Angel Wife

Angel Wife - Chapter 6

A fortuitous discovery from the past is the almost perfect setting for Oliver to take his final conquest. His bullying, prideful sister Merri-Lea whose attitude to her brother is one that the young man cannot abide. Merri-Lea wants to make him hers and only hers. It was time to lovingly break her and make her reveal her true feelings for the man she calls brother. She has a deep seated need to be rid of the guilt she carries too close to her heart.

A little bit rough this but please enjoy.

A week later Merri-Lea was screaming and cumming as she hung in the dungeon beneath our mansion. I had not even known it existed until I was lazily scanning the estate with my mind. I had discovered that I could let my mind fly into the sky and gaze down on the world as if I did indeed flap my wings and carry myself aloft with my own power rather than with the risky and bone breaking constructs I had used before.

I observed that there was a greenery covered shape at the bottom end of the garden that I must have seen a thousand times but had believed it was the ruins of some no longer needed shed or other building. I circled around it and narrowing my vision I found that it was the ruins of some sort of small round tower that must have at some time reached a lot higher than the two or so metres it stood now. I found myself peeling away the layers of growth until I found the open chamber that they concealed by their almost waterproof covering. The first thing that caught my sight was a trapdoor. I was determined to find out where it led.

I quizzed my father and he directed me to the family library. I quizzed Williams. I knew that his position as my history and sciences tutor was now done with and so he had returned to his normal occupation full time. He was our family historian and librarian as well as the one that purchased novels for my sisters, mother and the more technical books I had requested to continue a range of studies I had become interested in.

He directed me to a neatly kept filing cabinet that contained many versions of the blueprints of the mansion as it changed over the centuries. I thanked him and he left me to my examination of the plans. I finally found the structure in the plans dated from the 16

th

century. One of my more sadistic ancestors had commissioned and had built a torture chamber and holding cell with a guard tower upon the top of it. The plans also showed several rooms that extended under the ground until it ran into another large block of building simply called Cattle.

I looked for the next updated blueprint and saw that Cattle had been replaced with Cellar and recalled the family history that said that Stephen had built an extensive wine cellar sometime in the 17

th

century. I hadn't realised that the cool and now temperature controlled room had been existence for so long nor had I realised how big it was. Of the previous tower and its subterranean rooms there was no indication.

I surreptitiously photographed the plans with my phone and streamed them to my computer.

I walked away from the cabinet after putting the plans back in place and pretended disinterest and I then searched the archives for details of my ancestor.

Damien Edward Henderson was apparently a very quiet and sober man. However, he hid a very scandalous secret that did not come out until his diaries were discovered some one hundred years after his death. It seemed that Damien was a scandal that the family did not want published to the world and his diaries had been secreted away in the family vault. I knew where that vault was. It was in the crypt in the family graveyard several hundred metres to the south of our estate. I had loved going there as a child with Ralph as he taught me the history of my forebears.

I took a flashlight and teleported myself to the crypt late one evening after everyone else had gone to bed. I found the vault and retrieved the key from the alcove where it was stored. My torch shone brightly and I found several thickly bound books tied together with stiff leather. A single faded leather tag was attached to the ties that simply said 'Damien'. A cross had been stamped into the leather and I grinned that someone had believed the attaching of the symbol may have proved some sort of warning or perhaps, protection to the diaries that my previous reading said would shock the world.

They were of course written in Latin but fortunately I had been taught this archaic language as well as ten others and enough of thirty others to make myself understood. I carefully placed them in the cloth bag I had brought with me, closed the vault and replaced the key before I teleported back to my room.

I spent the rest of the night and the next few days reading the diaries with strict instructions that no-one was to disturb me on pain of making the young master extremely angry. Even Jessica and Ralph took heed and I only saw them as they dropped food off for me. My father sent me several notes asking me what I was up to. I sent back a short note telling him that I was learning about family and that I would tell him all when I was finished.

Damien Edward Henderson was a pervert but not in any way that we would consider him too extreme nowadays. He was fond of pleasure. Sexual pleasure and though some of his escapades were for the pleasure of his own body and satisfaction of his needs his main concern was the pleasuring of others, both female and scandal of scandal, other men! His opinion of the church and its rants against homosexuality was comic as it was still relevant I decided as he made this point clear on several long winded occasions.

However, it was his contraptions that he invented and constructed in secret in his dungeon that intrigued me. There were all sort of restraints, harnesses, devices for the uninhibited access to any part of the body and torture devices to enhance the mind and increase the sensations of the body.

I chuckled as I looked at his drawings and oft times found myself stiffly erect as he described what he intended to do with any woman or man that would willingly come to him.

It seemed that Damien was a handsome if somewhat dark rooster. He married early and quickly got bored of his wife and her passive lovemaking after she had borne him three sons. He left them to their own devices as he pursued more passionate and responsive bed mates. Apparently he did not find many to his liking until he found a young maid rubbing her cunny with a large carved piece of timber shaped in the fashion of phallus. The young maid was allowing this large piece of smooth oak to penetrate her wet cunny by use of a weaving wheel that she fashioned to be able to be driven by her own foot pumping a pedal and the phallus to drive deeply into her cunny as she lay on her back. The wooden cock was at the end of long dowel she had drilled a hole in and fixed to the wheel with an iron spike.

I laughed at the picture he had drawn. It was a very ancient fuck machine not unlike those I had watched men and women use on the internet sites I had visited.

He had boldly approached this young woman and asked, as she writhed in the afterglow of her wooden cocked fucking, why she used such a device.

It is an unfortunate time in our world that we judge our fellow beings by their looks,

he wrote.

Poor Esmeralda had the misfortune to have a rather dark and large birthmark that covered most of her face. I had heard stories of the ugly bitch that lived at the back of the pig sty but I had dismissed them as gossip. To actually see her now I could understand the description. But I believe myself to be an enlightened man and I saw beyond the purple and red raised skin across her visage. I saw a strange beauty in her and especially as she lay in the afterglow of her furious lovemaking of her intriguing device. I could not help but bring forth my own phallus and she had greedily devoured it with her talented mouth until I satisfied her thirst. After that I spent many a delightful hour between her well spread legs and using her tight and talented arsehole. The spinning wheel and its oak cock almost forgotten, until she showed me how I could fuck both of her wonderfully tight holes at the same time. Her cries and spending of her juices a delight to not only my eyes but to that internal something that craved to give pleasure to others.

Damien found someone that would use his devices and perhaps enjoy them in the manner in which he had perceived. He secreted her away in this tower and then led her down to his dungeon. I discovered that it was not Damien that had commissioned the tower and dungeon. It had in fact been his grandfather, another also named Damien. That monster apparently had a penchant for locking up and torturing any of his self-proclaimed flock that did not believe in his teachings of the ways of some God that he believed in.

I tried to find out more about him but it seemed his crimes had been so heinous that he was simply a name placed in the family tree. All other references to him had been either deleted or removed and placed somewhere else. (I never found out where or what he had done.)

Damien and Esmeralda spent many, many days and nights trying out his inventions. She heatedly told of him others that would enjoy his attentions and soon some of the more downtrodden and rejected females of the nearby town and surrounding farms came to his estate. He was laughingly referred to as the Lord of the Ugly for his staff of men and women that normal society would shun. I found I was loving the man very much.

His harnesses that held a woman aloft to allow tongues, fingers and artificial devices to pleasure her were very popular with his new staff. Even the men enjoyed being helpless in their cradles and unable to resist the man's hot mouth on their genitals and eventually they succumbed to his desire to pleasure them. Damien enjoyed being captured in some of his devices that allowed his arsehole and mouth to be used by his loyal servants.

He invented safe words after he had subjected one of his new maids to so much pleasure that she had almost died in bliss. I chuckled as the poor lass with only one leg had been unable to prevent the insistent roll of a small wheel that had soft leather tongues that passed through warmed oil and continually licked and flicked her clitoris as it spun rapidly between her legs. She could not close her legs to stop the machine and it was only her agonised scream that had alerted Damien to her plight.

He also dabbled in alchemy, as he called it. Today we would call it Bio-Chemistry as he experimented with the juices and seeds of plants that he believed could enhance the male and female experience of pleasure. He was careful to ensure that none of his brews were poisonous by testing it on the numerous rats around the estate.

I laughed out loud as he finally got sick of his timid wife and drugged her one night and spirited her away to his dungeon. After three days of mechanical and physical pleasure his wife refused to leave the room demanding that he bring her a bed and have her meals served in his dungeon. He had convinced her that should she declare her love for him again he would ensure that she had her own key to his toy room. She could not do it fast enough and in a late life burst of lust gave birth to a daughter for him.

It was this daughter, Pretoria Jane Henderson that had the tower destroyed and the room beneath it sealed. I hated her as did her parents as the last entry in Damien's journal described her hateful act as he and his wife were locked in their room and unable to do anything to prevent the building that had rekindled their love twenty years before, being smashed with hammers under their daughter's direction and then sealed with the rubble and a large steel trapdoor. I checked the date and was not surprised to find that the parents had died only two days later. I believe I had uncovered a case of patricide and matricide by the puritan Pretoria.

Her life was undistinguished in that she had no offspring and had apparently banished herself to a convent when her older brothers had tried to arrange a marriage for her.

It was her exaggerated account of debauchery, torture and the destruction of males and females for his lust that had earned him such a black mark in the family histories. I decided that I would change that bit of history before I was done.

I sat with my father and we laughed together and sipped scotch as I described Great, great whatever number grandfather and his pleasure house to him. "We should explore it, Ollie. Perhaps it would be a bit of fun to see whether it could be put back into good use again," he suggested with a broad smile.

The next day we had a team of workers clearing the growth and there was great excitement around the estate when the sealed stone top of the tower was finally revealed. A rotten thick wooden door with iron bindings fell apart under the workmen's shovels when they discovered it and brought our attention to the only entry. We told them all to clear away as both of us knew that stale air could contain many old spores of diseases that had been previously wiped out. Fortunately we had pre-thought of that possibility even though I had teleported into the structure days before I had not suffered any ill effects. Jessica reminded me that I had a mind that was quite capable of killing off anything that tried to invade my system. I quietly nodded and let father order the masks and coverings for the workers before they started. An air sample was taken through a carefully drilled hole that was quickly plugged. It was the work of seconds to give the all clear and the door crumpled in a few quick blows.

Lights were brought and the trapdoor similarly tested. I grinned as father and I used a crowbar each to prise the big steel plate up and the workers helped us chain it back using ropes to replace the rusted chains to the eyebolts they drilled into the wall to replace the old hooks that had almost rusted away. Father and I crept down the stairs as if we would disturb the ghosts of six centuries past.

I had already sent out my mind tendrils and there was nothing living or non-corporeal awaiting us. When Father shone his torch around at the same time as I did we both whistled and laughed at the same time. Damien Edward Henderson's toys were still there and by the looks of them had been remarkably well preserved in the almost vacuum that they had been sealed in. Not even a spider web clung to the strange looking racks, cradles and walls. For some reason I began to imagine Merri-Lea spread in some of the ancient devices that operated by carefully forged steel cogs and wooden levers. I did not need to read my father's mind as he pictured his wife strapped down and helpless for his use.

We explored for most of the morning and after lunch. The well-oiled leather straps and restraints looked as if they had been installed only days ago. I spun the wheel on the cunny licker that had almost killed his one-legged maid and giggled as the thick syrup covered the finely crafted and very realistic looking leather tongues. My father's eyes almost crossed in distress as he played with a fully working torture bed. It was for a male and stood at almost chest height. He beckoned me over and showed me how a cleverly made wooden hole irised open and then closed until the hole was not much wider than his middle finger. A further wheel made the whole thing lower. I was confused. "Cock and balls through the hole and then clamped in. Lift and lower for anyone to play with or simply torture underneath," he gasped. I felt my cock and balls tingle. He obviously did not care for a little bit of rough handling of his jewels. I laughed and he punched my shoulder. "Pervert!" he chuckled.

There were several other cleverly made beds. Some obviously made to spread legs and arms. Another bed that contained two of the holes that we had seen but did not close as far. There were also little straps on them. We decided it was for titty and nipple torture. Another with a hole but no irising opening but a set of little pulleys and leather strings that had the equivalent of modern day pegs. "Cunny torture," I grinned as I recalled the relevant section in Damien's machinery inventory.

"Fuck just how big is this place, Ollie?" he asked as we continued into another room that looked like it was a bedroom with several little cots aligned along the wall and a table with chairs around it. We went through another doorway and found ourselves looking at real torture equipment. Manacles on the walls and from the ceiling. My father gave a disgusted snort until I pointed out the remnants of what looked like padding around the circular steel cuffs. "No pain," my father nodded as we walked on.

More beds and finally a big bathroom with pipes that would have carried water into the big floor of stone. A drain ran out in the corner and I wondered where the water came from and went. My father answered my unspoken question. "This is the back of the wine cellar, Ollie. I always wondered why there was a big cistern there and a furnace to one side of it. Obviously they warmed the water for showering after fucking all day," he chuckled. He checked the drain. It was covered and sealed. "I will bet this leads into the old drainage system that runs from there as well. The wine cellar used to be part of the cowsheds. They would clean the beasts there before taking them into the market. Hasn't been used in two hundred years since Stephen," he informed me.

Stephen was responsible for the hundreds of bottles of wine in the cellar. I believed there were bottles there that would have been over 300 years old. It all clicked into place with my recall of the blueprints I had recorded. How Stephen had not found the pleasure palace was unknown, obviously the wall between the two areas was quite thick and Pretoria must have erased the details on the plans that were present at the time. Some of the blueprints had been created using various diaries and accounts by a young architect that I remembered father had employed when I was a boy. I was still puzzled how he had neglected to transcribe the underground features to the next version of the plan until father gave me a few pages from a housekeeper's diary that suggested that the rooms had been destroyed and the area filled in during Pretoria's manic rampage. Obviously that had been the plan but perhaps her brothers had stopped her destruction with the presentation of various suitors that may have redirected her rage.

"Needs lights," I mused as we made our way back.

"No, Ollie, sometimes the darkness can provide its own sort of torture," my father replied softly.

"Can always turn them off, Dad," I returned.

He grunted but I think he agreed. "Can I have a read of those journals, Ollie?" he asked as we came back up the five or six steps back to the tower floor. All of the workers had gone back to their other jobs. Only Ralph hovered around the doorway to make sure we did not need help or the heavy steel door dropped closed on us he said.

My father grinned at him and told him to see if he could get the boys to put up some sort of weather proof cover over the wrecked door. He left me with instructions to organise an electrician and lights. "Though, Ollie," he chuckled, "I think you should cover up those toys down there before anyone else sees them and gets the wrong impression."

I asked Ralph if he could secure some drop sheets that would do and the man smiled as I had now taken him into my confidence and would be the first to see what we had discovered.

He was even more astounded than Dad and, it seemed, had a very imaginative mind as it came to using the dozen or so beds and the other twenty or so devices. We had set up some portable floodlights and their illumination let me see a lot more things than Dad and I had seen in our quick tour.