hershey.

The leash pulled him into the hallway, and he blinked as he grew adjusted to the light. He looked up to see who was pulling his chain. The leash led nowhere. The end just floated in the air, dragging him forward across the hall. He panicked and tried to rise, but he felt a solid force push him back down onto the ground. It wasn’t a hand or a foot; it was just a solid wall that refused to let him rise.

“This has to be a nightmare!” Stewart said. The leash kept pulling him so he crawled to keep up. His resistance shut down as he watched his nightmare unfold.

When he’d crawled as far as the staircase, Stewart heard a sound like ice cracking. Before his amazed eyes, the marble nudes that flanked the staircase turned and looked down at him. They broke free of the marble shackles that held them to the rail, the fake chains dangling from their wrists. Their open mouths closed and turned into amused smirks. They had no pupils in their stone eyes, but Stewart could feel their attention on him. He tried to crawl forward, but the same wall of force kept him where he was, kneeling before the nude statues.

It was an examination of sorts. From head to toe, they looked him over, turning their heads as their eyes drank in the sight of him. The creepy thing was that they touched themselves while they looked at him. Cracking hands caressed marble breasts and touched smooth clefts between thighs. Sometimes, they would shake their heads in disappointment, and at one point, one of the statues covered her silent mouth and leaned over to the other. After sharing a secret, both statues shook as with laughter.

Stewart trembled but stayed in his place. After a few humiliating minutes, the statues nodded . The leash pulled him forward as the marble statues resumed their positions. The cracks on their bodies sealed back over, and their mouths opened back into silent moans. Stewart looked behind him as he crawled and nearly screamed when one of them winked at him.

“Got to be a dream, got to be a dream, it’s got to be a dream,” he said to himself. He ignored the realistic feeling of the floor on his knees and the way the handcuffs chafed his hands. It was easier to believe he was having a very vivid dream than to believe that statues had been checking out his ass.

He crawled into the game room. The leash pulled him toward one of the small tables in the corner. He was disturbed to hear the sound of billiard balls knocking into one another — especially since there was no one else in the room. He also heard dice being rolled, and in one corner of the room, cards were being slapped down in a game of solitaire. He kept reminding himself that this was just a dream and that nothing here could harm him.

As with many other things in his life, however, Stewart was very, very wrong.

The leash pulled him to his feet, and he was grateful to get off his knees. His hands were pulled up until he had to rise on his tiptoes. Then, his handcuffs were slipped over a hook that hung from a chain bolted to the ceiling. His arms ached and his calves strained as he stood in this awkward position. The leash went slack and bounced against his chest and groin. He shivered as the cold metal touched his still rock-hard erection.

In front of him was a card table with only one chair. The chair pulled back. Several drawers from various tables around the room opened on their own. Floating through the air came a collection of items. A green gambling visor floated at head level. Below it was a leather-spiked collar. Floating just below that, at chest level, were two sparkling diamonds. Stewart recognized them as the same diamond studs that Ms. Hershey had worn earlier.

That was when he noticed the painting. Hanging on the wall directly behind the seated floating items was the painting of Painslut. Stewart moaned as he recognized the visor, the collar and the diamond nipple studs. Nightmare or not, there was no doubt in his mind that this was the deceased Painslut sitting in the chair in front of him.

Cards began to move on the table, and it was strange to watch them shuffle by themselves. Stewart watched as invisible hands juggled the cards. He kept looking up at the painting to visualize how the busty woman must have looked in life. His erection didn’t subside at all. In fact, his cock was harder than ever, and it pulsed every time he saw the floating diamond studs move upwards as if a deep breath were being taken.

He watched as two cards were dealt to him, face up. They were a seven and a six. The invisible woman dealt herself one card face down and a king face up. Stewart watched in silence until he felt the gag loosen around his head. When it fell to the ground, he almost yelled for help, but then he realized his position. He was hanging naked from the ceiling. Somehow, he didn’t think Annette would believe his story of ghosts and cards.

He tried speaking to the ghost. “Painslut, is that you?”

There was no answer.

Keeping in mind that this was a nightmare, Stewart kept talking.

“Are you a ghost?” he asked. “Are you haunting the manor? Was that you in the sitting room? Could you let me down, please, before my wife comes in?”

He stopped asking questions when a wicked-looking whip floated through the air. Instead of a single length of leather, it had seven short strips hanging from the handle. He wasn’t savvy enough to know it was properly called a flogger, but he was smart enough to know it would hurt if it hit him. Years of living with Annette had taught him to shut up at the first sign of trouble. Just because it was a dream was no reason to tempt fate.

The flogger tapped his cards and then tapped him on the stomach. The leather strips grazed his cock, and he was embarrassed by how quickly his erection sprang at the subtle touch. Stewart tried to understand what the crop wanted when it dawned on him.

“Oh, you want to play 21?” he asked.

The gambling visor nodded.

“Oh, OK,” he said lamely. He looked at the cards. Thirteen was an awkward position to be in. Not as awkward as being naked and bound with a flogger floating nearby, but pretty bad. Since it was a dream, he took a risk.

“Hit me,” he said. He winced as he realized the double entendre. Luckily for him, the spirit was more interested in the game. A card was placed face up beside his other cards. It was a king.

“Oh, well,” Stewart said as he went bust.

The flogger moved behind him, and the bound man realized that perhaps there was a penalty to losing. This was confirmed as he felt the leather straps slap against his bare ass. He squealed in panic as the leather bit into his skin. The sound of the leather cutting the air was almost worse than the actual pain.

He kicked and struggled, but there was nowhere to go. He was hung too high to get a solid footing with his feet, and there was no way he could break those handcuffs. No matter how much he twisted and turned, the flogger found his bottom with expert swings.

After only six swings, the flogger stopped. Stewart’s buttocks were clenching hard, and he found it impossible to relax. He could feel the hot stripes on his ass from the flogger, and he had a curious wish to see what they looked like. The heat from the whipping was intense, but not unbearable. To his amazement, his cock seemed to be even more sensitive than before, pulsing with its own agenda.

“Oh, fuck, it’s not a dream after all, is it?” he asked. The ghost gave him no answer. He didn’t need one. The rising heat on his ass was enough to tell him. No dream could simulate the searing pain he felt on his ass. No fantasy could reproduce the sheer terror he was feeling. And no wet dream had ever had him this hard.

The cards were swept away and dealt again. This time, Stewart was dealt a miserable four and seven. His ass stinging, the bound professor asked for another card. It was a three. Fourteen was a miserable score, but he hoped that maybe the flogging had come because going bust. He stayed at 14.

The ghost had a two showing and one card still face down. The spirit dealt itself another card, and it was a queen. The hidden card flipped over and revealed a five. The empty visor moved from side to side in mock sympathy.

Stewart’s ass was already clenching in anticipation when the flogger hit again. He didn’t appreciate the artistry or the symmetry with which the leather strips stung him. He just knew that it hurt, and he twisted in his cuffs as new stripes were laid across his ass. His feet danced as the cruel leather bit into him, but there was no escape. The flogger owned him, and he knew it.

His cock was harder than ever.

The cards were shuffled again, and this time, Stewart was dealt an ace and a two. Whimpering a little at the heat rising from his ass, he whispered for another card. His pain was forgotten as he squealed in delight. The card was an eight.

It may have been his imagination, but it seemed to him that the diamond studs rose and fell as if the ghost were sighing. The spirit had a seven showing and drew another card. It was a six. Almost in disgust, the ghost’s hole card flipped over to reveal a jack.

“I win!” Stewart said. His delight soured as he saw the leash of his chain float in front of him. The long metal links moved down to his erection and gently wrapped along his length. His breath caught in his throat as he felt the cold metal embrace his hardness. If the ghost gave the slightest tug, he thought, the results would be disastrous!

Stewart was wrong. The slightest tug resulted in bliss. The ever-so-gentle pull was just enough to move his skin, stroking his cock with the barest of touches. He trembled as the chain moved a millimeter back and forth. It was just enough to make his toes clench and his lips utter a moan. The end of the leash crossed over the tip of his cock, and he could feel his pre-cum coat the metal leash. He was damn close; he knew it would take only one or two more strokes.

The leash went limp, and the cards were reshuffled. He whined but then regained his composure. Now that he understood the game, he was determined to win.

“Let’s play,” he said.

Again the diamond studs jiggled, and Stewart felt it might have been laughter.

He was dealt a nine and a six. The ghost’s visible card was a king. Stewart would have surprised his wife with the confidence he displayed when he asked for another card. It was a ten. The look of cringing realization on Stewart’s face wouldn’t have surprised Annette at all.

This time, the flogger struck his buttocks eight times. His erection bounced with each impact of the leather strips. Somehow, the harsh stings felt less important to Stewart. Sure, it was pain, but it was just a penalty. He could endure. He could writhe and yelp a little longer if he had a chance of winning — and climaxing — in the end. He took the last swing of the flogger with something akin to impatience.

The leash dangled half off his cock. The swinging length of chain felt like an extension of his already heavy erection. Although he’d been bound, flogged and teased, Stewart had never felt more virile.

The ghost dealt the cards. Stewart received a five and another five. He groaned and asked for another card. It was a three. Sweating, he asked for another card. It was a queen.

The flogger struck him again, and he didn’t care. His buttocks burned, and his cock ached, but it felt like just an annoyance. No matter how fast the flogger swung through the air and no matter how loudly the tips smacked his ass, Stewart kept staring at the painting of his suspected tormentor. While his bottom was painted red with welts, he dreamed of kissing those diamond-studded nipples.

He watched the cards like an alcoholic watches a bartender. The first card was a king, and he cheered for joy when the second was an ace. Despondent, the invisible dealer dealt herself a succession of cards and went bust.

The leash went taut again. Not daring to breathe, Stewart surrendered to the sensations of the strokes. One, two, three, four, five, six times, the leash shifted, and six times, Stewart felt on the verge of climax. Just as he felt the familiar clench that preceded climax, the leash went limp.

“No!” he whimpered. Upstairs, someone cried out. It was a woman’s voice; it could have been the lovely Ms. Hershey, or it could have been Annette. Stewart ignored them. He had enough problems. He just hoped the cries didn’t mean that someone was coming down soon. He had to finish this game!

He lost the next hand and bore the punishing flogging. His ass felt tender, and one swing of the flogger even struck the back of his thighs. He yelped at that swing, but he didn’t complain.

Another lost hand and another flogging followed. Stewart’s ass burned, but it wasn’t nearly as warm as his hard cock.

He felt despair when he lost the next hand. His cards totaled 19, but the ghost had 21. He barely felt the hits on his ass, even though they were much harder and nastier than the previous floggings. He was wounded more by his inability to win than by the flogging. His cock pulsed impatiently.

He won the next hand. Eight wonderful tugs of the leash made his eyes roll. The discomfort of his buttocks was almost enough to distract him from his pleasure. In his mind, the two began to merge. The hot stinging pain mixed with the gentle coils of the leash until his legs went limp underneath him. Now his arms held his entire weight, and the ache of his shoulders was just another bit of foreplay for his inevitable reward.

He was close.

Just one more win.

Just one more damn win!

A woman cried out again. This time, Stewart knew it was Ms. Hershey. He resented the distraction. The bound man wanted his mind on the game.

Chips floated out of the bowl on the table. He watched as words were spelled out in an almost italic manner. Even with chips, the ghosts’ penmanship was immaculate. As Stewart read the words, his heart skipped a beat.

The words read, “Double or nothing.”

Double the strokes? He salivated. It would mean double the punishment, but it would be worth it.

“Yes, yes, fine,” he said. “Let’s play!”

The floating visor tipped back, and the diamond studs bounced as though they were electrified. Now he knew for a fact that the spirit was laughing at him! He blushed hard, his urgent need embarrassing him. But the blush was only temporary. Ridicule was just another distraction from his climax.

A pool stick floated up from the pool table. When the chalk was rubbed on the tip, Stewart’s overly aroused mind made a quick deduction. His fear was confirmed when the flogger rested on the table. Stewart twisted around to watch the pool stick float behind him. He felt the stick touch the welts on his ass, and he squirmed. When the point of the pool stick came to rest between his cheeks, he knew this would be the final hand of cards. If he lost this hand, an ass-whipping would a fond memory in comparison to the stakes they were playing for now. He just hoped the reward would be suitably upped as well.

The cards were laid again. Stewart was dealt a jack and a two. Across from him were a hole card and a queen. A line of sweat fell from his chin and struck his cock. He jumped and inadvertently pushed back on the pool stick. The chalked end pushed against his anus and just missed slipping in. Stewart squealed and then blushed as the diamond studs jiggled in laughter.

He had a score of twelve. He knew the odds. His ass clenching, he asked for another card.

It was a three.

Upstairs, Ms. Hershey cried out again. Stewart barely heard her. All he could hear was the pounding of his own heart.

Stewart had 15 — and a pool stick ready to violate him. His opponent had a queen. His instinct said to stay and hope for the best. Maybe she would go over. Maybe he could win by default.

He looked at the painting of the beautiful and demented Painslut. The smile on her face reminded him of some of the students he had taught. Sometimes, he would see a young woman at the college baring a smooth stomach or wearing a tight top that outlined her nipples. Sometimes, Stewart would stare a little too long and the woman would notice. The smile she would give him was always mocking. The young students knew that he would never touch someone as young and gorgeous as they, and for some reason, they found enjoyment in it. It was as if they enjoyed confirming his lack of a chance with them.

Tonight, he wanted nothing more than to finally prove one of those smiles wrong.

“Hit me,” he said.

The top card on the deck hesitated. Perhaps the spirit hadn’t seen it coming. The card was eventually dealt, and Stewart almost cried.

It was a six. He had twenty-one.

The ghost’s hole card flipped over; it was a king. Desperately, another card was drawn. When the three appeared, Stewart broke into almost hysterical laughter.

“I win!” he yelled. “I finally win one! I’m getting laid!”

The pool stick cracked in half, shaking him from his laughter. He relaxed only when he heard the remains of the stick drop to the ground. In front of him, the chair fell backwards. He watched as the visor went flying across the room to smack loudly into the wall. The collar and diamond studs floated together around the table and moved in front of Stewart.

He could have sworn his heart skipped a beat when the collar and studs descended to around his waist.

The leash tightened around his erection and pulled him down to a right angle to the floating collar. Stewart groaned when he realized that the position of the collar implied that the ghost’s mouth was in front of his cock. His gaze bounced from the painting of Painslut to the reality of her floating collar.

Around his cock, the leash moved. The end of the leash flicked its tip in a teasing manner. Stewart imagined it was Painslut’s tongue. In his mind’s eye, he could just imagine the smug submissive flicking her tongue over his cock until he surprised her with a full load of his semen.

His marriage to Annette had given his imagination a lot of practice over the years. Already, his mind was imagining Painslut’s hot breath, her breasts rubbing against his thighs and the smell of her hair. The touch of the metal leash transformed into Painslut’s hand, jerking him slowly but surely into her open mouth.

His eyes opened and fell on the painting. A chill went through as he saw the eyes move. They were on him, and somehow, that smile didn’t seem quite so mocking any more.

The leash kept tugging. His erection never stopped throbbing. Although his arms and thighs burned from the strain of holding himself up, Stewart’s hips pumped against the leash. The pain of the welts burned like sharp fingernails, but he didn’t mind. Perversely, he was proud of his welts. They signified that this climax was earned.

“I’m close,” he groaned.

A diamond stud began to move and rotate slowly. Stewart knew Painslut was massaging a spectral breast. He stared and imagined the way her hand was savagely gripping her breast. Was she pinching herself? Was she picturing his hand on her? He wondered how her stud would feel between his teeth.

His cock trembled as his orgasm approached. Highly sensitized, Stewart thought he could feel his semen travel up his cock. Time slowed and his eyes rolled.

“Fuck!” he screamed. His orgasm was forgotten as the leash cruelly cinched around his tip. Right on the edge of orgasm, he whined as the biting metal halted his climax. He was paralyzed with disappointment and the desperate wish that this delay would soon pass.

Something harder and colder slipped around the base of his cock with an audible click. The leash unwound to reveal a new device around him. It was a metal ring with a tiny box like a keychain hanging from it. The blood flow to his cock was halted and his erection was frozen for Painslut’s amusement.

“Please,” he begged. “Please, please, please.” The gag slipped back around his mouth, and he was almost grateful. He bit down on the hard rubber in frustration and anger. He had won the game and had been cheated of a true reward. It just wasn’t fair!

His eyes were closed, so he jumped when he felt a hand on his thigh. Looking down, he shook with terror at the sight kneeling in front of him. Long black hair framed a pale face that smiled mischievously back at him. Twin diamond studs hung from ripe breasts and a leather collar sparkled around a neck.

“Greetings, Cockmeat,” Painslut said to him. “Don’t be so sad. The really fun games are about to start.”

  2 Responses to “Fiction: Haunted House of Bondage: The Gaming Room”

  1. I enjoyed your insight into the submissive mindset.

  2. Oh wow… something to brighten my sickness ridden day.

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