Fiction: Haunted House of Bondage: The Bathroom

Annette climbed the stairs to the third floor alone. She was happy to be away from both her husband and the smirking lawyer. The decadent house was stoking feelings in Annette that she wasn’t entirely comfortable with. Ten years of marriage had dulled her sexual appetite, and now this house was showing her dozens of delicacies that she couldn’t have. She had built up walls to keep her sex drive suppressed, and here she was in a house dedicated to getting pleasure. Her self-control was crumbling as she encountered one hedonistic room after another.

No, it wasn’t marriage that killed my appetite, Annette thought. It was Stewart. Somewhere along the line, she had lost respect for her husband, and she found sex with him to be a chore. She had managed to limit sex with him to once every three months, and in many ways, that was harder on her than it was on him. She longed to have a lover inside her again instead of the meek man who was her husband. Sometimes, Annette deliberately pushed Stewart just to see if he would stand up to her, and now she found herself pushing him harder just to see how much he could take.

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She paused on the landing and looked at a painting that hung there. The nameplate said it was Jonathan Foxglove, and Annette wondered why such a wealthy man had had a painting made of him so late in life. The man depicted was 80 if he was a day. He was bald and stooped, and his body was disturbingly frail. The only thing that portrayed how strong he must have been were the eyes. They were a deep, intense blue that shone defiance. Annette could see the conviction in his eyes and knew this was a man who would not take a single order from anyone, not even his spouse.

She opened the first door she came to and discovered a large library. The library was crammed with books, and two sitting chairs were situated next to the window. She was a little relieved to see that there were no nude statues, lewd paintings or X-rated furniture. She entered the room and relaxed. Maybe she could hide in here as they sat through the long night.

She picked a book at random and opened it. The blonde immediately shut it again and checked the title. It was “Sixty Ways to Ride a Pony-Slut.” The illustration she had inadvertently looked at left an impression on her. She doubted she would ever look at a picket fence the same way again.

Another random selection produced something called “The Sexonomicon” while yet another random yielded a book on Japanese rope bondage. She did discover a large shelves of books that had little to do with sex, but they were all concerned with the occult. Unless she wanted to read about haunted dollhouses or the correct way of naming a Manitou, Annette wasn’t going to find anything here to help her pass an hour or two.

She left that room and went to the next. An excited gasp left her lips as she realized where she was. The entire room had been converted into a closet, and it was filled from wall to wall with clothes and shoes! Some of the clothes were on dressmakers’ dummies, and all of the shoes were arranged on shelves that kept them in pristine conditions.

Annette smiled as she walked down the racks of clothes. Certainly something could be salvageable in here? She didn’t think all of it could be fetish-related. The Foxgloves had to wear something outside, didn’t they?

The excited blonde began flipping through the clothes with a practiced efficiency. Shopping had become one of her sex-substitutes this past year, and she was an expert in assessing large amounts of clothing in a short time. She flipped through racks of bras, thongs, French maid outfits, togas, teddies, full-body rubber suits, crotchless pants for men and women, negligees, cowboy costumes, military uniforms from various nations, Lycra pants and more nurses’ outfits than she could count.

It was a complete wardrobe for any sexual fantasy, but not a single item could be worn in polite company. Even the shoes were indecent. They ranged from six-inch heels to sandals with bells on them. Annette wrinkled her nose in disgust at the huge waste of money she saw in front of her.

She stepped outside the room and noticed another set of stairs. She guessed that they led to an attic. She considered exploring it but decided against it. In this house, she didn’t want to know what the former occupants would hide up there. She had a feeling it would be far worse than in any gothic novel. Visions of deranged relatives and horny ghosts made her laugh, but it was a nervous laugh.

She headed across the hall towards an elaborate oak door. A woman was carved in the dark oak, and Annette was surprised to see that the figure was clothed. She wore a corset and was surrounded by adoring men. The blonde had a feeling this room would be more to her liking.

It was. The room was a bedroom but not like any Annette had ever seen before. In the center of the room was a huge four-poster bed, draped in rich dark-red curtains. The bed defied conventional size descriptions such as king or queen. It was large enough to justify a name like “Empress” or “Goddess.” Annette had to resist the childish impulse to just leap into the enormous bed.

She smiled as she realized that this was Eleanor’s bedroom. The Foxgloves, for all their decadence, had separate bedrooms. A thrill ran through Annette, as she understood that it was possible for her and Stewart to have separate bedrooms now as well. It would make resisting her husband’s advances all the easier.

Standing beside the bed was a dressmaker’s dummy. The dummy wore only one item, and that was the black corset Annette had seen in the painting of Eleanor Foxglove. Annette ran her fingers over the velvet of the corset. It was soft to the touch, but she winced at how tight it looked. She couldn’t imagine how painful it must have been to cinch this corset on. Just looking at it made her feel fat.

The room was tastefully decorated in a simple gothic fashion. A fireplace sat darkly to the side. There were no nude paintings or sexual toys out in the open. She had a suspicion that this was because the late Eleanor wanted to be the only sexual object you saw in the room.

The chair Annette found along the far wall confirmed this. It was more like a throne. The unusually high back was decorated with sun symbols and a few more esoteric symbols that she didn’t recognize. The arms and seat of the throne were padded in red velvet and she sighed as she ran her fingers over the rich material.

She was about ready to sit on the throne when she experienced a strange vision. Annette imagined Eleanor sitting on her throne with her feet propped up on the back of a nude male who was on all fours. Two other men stood on either side of her, one holding a tray of chocolates and the other man a glass of water. Both men were nude and wearing strange steel contraptions over their cocks. Eleanor herself was reading a book while in front of her a man masturbated himself. He had a loud, messy climax, while Eleanor ignored him in favor of her book.

Annette stepped away from the throne. She knew that she wasn’t meant to touch it. The practical woman couldn’t explain what she had just seen, but she knew better than to defy the message it gave. She wanted to find out where the other door in the room led, but she knew it would be wiser to just leave.

Further down the hall, she found the master bedroom. She relaxed when she saw the familiar décor of nude paintings and obscene statuettes. Compared to the strange visions of Eleanor’s bedroom, this predictable hedonism was a welcome relief.

The bed was as large as Eleanor’s but decorated in dark blue silk. There were chains and shackles hanging from the corners of the bed. Annette wondered if Jonathan Foxglove went to bed every night with four women chained to his bed. She tried to imagine Stewart doing the same and giggled. Her husband was too meek to even indulge in an adolescent fantasy.

In the corner sat a glass case. Stored with loving care inside were the toys and accessories of Jonathan’s games. A black executioner’s hood hung on the top shelf, staring back at Annette. Below that were two black gloves that sparkled with gold inlay. Hanging like weapons were a silver paddle and a nasty-looking riding crop. Leather pants hung below the toys, and Annette wondered how they would have fit the ancient man she saw in the painting. On the bottom shelf were black boots laced with silver threads.

“Have you seen the bathroom yet?” said a voice behind her.

Startled, she turned to see Stewart standing at the door. Angry at being frightened, she glared at him. Oddly, he didn’t seem fazed by the stare she had perfected over the years.

“Quit glaring and sit down,” he commanded. “You and I need to have a talk.”

Annette stood. “Is dinner done?”

Stewart laughed and something about his laugh chilled her. It was without fear.

“Forget dinner,” he said. “We have more important things to discuss. Ms. Hershey told me about a very important clause in the will. It concerns who gets the $3.8 million.

This got Annette’s attention.

“Apparently, Uncle Jonathan was concerned about whether we would use the house like he did,” Stewart said. “He didn’t want us to inherit all of his wealth just to live prudish lives. He felt that any male of the family wouldn’t have a problem with this lifestyle, but he suspected their wives might. That is why he put in a divorce clause.”

“You son of a bitch,” Annette said.

Stewart actually smiled. “Perhaps. Jonathan stated that while the couple spent the night, the man had the option of divorcing his wife and keeping the entire inheritance. Now, don’t even start threatening me! I’ve spoken with Ms. Hershey, and she said that the will has been laden with enough clauses and legalities to make it airtight. If I take the divorce option, no lawsuit could take away the millions or the house.”

Annette almost screamed. It wasn’t fair! Years of marriage to a professor had been depressingly lacking in the excitement she had expected. She had thought there would be parties, prestige and the occasional exotic travel. That was far from the truth. Stewart lacked ambition and the interest in college politics that resulted in such rewards. Now, just when she was about to reap some sort of wealth from this marriage, he was going to cut her loose!

“But I am willing to offer you a deal,” Stewart said. “I won’t use the divorce option if you will do as I say just for tonight. If you can put aside your usual bitchy self for one night and do as I ask, I’ll be willing to forget about the divorce.”

He might forget about it, but Annette swore she wouldn’t. Fine. She could put up with his demands for a night of obedience. It was obvious that this house had corrupted his already sex-deprived mind. What was a night of sex compared to the divorce papers she’d file as soon as they got the money? Half of a fortune was better than none.

“Stewart, sweetie,” Annette said. “Why don’t you come over on this bed and tell me what you want me to do?”

Her husband shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I want you to come with me into the bathroom.” He pointed to the other door in the room. “Did you know that the mistress bedroom and the master bedroom shared a bathroom? I think I want you cleaned up first before we do anything else.”

Annette frowned. She had been hoping to screw Stewart now and get it over with. Now it looked like he wanted to make a night of it. The things she had to endure!

Stewart motioned for her to open the door to the bathroom, and she wondered whether he was being a gentleman or just reveling in having her do things. When she turned on the light to the bathroom, she instantly decided to try to win the house in the divorce. The bathroom was better than she had ever dreamed.

The tub itself was about four feet wide and was a sparkling white color that looked like marble. The wall next to it was one large intricate stained-glass window that depicted Aphrodite rising from the foam. Instead of spouts, small white gargoyles protruded from the walls. It looked like a bathtub that Annette could never bring herself to leave.

“Wow,” she said. There wasn’t much else to say. She saw a small hook hanging from the ceiling on a bit of chain but she could forgive that. She saw two tiny rings set in the bottom of the tub, but she could ignore those as well. As long as there weren’t any giant dildos thrusting out of the tub, she was happy.

“Now, get undressed, wife,” Stewart said. He closed the lid on the toilet and sat down. The smirk on his face told Annette he expected a show.

She didn’t give him one. She stripped out of her clothes with efficiency and not a hint of teasing. The blonde even removed her bra and panties without a moment of hesitation. To her annoyance, Stewart didn’t even frown. He just looked at her nude body with an appraising admiration. She was even more annoyed when he didn’t make a grab for her heavy breasts. He really was a different person tonight.

She moved to step into the shower, but Stewart blocked her way with his arm.

“You need to get dressed for your shower,” he said. “Look in the medicine cabinet.”

The medicine cabinet was above a gorgeous porcelain sink. Inside the cabinet, Annette found the things she had been dreading- shackles and a steel collar. She shook her head and summoned her best angry-wife face.

“Absolutely not,” she said.

“That’s fine,” Stewart said. He stood up. “I can tell Ms. Hershey that I will be using the divorce clause after all.”

They stared at each other, waiting for someone to flinch. Stewart’s deep-blue eyes, a Foxglove trait, were stronger and more confident than she had seen in years. Despite her fear and anger over this divorce threat, she found herself becoming aroused.

“Fine,” Annette said with clenched teeth. “But I don’t even know how to put this nonsense on.”

“It’s easy,” he said. “They all click into place. Take the largest circle and put it around your neck. See? That wasn’t so hard. Now take that pair and click it around your ankles. Finally, put that pair around your wrists.”

Annette did as he commanded and began to doubt her ability to obey. The collar and shackles were made of stainless steel, and the feel of the collar around her neck was particularly disturbing. She felt caged. A very short chain joined the shackles around her wrists. She was far from helpless, but she felt very vulnerable.

She stepped into the shower and was surprised to see a touch-pad panel set into the wall. The Foxgloves spared no expense. Before she could try to interpret the controls, Stewart was giving instruction.

“First, spread your feet apart so that you can hook your ankles to the rings on the sides,” he said. When Annette had done this, he continued, “Now, just press 23 on the touch pad.”

Annette did as he commanded, and a 100-second countdown appeared on the digital screen.

“Now quickly, raise your hands and hook the chain connecting your shackles on the hook above you,” Stewart commanded.

Annette obeyed again. “This cannot be safe,” she insisted. Her legs were spread far apart, and her arms were above her head.

“Perfectly safe,” Stewart said. When the countdown on the pad finished, the ceiling hook pulled upwards on its own. Annette squealed as her wrists were drawn upwards to the limits of her arms. She was now held tightly in place, with barely enough slack to wiggle much less escape.

“Fully automated.” Stewart beamed. “Amazing, isn’t it? The number you entered told the computer your height so that it would stretch you to your limits. Now the water will come on and fluctuate according to a prearranged list of commands.”

“How do you know all of this?” she said. There was a touch of panic in her voice.

“Magic,” Stewart said, and he refused to answer any more questions.

A low hum came from the gargoyles, and water trickled out of their spouts. Annette was tense as she waited for the water to begin. She stared at the gargoyle in front of her when a blast of warm water struck her back. She shrieked in surprise, but she was relieved that the water wasn’t too hot or too cold. After a moment’s panic, she relaxed into the water spraying on her back.

“This isn’t going to be so bad after all,” she whispered.

The gargoyle above her began to spray. Warm water came down in a wide cone over her. She closed her eyes and let it wash over her face and chest. Since the gargoyle was located to the side of her bound hands, she wondered how her hands were going to get clean. She smiled as she realized that in this house, getting clean was not the main function of the shower.

When the gargoyle in front of her sprayed her with the same warm water, the last of her fears slipped away. Being hit on three sides with warm water was one of the more pleasant experiences of her life. The water pressure was remarkable. She felt as though she was being gently pushed on three sides and hugged in water.

“Wait for it,” Stewart said. There was a gleam to his eyes she didn’t like.

All three spouts turned off together. Annette looked around in confusion as water dripped from every inch of her body. A slight hum in front of her was the only warning she got as the gargoyle sprayed cold water right at her chest.

She squealed and pulled on her chains but she was held fast. The cold water splashed over her chest, and she twisted and turned to try to shield herself. Stewart laughed as she jiggled, and she growled as she thought of the show she must be putting on for him.

The water ceased and Annette caught her breath. Her nipples were incredibly hard from the cold, and she wished she could cover herself up. Stewart was staring straight at her solid nipples, admiring what he so rarely got to see.

She was hit from behind with freezing water, and she jumped forward as far as her chains would allow. Her back arched and her chest was pushed indecently forward as she fought to avoid the icy water. Her buttocks clenched as the cold water ran down her back and legs.

Mercifully, the top gargoyle began to spray hot water. Annette moaned as the refreshing heat swept over her body. The cold water behind her had ceased, and now she was basking in the warmth. Stewart watched as Annette wiggled in her bonds. She tried to get every inch of her warmed up, and her husband enjoyed the sight of her struggles.

The water stopped completely, and Annette looked around her with startled eyes. She didn’t want the cold water to start again. Worse, she didn’t want the cold water to surprise her, hitting her once again from an unexpected angle.

A few seconds later, something hot and slippery landed on her chest. The gargoyle in front of her was shooting something white from between its legs. The high pressure of the stream caused the white cream to splatter against her chest. Annette’s eyes widened in shock at the lewd implications of the white cream.

“Don’t worry, it’s only soap,” Stewart said. “The messy stuff won’t be till later.”

That didn’t ease her mind. The soap ran down her breasts, coated her belly and slid down to her legs. She was terribly self-conscious about the way it dripped from her pubic hair. She was also disturbed by how hot the soap was. It reminded her of more organic fluids, and that only served to turn her on. She didn’t want to be aroused, but after the heat of the shower and now the warmth of the soap, she was finding it harder to ignore the ache between her thighs.

More soap sprayed from other angles. Her back was coated, and when it ran down between her buttocks, Annette had to fight to keep from moaning out loud. Hidden spouts sprayed soap onto her legs and arms as well as her sides. The soap tingled a little, and Annette guessed that it was cleaning her skin as it slid down her wet body.

“What’s next, rinsing?” she asked. She didn’t know how Stewart knew all about the shower, but she had come to believe he knew.

“This is the best part,” he said.

What Annette had assumed was a drain between her legs was actually another spout. Hot water gushed up like a geyser. It struck her squarely on her sex, and she cried out at the direct stimulation. She tried to twist away from it, but the sheer volume of the spout was too much. Her entire pelvic region was doused in the seductive flood of water. Somehow, the water also began to move against her skin, touching in a rhythm that was beyond simple pressure. The amount of force on her clitoris alone was almost enough to get her off.

“Oh, God!” she moaned.

“Not bad, is it?” Stewart said. “And how about that pulsing action? It’s better than any handheld shower attachment. You wouldn’t believe how much that feature costs.”

Annette couldn’t answer. The pulsing stream felt like magic between her legs. She didn’t care anymore that her husband was threatening her with divorce. She didn’t care that she was dripping white soap from every inch of her body like some sort of porn star. She stopped caring about everything. All she cared about was that the hot stream between her legs would keep going on and on forever. The force was so strong, it was penetrating her like the slipperiest lover.

The water above her began to spray again, as did the gargoyles in front and behind her. Annette was doused from head to toe in wonderful warm water. The blonde tossed her soaked head back and moaned in decadent bliss. The soap was rinsed off of her body, and Annette felt pure and primal. Surrendering completely, she moved her hips with the undulating water. Back and forth and up and down, she tried desperately to hump the water that teased her.

“Perfect,” Stewart said. He unzipped his pants and brought out his erection. Annette didn’t mind. She was more concerned with her own pleasure. As her husband stroked, she pumped her hips against the water. For once, they were in agreement on something. Together, they pleasured themselves. Stewart watched her as she gave in to the sensations of her body, and his stroking hand matched the cycle of her swinging hips.

Annette tossed her head back and let the falling water splatter her face. She wished she could reach between her legs and help along the pulsing geyser. Her sex was so wet and ready; it just needed a single finger, a tongue or a cock inside it. Annette’s inner walls came tumbling down, and she debated actually asking Stewart to help her out. Maybe he did have a sexual use after all!

She was close and getting closer.

“More,” Annette moaned, but the roar of the shower drowned her plea.

“More,” she moaned again, but the shower was too loud.

“More!” she cried out, and this time her begging voice was stronger than even the multiple spouts.

She could feel her climax swelling. It built up within her, adapting to the strange sensations of the shower. She giggled like a teenager as she felt her orgasm approach.

The water ceased. Completely and with no warning, the water ended. The wonderful pressure on her sex disappeared, and she groaned with an urgency that surprised even her. She was so close! It can’t end like this!

Stewart didn’t seem to mind. With a mighty groan, he ejaculated onto her bound body. The hot semen fell on her leg, and she looked in wonder at the large amount that came flying out. Somewhere in the back of her overwhelmed mind, she noted that she would need another shower.

“Is it over?” she asked. The desperation in her voice surprised her.

“Not by a long shot.” Stewart laughed.

As he continued to laugh, Annette watched in horror as he changed. His hair thinned and dropped from his head. His shoulders slumped until he was almost bent over, while his skin wrinkled before her eyes. His erection withered and shrunk. All the while, the thing that looked like Stewart continued to laugh until it looked like a withered, ancient man.

He looked exactly like Jonathan Foxglove.

“The night is just beginning,” he said.

The lights went out, and Annette screamed. She yelled and yelled for Stewart or Ms. Hershey at the top of her lungs. She cursed Stewart and demanded his rescue until her lungs burned.

As water and semen dripped from her body, Annette waited for a response. In the darkness, there was only the silence of Foxglove Manor.