The Haunted Dungeon Ch 02

This is the start of a new story that is the result of a dare from the Truth or Dare Room on the Literotica chat. All characters are older than 18 years of age. I would recommend reading the first chapter before reading this one.

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Choices. Choices. I glared at the array of designer vintage gowns before me. Cinderella had no idea what dress to wear to the ball. If only I had a fairy godmother. Pammy, the closest thing I had to one, was already at the reunion.

I felt—I do not know how to describe it—a gradual cooling of the air behind me that then seemed to center at my left side. Remembering what Tony had said about the ghosts and the temperature, I was loath to shift my eyes.

When I did, I spied a nearly corporeal figure nearly brushing my arm smiling at me. We were of a height, but her curly blonde hair was neatly bobbed and secured with a sparkly headband. Cornflower blue eyes looked joyously into mine and, save for a black strip of leather encircling her throat, the only other covering on her body was one of the dresses that was presently before me in the armoire.

Can you talk to a ghost? I wondered. There was nothing wrong in trying. "Are you Michelle Grant?" I asked.

Her response was a girlish chuckle and a nod that caused the fringe on her peach flapper dress to shimmy and shake.

"I'm Saffron Gray. Saffy," I corrected myself.

She tittered. "So, you are Tony's submissive." Michelle winked.

"Um, no. My car stalled down the hill. I'm actually trying to find a dress to replace the one that got—damaged." Why I was telling this to a ghost I was not sure.

Michelle nodded. "That one," she pointed, speaking decisively. "You need to wear that one." The dress she selected was a deep crimson chiffon.

I removed it from the armoire. It shushed softly as I held it up against me. The fabric would scallop over my breasts before cinching at the waist and dropping to a pool on the floor. A princess dress. Jessica Rabbit's dress. I nodded as if in a daze.

Michelle's eyes glowed with approbation. With a casual flick of the dress, I tossed it over my head for it to land unerringly, perfectly, skimming and accentuating my curves.

I looked in the wavering mirror on the inside of the armoire and was shocked at my single image reflected there. Before, in the other dress, I had looked slutty. Now, I looked classy.

My image was the only one reflected, and I saw Michelle fading slightly when I turned to glance at her. Seconds before I heard a low wolf whistle, she disappeared completely with a waggle of fingers. I waved back at her, smiling my thanks.

I turned at the whistle to see Tony's grin of wolfish intent. He had changed clothes, as well, into a tuxedo. "Your carriage awaits, Cinderella," he intoned, holding out his arm crooked at the elbow as I—awkward klutz Saffy—glided from the room.

Placing my hand in the crook of said elbow, he guided me past the construction equipment to descend the magnificent curving staircase. "What's with the new threads?" I asked.

"I decided that, with your consent, I would be your escort this evening—if you don't already have a date, that is."

"If I did, I could have called him. No, I have no date for the night," I added belatedly remembering Brad.

Tony nodded, grinning that blinding grin again. "Perfect. Wonderful choice of dress. How did you select that one? Jessica Rabbit, right?" he teased.

Nodding, I smiled slightly. "With some help of the supernatural variety."

He tensed. "Michelle?" he questioned, almost reluctantly.

"Michelle," I confirmed.

"I should have known," he said angrily as he led me out the door. His muscles tightened beneath my hand. "Did she—talk to you?"

"Yes," I said slowly. "She seemed perfectly lovely."

He sighed, opening the door for me to a late-model sedan that I should have observed earlier when I arrived. "What did she say to you?"

"We simply introduced ourselves, and she suggested this dress. She thought I was 'with you,'" I punctuated my statement with air quotes after sliding in the car. After ensuring that all of me—and all of the dress—were in the car, Tony chivalrously closed the door.

When he entered the driver's side and slammed the door, I jumped. His lips were compressed into a grim line. "Tony?" My voice was cautious. Was he angry with me?

"She asked if you were my submissive, didn't she?" After I nodded in the affirmative, he mouthed what could only be a fairly foul curse, and then muttered aloud, "Meddlesome Michelle."

He started the car, and the smooth motions he took to drive the car competently down the hill were at odds with his brief fire burst of temper. "I'm sorry," he offered by way of apology. "You probably have no clue what either she or I were talking about. BDSM and all."

Why that comment made me bristle, I was not sure. But it rankled. "I know about BDSM. I am a research librarian at the National Repository of Human Sexuality. My area of expertise is the academic and anthropological history of BDSM."

Tony slammed on his brakes, narrowly missing the car stopped at the light in front of us. "What does that mean, exactly?" he interrogated me. "Your interest is merely academic and cultural?"

I ducked under his intense regard. "Not strictly, no. I mean, I've never been in a relationship that embodied any of the BDSM dynamic, have never submitted to a man—or a woman. I'm sure I've mentioned this before, but I don't act or dress like this normally. I am a librarian, after all," I said, a bit huffily.

"Who specializes in BDSM studies. And, since you said you have never submitted to a partner in a relationship, you ARE a submissive then?"

With great trepidation, I nodded. The car slowed as it sleekly claimed a parking space. Around us, people that I vaguely recognized from high school streamed past, often stopping in clumps to greet and mingle.

Anxious about the next few hours, I gritted out, "Can't we talk about this later? Please," I begged.

Seeing me moments away from a panic attack, Tony relented. With two sure, no-nonsense fingers, he tipped my chin up until his eyes bored into mine. "Okay. But we will talk of this later."

Mutely, I nodded and watched him exit the car. Fumbling briefly with the latch on the car door, I had just about figured it out when Tony opened the door for me. "Thank you," I whispered, my voice breathless.

"My pleasure," he gallantly replied, taking my hand and again securing it in his elbow's bent.

With sweeping steps, we walked into the reunion. My school's colors, silver and black, dominated the color scheme with the panther mascot prominently displayed.

Just as I was about to suggest leaving, I heard a familiar screech. "Saffy! Where have you been? And where is your dress?" Pamela "Pammy" Gregory, my best friend in the whole world, certainly had her priorities straight. My safety. The dress. "And who is he?" she stage whispered, not bothering to hide her curiosity. And men.

"Old Blue died. My dress suffered an unfortunate accident—"

"Completely my fault, I assure you. And, when Saffron insisted that you would be worried if she did not show, I offered one of the vintage dresses in the house I just inherited as a replacement. A pale substitution, I know." He thrust out his hand for Pammy to shake. "Anthony Damon. Please call me Tony. I inherited Chenier House when my great-uncle Andrew passed away late last year."

Pammy—my ball-busting, self-defense expert bestie—simpered. "It's very nice to meet you. Saffy, we need to talk—later." I inwardly groaned but nodded. Pammy wanted to know all about what Tony said—and what he left out.

I slapped a "Hi, My Name Is Saffy" tag on my chest and handed Tony one to fill out. "I guess this all seems super boring to you," I began, trying to give him an out.

He looked down at me sternly as if he knew just what I was trying to do. "I'm here with the most fascinating graduate of this graduating class. You aren't getting away from me that easily, Gray," he bent to say this last sentence as an intimate whisper.

I shivered and, for once, it was not the temperature in the room; the room was almost uncomfortably stuffy. It was my own tentative reactions to his casual show of dominance. If he turned the full force of his dominant prowess on me, would I be able to resist?

"Yo! Tony! Weren't we in math class together or something?" An inebriated, familiar voice called out to my escort. "Who's your hot date?" a parody of my high school crush drunkenly lurched toward us.

Tony cleared his throat. "You must be mistaken," here he paused to squint at the nametag, "Brad. I am actually the date of this ravishing creature, your former classmate, Saffron Gray."

Brad unsteadily turned to me. "Little Saffy Gray? Didn't you have a crush on me in high school? Let's go make up for lost time," he said, leering at my boobs in the dress. "Excuse us, won't you, Tony? They have an open bar here," he suggested.

My old crush didn't look much different. His brooding, rebellious dark looks were still present but had an added patina of—cruelty. Yes, that was it. I definitely did not what to go off with him alone in order to "make up for lost time."

For the second time that night, I felt Tony's muscles tighten warningly beneath the curve of my fingers. "I'm afraid I really cannot allow that. She and I don't want to be separated for even a second. Isn't that right, Cinderella?" He looked down at me daring me to contradict him.

Thank you, I mouthed up at him. With a light shrug, I corroborated his statement. "You know how it is, Brad. It was all I could do to convince him to allow me to come to the reunion."

Tony frog marched me away from a gaping Brad. Once we were out of earshot, he hissed, "That's who you wanted to seduce at this reunion?" Embarrassed, I nodded.

A slow song came on, one popular the year I graduated, and several of my former classmates moved onto the dance floor. "May I have this dance, Saffron?" Tony asked formally.

I hated to refuse, but my dancing ability was less than nil. "I don't dance, Tony; I can't."

"There is no such thing as someone who can't dance. There is such a thing as a dancer who has never been properly led or controlled," Tony contradicted me.

Sighing, I allowed him to lead me to the edge of the dance floor. "Hook your wrists behind my neck," he ordered. When I did, he whispered, "Good girl." Inwardly, I glowed. His right hand stole around my waist, pulling me tightly to him. My breasts pressed into the wall of his chest, and I breathed in the spicy cologne he wore.

Blushing, I realized I also felt his arousal, hot and hard and pressing against me. The chiffon of my dress and the fabric of his pants did nothing to conceal his bulge.

"I'm sorry Prince Charming turned into the ogre," he whispered into my hair, sounding truly penitent. But I wasn't fooled. "If you don't mind, though, I'm willing to file my application as a replacement." He smiled, an endearing grin that melted my insides.

I found myself nodding, almost as if in a trance.

"I would like to take you home tonight, if I may." When I appeared startled—think deer in the headlights—he clarified. "Not like that. I mean you can sleep in Michelle's room-the room with the dresses that you were in earlier. In the morning, we will go see about getting Old Blue repaired."

When I didn't say anything, he dangled the juicy carrot as bait. "Also, in the morning, I will give you a tour of the house—including the dungeon. I want to share my plans for making this a paying venture with you. I think you will be—intrigued." With that added temptation, I found myself nodding eagerly, excitedly.

The blinding grin. It was only then that I realized I had been moving somewhat gracefully in his arms, following his lead. Will miracles never cease!

He cleared his throat, and I looked up into his eyes that were filled with dread. "There is one thing I feel I should warn you about. The ghosts tend to—possess—the living. It's the only way they can feel and touch." I remembered how Michelle pointed—but did not tug—at the dress. And that she didn't touch me.

"It's what made Andrew's parties so successful and invitations so coveted. While possessed, the 'hosts' experience all the thoughts and feeling, experience everything, that the ghosts do."

"Have you ever been possessed?" I asked shakily. What had I agreed to exactly?

"No. Auguste and I had a deal. But I'm worried, with you and me there, that he and Michelle might renege on that deal. They were madly, passionately in love, had already made arrangements to get married when the storm happened."

I felt a bit sick. Michelle's kindness now seemed suspect. "So that's why Michelle asked if I were your sub?"

"Of course not," Tony reassured me—unconvincingly.

"I will take my chances," I said, sounding braver than I actually felt. Two very experienced practitioners of BDSM who were ghosts, one of which wanted to possess me in order to experience the pain and pleasure with her one true love. And me—the complete novice. Other than a few random spankings from dates and what I had experienced at Tony's hands earlier that afternoon.

Tony smiled at me, encouragingly. "What do you say we get something to eat and drink?" he strove to change the subject. I nodded, relieved, and he took my hand, and we walked to the buffet line.

********

Several hours later, I struggled to hide a yawn behind my hand. "Sleepy, Cinderella? Is it time for you to turn into a pumpkin?" Tony teased.

I groaned. "Only if my coachman is going to turn into a field mouse," I retorted.

"Touche," Tony mock glared at me. "I will say this, though. This is the most fun I have ever had at a reunion. It must have something to do with the company," he seductively flirted.

My blush matched the red of my dress; I was certain. "I had a blast, too," I agreed, surprised it was actually true. For most of the night, Pammy had joined us. Only in the last few minutes had she been called away to take a call concerning a crisis in New York. Even though I missed her outrageous jokes and reminisces, I was enjoying my quieter conversation with Tony.

"Are you ready to go?" Tony asked abruptly. I nodded, and we left, waving goodbye to Pammy on the way out.

The ride back to Tony's home, Chenier House, was silent, punctuated with "accidental" touches of leg and hand.

Part of me wondered: if I were offered the opportunity to be possessed by Michelle, to experience a BDSM scene with Tony, would I refuse her?

I got my answer later that night.

********

Tony and I arrived back at Chenier House with lights blazing from every window. Barely biting back a curse, Tony escorted me from the car to the front door. Reaching for the keys, he was then surprised—and not happily so—when the massive oak architectural masterpiece slowly opened of its own accord.

This time he did not hold back. "Damn them," he growled. His growling voice caused my body to react peculiarly. Moisture flooded my pussy lips, and my nipples immediately peaked, hardening into tight little points of sensation. I whimpered, my teeth indenting my lower lip.

"I'm sorry," Tony appeared contrite. "I'm no Southern gentleman like the ones you are used to," he explained.

Somehow, I found the courage to respond. "I've spent the last ten years amongst Yankees. Plus, you saw the fine specimen of Arkansas gentleman that I had been exposed to growing up," I said, striving for levity which I am sure fell flat in the wake of the disappointment of my adolescent dreams.

"He knows me from one of Andrew's parties. He was only allowed to attend one. Andrew realized quickly enough that Brad was not a Dom. He isn't even a Sadist; he's a psychopath, and he has no place in the land of safe, sane, and consensual."

"Come." His whispered command excited me further. "You are exhausted, and we have a very busy day tomorrow." He walked with me up the staircase to Michelle's door. Holding my hand to his lips, he pressed a gentle kiss there, all the while looking enigmatically deep into my eyes.

"Tony?" I spoke barely above a whisper when he turned to leave. "How is what Michelle and Auguste and the rest do consensual?"

He turned, walking back to me, enfolding me in his arms. "When guests would come to the house, Andrew insisted they sign a consent agreement with the understanding that they COULD be possessed. As they all hoped to experience that, all signed it readily. I never gave consent, so Auguste didn't possess me as there were many Doms at the parties who did."

"Until tonight?" I guessed correctly.

Tony affirmed it reluctantly. "Michelle was always a romantic and has expressed before the need for me to find a nice sub and settle down. There was some altruism to her motives earlier. Even at the parties, she would select couples or people she felt needed to be together."

"So, she's some kind of D/s matchmaking ghost?"

His resulting bark of laughter warmed me from the inside out. "Exactly."

"So," I ventured hesitantly, "do I need to sign a consent agreement to sleep here?"

"No," he vehemently spoke, and part of me felt rejected. "You are here to rest, to sleep. Nothing more."

"I see," I said to his back as he turned again to leave. Smiling sadly, I spoke sotto voce, "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Cinderella. Speak well," he called out, stopping next door. "Auguste's room. There's a connecting door on the inside. Lock it and that door, as well."

I nodded and slipped inside, quietly shutting the door and locking out temptation. Walking to the middle of the wall that adjoined Auguste's bedroom, I locked the ornate door flanked by gilt cavorting cherubs.

Pressing my ear to the door, I heard Tony talking to himself—or, possibly, to the ghosts. I listened for several moments, but I heard nothing more than the general rumble of his voice.

Turning, I blinked to discover the bed turned down and the sexiest, silkiest white negligee set I had ever laid eyes on placed prominently on the duvet.

Michelle. I was becoming a bit put out with the ghosts, as well. How had she managed to touch things to move them? But courtesy, drilled into me by Gran, forced me to offer up a meekly polite "Thank you." The room was actually fairly warm, I marveled as I donned the negligee. That had to mean there were no ghosts in attendance.

I crawled slumberously up into the huge four-poster bed and snuggled luxuriously under the soft, fluffy duvet. Within moments, I fell into a dreamless sleep.

********

Gradually, I awoke by degrees, realizing that the room had turned icy. I sat and could view my breaths as white, puffy clouds. Michelle and five other ghosts, all female, all wearing flapper dresses, looked anxiously at me.

"No," I said, answering their unspoken question. "I don't want to be taken over. Not by any of you."

To my horror, Michelle's eyes filled with tears. "Please don't cry, Michelle," I pleaded with her. I found myself moments away from agreeing and mentally flogged myself.

She sniffled, hiccupping. "Tony really likes you, you know. I've known him since he was a child. He has never—in all of the times he attended Andrew's parties—reacted to another sub as strongly as he did to you. You made him forget himself. I mean, sure, he's participated in scenes, but it seemed more a matter of fact. What y'all did earlier was—hot," she breathed—pardon the pun, fanning herself.

I decided to level with her. "I am submissive. But I have never participated in a scene. I don't know how I would react."

"Then, we go slowly." Michelle realized that I was teetering on the brink of acceptance. "Do you trust me?" Her clear blue eyes radiated trustworthiness.

I nodded slowly. "But you know Tony will never agree to being possessed by Auguste."

"Well, if you convinced him that you wanted my help to safely experience BDSM, he might," Michelle put the thought out there.