The Haunted Dungeon

This is the third chapter in the Haunted Dungeon series. I still have more I would like to post. Let me know what you think!

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I awoke the next morning, refreshed and tingling within Tony's embrace. Recollecting, by degrees, what had happened, I felt myself grow embarrassed by what I had agreed to.

Blaming all of it on Michelle was not an option. I was more than a willing participant. Even now, my body craved his domination.

"Good morning, Saffy," Tony whispered, his lips pressing against my hair.

Suddenly shy of him, I muttered a subdued "Good morning" back and worked to extricate myself from the tangle of his arms, his legs, and the bed sheets.

I ended up in an ungainly heap on the ground. Swallowing an unladylike curse that Gram would surely skin my hide to hear my lips speak it, I assured Tony that, yes, I was fine, and, no, I did not need his help in standing.

Standing, I swayed slightly as the room spun a bit. A side effect of the possession, perhaps? Looking down at Tony, he did not appear to be suffering any ill effects.

In fact, he appeared to be fixated on only one thing: my nudity. With a yelp, I turned and raced from the room, presenting him with a complete picture of my nakedness to enjoy.

When I arrived next door, Michelle was there, seemingly waiting for me. She lifted on eyebrow, questioning me silently why I was there.

"I don't do 'mornings after' well," I offered by way of explanation.

I received a withering stare for my pains. "Tony and you belong together, Saffy," Michelle's soft tones stated something SHE might believe to be true but was most assuredly NOT true.

"No, we don't, Michelle. His life is here. I turned 18 and ran from here as fast as I could. My life is in Boston as a research librarian. I don't belong here—with him. It was a one-night stand, that's all. We've proven that I like being a submissive, so last night wasn't a total waste."

Michelle's eyes focused on the doorway behind me, and I slowly turned to see what had so captured her attention. Tony, a remote expression on his face, had mutely absorbed every word of my rambling argument to Michelle—and myself—of why Tony and I were not a great idea.

With a soft tsking sound, Michelle evaporated from the room as if she never were there. I wished I could disappear so easily. I was definitely a SAD, a socially awkward dimwit. If there were a way to stick my foot in my mouth, you could guarantee both of my size sevens would be down my throat.

The moments I spent scrambling for something to say to cover up for my dismissal of Tony and what we shared last night, Tony spent shaking off what I had said. Sort of.

"I had thought you might want to go see about Old Blue and check on your grandparents' house." His expression and tone were cordial, but his voice and face lacked the congenial warmth of yesterday and last night. The fire within him seemed permanently banked, as well.

Nodding, I whispered, "Thank you. That would be nice."

Tony smiled, a brief upturn of his lips, more a social nicety than genuine emotion. It was a sigh of relief I exhaled when he left the room.

Somehow, it escaped me that, up until that point, I was still very naked. And had no clothes to wear. With a wary eye, I glanced at the armoire with its delicate evening dresses, a multicolored array of clothing from the 1920s.

No, what I was doing today would appear foolish done in a flapper dress. I turned to peruse the trunk at the end of the bed and felt an A-line dress slap me in the face.

"Wha-what?" I sputtered. Aghast, I shook my head. Was Tony really that angry with me?

I peeled the dress off my face, white, strapless, with a delicate rose pattern, and beheld one of Michelle's friends. Groaning inwardly, I bit back a defensive proclamation and instead said a meek, "Thank you."

"I'm Alice Pratt," she lisped. "I always wanted to play with Tony, and I wasn't allowed to. You played with him and hurt his feelings." The ravishing Alice with a cap of inky black hair and crystalline blue eyes pouted up at me angrily.

In response to such petulance, I remained mute. What was there to say? I'm sorry Tony didn't want a possessed partner—until last night? Instead, "The dress is lovely," was my reply.

"Michelle found the dress; I just wanted to bring it to you so that I could tell you that you are making a mistake. Tony's a great guy, and you don't deserve him if you won't make any sacrifices by moving here," Alice seethed.

While she berated me, I slid the dress over my head and shook a bit to get it to settle over my body. Oddly enough, Michelle had hit exactly on my style. I tended to wear primarily A-line dresses. Vintage ones from the 1950s were my absolute favorites.

I knew better than to ask for shoes. If Alice or one of the other ghosts presented them to me, I might end up with a black eye or a broken nose. Instead, I slipped back into the heels that I had arrived in.

I met Tony at the front door, feeling hunted by the glares of the ghosts—save for Michelle and Auguste, whose stares of silent pity seemed far worse. I waved fingers of farewell at Michelle, who I felt I could have become friends with.

Standing beside Auguste, she smiled sadly and waved her own goodbye. I departed Chenier House for the final time, fraught with a boiling of turbulent emotions.

I didn't expect to talk to Tony much on the way down the hill, but, after my exchange with Alice, the first words out of my mouth, "So, what are the other ghosts like?"

He looked askance at me. "Which one?" he asked dryly.

"Which one what?" I repeated, but I thought I knew what he meant.

"Which one said something to you to lead you to ask that question?" His tone did not invite any backtalk.

I smiled sweetly, if thinly. "I met Alice when she, um, provided me with a dress. She seemed...nice," I finished lamely.

The lights in Tony's eyes danced. "Provided?" he asked, a grin on his face.

"Well, she threw it at my face, but it was really nice of her to bring it to me." My voice was even, revealing nothing.

Tony chuckled, as if imagining my conversation with Alice. "But what did she say?" he stressed, sobering.

"Let's just say she has a crush on you and is upset by what I said. I am sorry, you know," I whispered the last, hoping my contrition was evident in my voice and on my face.

"Think nothing of it, pet," placing emphasis on "pet." He dismissed my apology—or my transgression—with a wave of his hand.

"But as to the five spectral friends of Michelle's and Auguste's that help them to haunt Chenier House? Well, you've met Alice. Alice is," here Tony paused as if searching for the right words, "very immature. She fixates on things. Her twin sister Louise, on the other hand, is very mature—almost maternal. She's had to get Alice out of several scrapes over the years."

Tony cleared his throat, slowing down as we approached Old Blue. "Dorothy Lanning is the one with brown hair and brown eyes. She's Louise's best friend, very quiet and bookish."

Very like me, I filled in for him. The nerd. The shy one.

He didn't appear to notice that I had stilled next to him. "Helen Greer and Georgia Parker are Alice's best friends. Helen tends to be the party girl. She's the one with straight blonde hair and purplish eyes."

"So that means Georgia's the red-head?" I whispered, remembering a pixie-ish sprite with red curls and glowing green eyes.

Tony nodded. "She tends to avoid possessing others." He switched off the ignition to his car, and I exited the passenger's side and headed to Old Blue.

"He's a beaut," Tony praised, running an appreciative hand over the "flanks" of the Mustang.

"Old Blue was Gramps's pride and joy. I couldn't believe it when he gave me his car," I smiled fondly.

Tony's answering smile made me feel as if everything would be okay. "Why don't you get in and start him up, and maybe I can get an idea of what's wrong."

My smile turned grateful. "I would really appreciate it, Tony." I slid in to the front seat and placed the key in the ignition.

Old Blue purred to life, and I peered out the driver's side window at Tony, bemused.

"I promise you, yesterday the car wouldn't start." I sputtered and stuttered.

Tony's smile turned grim. "I'm sure that Old Blue had help stalling out. Ghostly help."

"You think they arranged it?" I couldn't even comprehend this option.

His lips were now a set line. "Auguste liked to tinker with cars when he was alive. Uncle Andrew never had to take his car to a mechanic, as long as he lived at Chenier House."

I sighed. Sadly, I couldn't be what they wanted me to be, couldn't be Tony's submissive.

"I'll meet you at your grandparents' house then," Tony offered.

"You really don't have to, now that Old Blue is working," I protested.

But Tony would have none of that. Instead, he said, "I would love to see the home where you grew up."

"Okay, then, if you're sure." I kept my tone deliberately doubtful.

His smile was blinding. "I'll just follow you there," he pressed.

Within minutes, I was driving along the street where I had been raised from a baby. Carefully, I navigated around Gram's horticulture experiments to park in the driveway.

I stepped out and observed the house, not as someone used to the homey-ness of the veranda-style porch with the porch swing before the purple door—vibrantly purple because that was Gram's favorite color—to the stained glass windows that leant even more of an eccentric flair to what would normally be traditional Southern architecture. No, I saw it as a newcomer like Tony would see it—and I rushed to explain.

"Gramps and Gram like tons of color. After Mom died having me, I became the color in their lives. Gram was thirty-four when I was born; Gramps was thirty-five," I stated in an even tone.

"I think it's marvelous," Tony enthused, and I cut my eyes to him to see if he were fooling me.

No, he appeared sincere. "My parents are very traditional, almost austere, people. They did not approve of my close relationship with Uncle Andrew. He was too gregarious, too not-staid, for them."

Digging deep within my purse, I pulled out my keys for the house. The key turned easily in the lock, and I was nearly assaulted by Tiger and Lioness, the cats. In true fickle feline fashion, they quickly abandoned me for Tony.

This was fine, I told myself. It allowed me to quickly and surreptitiously fill their food and water bowls and to feed the koi fish in the pond in the backyard. When I returned to the living room, I found Tony with a lap full of Tiger and Lioness.

When he saw me, he gently moved them from his lap, albeit under yowling protest. "I owe you breakfast," he announced.

I snort-laughed. "No, you do not."

Tony tapped my nose looking, for all the world, as if he wanted to tap something else—much harder. "Yes, I do. A gentleman does not have a lady for an overnight visit without offering breakfast. Besides, the breakfasts in Chenier house are truly a sight to behold."

I glanced up at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Michelle believes in being a perfect hostess. Of all of the ghosts, she's the most excited about the B&B concept. She loves to cook," Tony stated, almost apologetically. "And Dorothy likes to read cookbooks. And I still haven't given you the tour or explained my business plan."

I mulled over what he said in my mind. My rumbling tummy decided for me. Despite Gram's best efforts, I was an abysmal cook. "I guess I could go back to Chenier House for breakfast," I hedged.

Tony beamed, knowing he had won. "Why don't you leave Old Blue here to ensure he will start when you get back?" he joked.

"Um, okay," I agreed. "But let me get my bag out of the trunk?" I shyly asked. "I've got my camera and stuff in there," I clarified.

"Of course," Tony generously consented. After all, he had gotten his way.

We rode back to Chenier House atop the hill in silence. Except for my tummy grumbling. As we approached the circular drive, my eyes spied seven very familiar grinning faces looking out the windows.

As we entered, all seven appeared in the foyer. "We are back for one of your delicious breakfasts, Michelle," Tony jovially explained.

Michelle clapped her hands together and stopped just short of chortling with glee. "Right away, boss!" she exclaimed, her cerulean eyes shining.

She and Dorothy raced to the kitchen, skipping and giggling like children. The other women soon followed, chattering excitedly, and August, in contrast, dissolved into a mist.

"Why don't I show you the ground floor while I explain my business plan?" Tony offered. "They are probably preparing some grand breakfast," he continued.

It seemed only natural, given the state of disrepair for much of Chenier House due to various construction zones, for Tony to guide me, my hand lightly clutching his elbow, around the first floor on the tour.

"The first floor is the public areas. The ballroom, the kitchen, the lounge, the conservatory, the dining room, and the library are all on the ground floor. I've completed renovations on the kitchen, but that's the only room that has been touched as far as putting it all back together," Tony expressed.

We walked across the hallway to a room with a cavernous feel. "This is the ballroom. Not much to look at, I know," he added apologetically.

I could see the potential of the room. An ornate, carved mantle around a fireplace blazing with warmth. Guests mingling and dancing. "When Uncle Andrew would host parties, this was where the 'public' part of the parties were held. I intend to rent the space out to kinksters for munches and the like.

Across the hall, he opened the door. The room appeared more for storage than anything else. "The lounge," his concise explanation summed it up. "For more intimate group activities." When I blushed, he chuckled.

Another room, another description. This one was obviously the library. "Dorothy insists that it be meticulously cleaned and organized. At some point, I plan to redecorate it, but it will have to be done to spare her feelings. Very carefully." Knowing the ghosts and the parties that were held at the house, it did not take me long to envision a punishment scene. Tony, with a riding crop, ordering me bent over his knee, a painting depicting a foxhunt directly over his head where he would sit behind a massive oak desk. My pussy flooded, reacting to the images my mind supplied.

Tony noted my pause. "Are you alright?" His voice held a hint of concern.

"Fine," I muttered, flushing again.

"If you're sure," he pressed, his tone solicitous. He helped me to avoid tripping over a curtain rod that had fallen from where it rested against the wall.

The next room we entered at the opposite end of the house was a veritable jungle inside, the conservatory. Cloying, twisted vines obstructed much of the foliage within. Tony parted the vines to allow me entry into the humid Garden of Eden.

Although nothing bloomed now, the lushness of the surroundings were verdantly opulent. A bed and swing were seemingly the only non-natural elements. "I see this as a Tarzan-and-Jane fantasy room, or Adam and Eve," Tony whispered in my ear, his body surrounding mine from behind.

I felt his lips press against my neck and then heard the clang of a gong. "Breakfast," he regretfully murmured against my earlobe, his breath the same hot moisture that surrounded us.

Even as Tony clasped my hand in his, I discounted the last several minutes. He was too seductive by turns! I felt myself falling under his spell again, the same spell that controlled my (lack of) response when he sheared my dress in two just yesterday.

I determined then that I would enjoy the breakfast Michelle prepared, listen attentively to his business plan, maybe even finish the rest of the tour, but I would yield no more to him.

Because at the end of the weekend, I was returning home to Boston. I was not staying here.

We arrived in the bright, cheery modern bustling kitchen to see food levitating out the door in the direction of what I could only assume was the dining room.

"Why don't you let me help with that?" I asked Michelle, who beamed with pride.

"Thanks," she replied, sotto voce. I lifted a platter of sausage links, redolent of maple syrup and spices, from midair and carried it to the unfinished dining room.

Already on the table were a stack of translucent crepes, chocolate and plain, mounds of macerated fruit, jams, chocolate syrup, billowy clouds of whipped cream, and warmed maple syrup. A freshly unfurled copy of the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette rested nestled in between the two place settings.

Roses, buds and unfurled blossoms, a motley of pink, red, and white, adorned the center of the table. They must be from the outer gardens, I decided, for their heady fragrance contrasted with the savory aroma of breakfast.

Tony stood as I entered, pulling back the chair at the other place setting. "Michelle is truly a chef. Everything looks and smells heavenly," I marveled. "I wish I had a tenth of her culinary talent."

"She is. As I said, she's the one most excited about the B&B. In terms of the B&B, some cater to senior's groups, some to couples. Aside from room sin the family wing, there are twelve suites suitable—eventually—for paying guests. Dom/sub couples would stay and have free rein of the various 'public rooms'—those that we've visited so far plus the dungeon—during their stay."

Tony cleared his throat. "That's what I envision, anyway. A kind of vacation place, a safe-haven for kinksters without the disapproving stares of the 'nilla world."

"That sounds wonderful," I enthused.

"I would also rent out the house—other than the family rooms—to larger functions—munches, auctions, retreats, and parties. All with the utmost privacy and discretion," Tony finished.

I sighed, pondering the intricacies of detail that must be involved in such a business. "It would be so much work, but I'm sure it would be a prosperous business after a while." Privately, I thought that anything Tony touched must turn to gold.

"Eat up," he instructed, seeing that I had not touched my breakfast. In fact, I hadn't prepared my crepes.

I quickly slathered three chocolate crepes with cherry jam and a dollop of cream down the middle, rolled them up enchilada-style, and topped them with macerated strawberries drizzled with chocolate syrup. Two sausage links completed my plate.

My first bite confirmed what I had already decided. This was perhaps the best breakfast of my life—and Gram had even won several cooking contests at the county fair. I moaned in gastronomic bliss.

Tony's smirk spoke volumes. "Good?" he asked.

"Amazing!" I breathed.

He chuckled. "Try the sausage. Michelle makes it herself, with a secret blend of herbs and spices, she says. Here," he placed the sausage link to my lips, feeding it to me. "Bite," he demanded in a low tone.

I blushed from his intimate act. To dispel the suddenly charged atmosphere, some playful part of me that tended to stay hidden archly spoke, "You want me to bite your...sausage?" I winked.

Tony's chuckle became a full-blown guffaw. "Maybe a nibble to MINE," he emphasized, "but to this link, I want you to bite, chew, and savor it."

My cheeks flushed further, and I filled the silence with biting, chewing, and savoring.

After breakfast, Tony led me on a tour of the—very sterile—guest suites. They needed work. "I want to thematically decorate them some way, name them even. But I haven't been able to decide what to do. I want each one to be memorable, though."

One feature that I did spot and approved was the en suite bath. "I plan on adding in Jacuzzi tubs to each with huge showers," he remarked.

"There is one other place in the house to show you," he began, as we clomped down the stairs to the first floor. Bypassing all of the rooms on the ground floor, we entered what appeared to be another room behind another door.