Episode 8: Halloween Special
Part 1
I am fleeing through the darkness, through a wood shrouded in fog, branches whipping at my body tearing at my skin through the thin shift I am wearing and catching my legs. I stumble on the uneven ground. The thump of heavy feet…paws…behind is relentless. I do not know what it is and briefly wonder if it can be as dark as my imagining, I do not know why it is hunting me, just that I do not want to be caught.
This should be a dream…a nightmare but I also know it isn’t. I do not move with the sluggishness of a dreamer but with the agility of one fully awake, fully in control of her senses. Senses that are stretched taut with awareness of the strange things have been happening to me recently; things of which the details seem elusive, lost in a fog like the tendrils of mist that curl around me, chill against my skin.
I could run faster if my wrists were not bound behind me. That, at least, seems to make sense, something about my recent experiences tells me this is not unusual. Perhaps I have escaped from…somewhere. I glance back, turn, sidestep to avoid the trunk of a tree that suddenly looms before me, pull at the ropes which chafe my wrists. If only I could stop for a moment to free myself.
My breath is ragged, my chest burning. My legs are starting to tire.
The terror behind me is closer. I can hear its breath, a low rumbling growl.
I stumble and my bare foot catches on a root; I pitch forward, twisting to protect my face, land heavily on my shoulder, struggle to my feet, glance back again. I can see it now, a deeper black against the darkness like a shadow. I plunge on, running headlong on little more than adrenaline barely able to see what is ahead of me; fleeing; surrendering finally to a blind panic.
I burst into a clearing in a hollow, the air chill, mist pooling, coiling around a stone slab. The bright moonlight seems jarring after the darkness of the forest.
The thing that is pursuing me is nearly upon me and I scramble awkwardly up onto the stone; it is carved, man made, like some sort of altar.
I turn to see a black dog…wolf; huge; as big as a man, glowing eyes, slavering fangs.
It knows it has me, knows I have nowhere left to run and it lifts its head, voicing a howl that chills me; then it crouches preparing to leap.
I am shaking with fear, my heart pounding, my legs trembling. I cast around helplessly seeking some sanctuary but there is none; then I am knocked back onto stone, the last of my breath driven from me as its weight bears down upon me. I can only scream as it lifts its head and howls again then its jaws are at my throat, its hot breath on my face. I turn away struggling feebly beneath its bulk to push it off but it is too heavy and, finally, in despair, I close my eyes muttering a prayer and wait for those teeth to close on my neck.
I feel a jolt at my side as something slams into the beast above me, something powerful, knocking the huge creature off me; and a dark shape replaces it crouching over me, an answer to my prayer or something else, something human - no, not quite; a cloak billows, I see a pale face; a familiar face - almost.
‘Iz?’
‘Charlotte.’ Isabel, I think it is Isabel, gives a slight smile.
‘Iz, are you ok?’
She looks pale, which maybe is just the moonlight but her eyes are different too: dark, almost black and there is something about her smile, something unnerving.
‘You’re hurt,’ she says; those too dark eyes look down and I feel her fingers on my chest tracing down to my right breast.
I look down at myself. The white shift I’m wearing is soiled, bloodied, torn, my right nipple is exposed. I have scratches across my chest where tree branches and brambles have torn my skin.
He finger traces across one of the oozing wounds wiping away the blood. That strange smile playing across her face. Her finger circles my nipple.
‘Iz!’ I protest. My senses are still taut but I am oddly excited by this intimate playfulness. ‘Stop it!’ I pout glancing round, playing coy. ‘This isn’t the time.’
Beside us, the beast growls, crouches, prepares to spring.
‘Iz!’ I shout a warning.
Isabel holds out her hand, a violent, dominant gesture, palm open; a gesture that is not one I would expect of her. The beast stills, although I sense its anger, its frustration, it snarls viciously.
‘Where were we?’ I ask, realising my voice is still shaking.
Those black eyes turn back to me, that strange half smile, those fingers, cold fingers I tracing across the wound on my breast.
‘Iz, you’re insatiable…’ I try to laugh it off. This is not the Isabel I knew back in college but then we have been through a lot…if only I could recall what. ‘Stop it, you’re…’ My words stop as I watch her lift a finger to her mouth, watch as her dark tongue laps its tip, tastes my blood, runs over her teeth…her fangs. Her head drops and that tongue begins to lick at my breast, licking the wound.
‘Iz, stop it!’ I start to struggle but I am bound and she seems much heavier than she should be, as if rooted to the stone, much stronger, pinning me as surely as the huge beast crouching beside us. When she lifts her head I can see a lust in her eyes but it is not the desire I would wish for.
‘Iz…’
Her howl as she throws back her head is more terrifying than the wolf’s.
Then she rips the remains of my shift open, bares her fangs and lowers her head and, once more, I can only close my eyes and turn my head away.
Miraculously, those fangs do not close on my neck. I hear a howl of frustration and turn to see her shrink back, lifting her arm as if to ward off an attack. She scrambles down for the altar.
‘Iz?’ I sit up feeling something solid nestle between my breasts, bare now where the shift has been torn away. I look down to see a wooden crucifix hanging from a leather thong around my neck.
I look up again to see her eying me warily with those dark eyes watching me intently, greedily, just as the wolf watches me from the other side of the altar.
I catch a flash of memory, understanding a little about why I might be here.
‘Iz…’
I am interrupted by a shadow slicing through the moonlight and look up to see a shape, huge bat-like wings attached to a human body.
‘Priya?’
She lands at the foot of the altar, perching, birdlike at my feet, black, wings extended to maintain her balance, a barbed tail flicks behind her. She is naked, that is to say her human body is naked and, I think, little altered from her normal form; perhaps a little more voluptuous. She has a smear of something dark on her cleavage. When she smiles, like Isabel, she has fangs, coated with a glistening red that can only be blood.
The wolf crouching beside me turns its attention to the new arrival, growling protectively although whether this is to protect me or Isabel, I can’t tell.
‘I hope you weren’t planning to keep her all to yourself, sister,’ Pryia says, her eyes, as black as Isabel’s fixed on me.
I sit up, push out my chest, displaying the crucifix but Priya laughs, a sound instilled with an arrogance I have often sensed in her but which she mostly keeps hidden. ‘Your Christian symbols have no terror for me, mortal.’
I look at her for a moment vaguely recalling that Isabel is Jewish, even if non-practicing.
‘Priya!’ Isabel’s voice is low, hard and she seems to have grown in stature. ‘Stop.’ It is enough to make Priya turn her gaze away from me to look at her, the arrogance of a moment before blunted with a hint of doubt.
‘Do not seek to command me, Vampyr,’ Priya says icily, turning her black gaze back to me. ‘You may command but you are barely stronger than I. And I have fed.’ She licks the blood from her teeth, her tongue is forked.
‘Girls,’ I say, ‘please.’
They both look at me, inquisitive, predatory.
‘Your are making me nervous here.’ I gesture with my shoulders. ‘Wherever here is.’
I’m clearly in the middle of some sort of horror story and I’m very aware I’m the winsome blonde in the white shift.
And my hands are tied behind my back.
However, for some reason the movement or my voice gives them pause.
‘Charlie, I’d never hurt you.’ Isabel says, taking a step forward.
‘Then tell me what happened just now.’
Isabel stops, gaping at me in horror.
‘I…’ She takes another step forward but I twist to present the cross again and she stops.
‘She would have fed if I had not come,’ Priya says with a hint of malicious amusement.
I force myself to remain calm.
‘If you mean me no harm then untie me.’ I twist to present my wrists to her but then swing instantly back. It was only when she saw the crucifix that she stopped. I present my bound wrists to Priya keeping the crucifix on my chest facing Isabel.
Priya, the creature that is Priya launches into the air, alighting behind me and twisting my head helplessly not knowing which direction to face but she simply flicks out a talon like nail that slices the ropes.
‘Thank you.’ I rub my chaffed wrists.
Priya smiles, her expression oozing victory.
‘It is as well not to acknowledge a debt among our kind, mortal.’
‘Where is Tiff?’
Priya’s eyebrow lifts, an amused expression and she looks at the wolf.
‘Oh…’ I watch as the shape of the wolf shimmers, changes, reforms until Tiffany is there, crouched, teeth bared, naked.
‘I don’t fucking believe it.’ Tiffany says. ‘Why couldn’t I be a vampire or something cool.’
‘You are a werewolf,’ I tell her.
‘Yeah, whatever.’ Tiffany straightens but a smile creeps across her face. ‘And believe me, I would have fed too.’ She adds darkly. ‘Mortal,’ she says, aping Priya.
‘I think we should move,’ Priya says. ‘I am assuming this is another scenario and there is an old manse in the woods about half a mile up the hill. Besides…’ she looks at Isabel, ‘…dawn is less than an hour away.’
‘I’m sorry I frightened you, Charlie.’
We have been walking in silence for about twenty minutes when Isabel appears beside me out of the darkness. I know she has been there but she makes almost no sound.
I can’t help but flinch when she speaks. ‘It’s fine,’ I say, reaching for my cross.
‘It’s all a bit…odd,’ she says, ‘I’ve never felt like this before.’
‘Dead, you mean?’
We are walking up a steep slope through dense forest, Priya flying overhead guiding us, Tiffany back as a wolf loping at Isabel’s heel.
I’m breathing hard with the exertion.
Isabel holds up a pale hand; she’s wearing the fingerless fishnet gloves. Her nails are a glossy black.
‘I don’t have a pulse,’ she says, her voice matter-of-fact like the Isabel I know.
‘You’re not breathing, either.’
Isabel steps away. ‘I really don’t know what came over me. I promise it won’t happen again.’
I look at her.
She may be undead but she’s doing it in style if you like the hot Goth girl look. It’s one that suits her; black lacy camisole top against the pale swelling of her breasts, waist snugged by a demi-corset in black satin and a net skirt that flares around her hips, there are black fishnet stockings and ankle high patent leather boots.
‘Death aside, it’s a good look on you,’ I say, changing the subject and trying to remind myself she’s my friend…my lover. ‘If we were at a fancy dress party, I’d definitely pull you.’
She gives me a weak smile.
Then she staggers.
‘Iz, are you ok?’
‘I don’t feel so good.’ She reaches out a hand to steady herself and I try not to flinch away.
At that moment Priya drops beside us.
‘The sun is rising,’ she says seriously.
‘That’s fine by me,’ I snap back.
‘But not by us.’ There is an urgency in her tone.
I think she might be sweating if undead and daemons or whatever she is, sweat.
She looks at Isabel. ‘You should have fed.’
‘No, she shouldn’t,’ I tell her, ‘not at me, anyway.’
‘We are almost at the manse,’ Priya says. ‘There is a crypt.’
‘Since when did you become an expert?’ I ask.
‘I’ve always liked horror.’ Priya says. ‘Everyone does, don't they? Everyone’s a bit fascinated.’
We emerge from the trees to see the manse that looks a little like the house in the Hamptons I used to stay in with my family during the summers. It had three stories and was built in the nineteenth century by my great grandfather who was a bit of an eccentric: turrets and a French style roof; Gothic windows. The place used to terrify me as a child. There was a pet cemetery in the front yard and stuffed animals inside. Great grandfather Jonathan had been into the paranormal and apparently held seances. He and great grandmother Edie lost it a bit when their youngest daughter died of scarlet fever and went off in search of a portal to the netherworld so they could go and find her.
The graveyard in front of this manse isn’t for pets; unless ‘Obadiah Schwarz 1897-1983 beloved father and husband’ was a particularly long lived canine companion. There are over a dozen gravestones, some aging, most moss covered, a few tilted with age; there are statues of angels too and a mausoleum.
The sun is definitely rising.
‘We must get below, Sister,’ Priya says to Isabel and reaches to take her hand.
The wrought iron gates of the mausoleum are open and steps lead down to the crypt below. Priya’s wings fold and she leads Isabel down. I follow into a dark space of dank earth; there are cobwebs and I hear creatures scuttle into the darkness as we descend. For a moment, I see Isabel look back; see her fear.
‘Here.’ Priya lifts the lid of a sarcophagus.
‘What?’ Isabel’s dark eyes widen.
‘You’re a Vampyr…it’s daytime,’ Pryia says with an odd gentleness. ‘Get in or burn.’
Isabel looks around but even as she does so sunlight begins to creep onto the darkness of the crypt, its brightness illuminating the top step in sharp clarity and I see her stagger.
‘She’s right, Iz,’ I tell her. ‘Even queens of the demiworld need a good night’s…day’s sleep.’
Isabel’s eyes are huge. If she had a pulse, I’m sure it would be racing like mine was an hour ago. I watch as she reluctantly climbs in.
‘Looks like this one’s down to you.’ Priya says giving a knowing smile as she extends her wings and leaps onto a plinth in the centre of the crypt. A moment later, she has turned to stone.
Behind me I hear a whine and turn to see Tiffany looking at the sarcophagus that has just swallowed Isabel.
‘She’ll be back later,’ I say. I can’t help petting her, running my fingers through her thick coat and she nuzzles against me. ‘At least there are two of us.’ I say with as much confidence as I can muster. ‘Let’s see what’s in the house.’
Even in the dawn sunlight, the house looks scary and, as we approach, the door opens as if it knows we are approaching. However, a moment later, I see a figure who stands back to let us enter.
‘Welcome home, Mistress.’ It is…one of the techs from the undersea base dressed in a butler’s uniform. ‘A good night’s exploration?’
The house we stayed in had a butler. He gave me the creeps and I don’t know if it’s the smell of wax floor polish, mothballs and newly aired dusty rooms that takes me back to those visits or something deeper but I find I don’t want to talk to him even if he is familiar.
I shrug and Tiffany shakes her coat, scattering twigs and leaf litter across the carpet.
‘Your bath is already prepared,’ the butler, Jenkins, I think was his name, says gesturing to the wide staircase.
‘Of course.’
I’ve been to enough big houses with servants to know that these are the games they play, leaving you to show your ignorance by asking everyday details like directions to show they belong somewhere and you don’t.
‘Very good.’
I must look a complete wreck, my shift is torn, my skin bloody, God alone knows what state my feet are in and my hair… The less said the better.
Needless to say, Jenkins or whatever his name is discretely says nothing of this and refrains from looking at my breasts.
I begin to climb the stairs, Tiffany following.
‘Mistress.’
I look back and Jenkins waves a gloved hand towards the wolf.
‘You know the Master’s rules.’
‘Very well.’ I sigh like this is a game we play every day. In truth I played the same game as a child in this very house or, at least the one that this is clearly based on. My dog was a fox terrier though, not a wolf.
Tiffany lets out a whine as I gesture for her to follow him but she obeys padding behind the butler as I climb the stairs.
I guess this one is just about me.
My room is exactly where I expected to find it, the third door on the right on the middle floor landing and sure enough there is an old fashioned copper bathtub beside the bed. The water is warm and fire burns in the grate. It was always chilly inside this house even when it was warm outside. I pull off the shift, realising belatedly that there is barely any of it left in any fit state to cover me. I drop it on the carpet.
That’s what servants are for.
I pad to the mirror over the fireplace but the view is too horrific and I turn and climb into the tub. The feeling is heavenly.
I now know this is another scenario. My memories are clearly returning. Out there somewhere I’m guessing it’s the end of October, Halloween, which means we’ve been here around two months. I know I need to find the parameters of this escape and something makes me want to solve it because…well, because I’m Charlotte Scarlet and it would be a turn up for the books, if ‘cute blonde’ Charlotte ‘the eye candy of the team’ was the one to get the team out of all this.
But first, if she’s to be cute blonde eye candy, Charlotte needs a bath and then needs to fix her hair. A manicure would be nice and facial but I assume there is going to be some sort of time limit on this.
The water is warm; there are herbs in it too giving a calming sensation to my injuries all, thank goodness, relatively minor. In the comfort of the water, I can’t resist examining my body more thoroughly, not only for wounds but to see if the implants that pierce me and sometimes manifest as rings are still there; they are, nestled deep in my nipples and between my legs. From the sensations I’ve been getting, I’m guessing there is something buried deep in my clit and tails of it thread through my labia.
It’s not a great leap to what happens next, to feel the desire to touch my body. I have been so horny here in Kink’s domain, constantly wanting to touch myself. It is not just the implants or the rings or the suits, it seems to be in the whole fabric of the worlds he builds around us. I know this is a virtual reality even if the others aren’t convinced. He can do what he likes to our bodies and then there are the viewers or subscribers or whatever he has; I’d lay a bet that nineteen out of every twenty are guys and there is only one reason they watch four hot girls getting into one bondage scenario after another.
And. If I’m honest, that makes me horny.
Then there’s this thing with Izzy. I thought she was a bit odd when I met her but there’s something special about her, that cute naivety coupled with a brain the size of a planet that just awes me. I realised I was hot for her when I first saw her dance. I tried it on with her but she was so cool and standoffish. It even took me a while to realise that she really was that naive and awkward - and that made me want her even more. Even when I made her dress like a prom queen (I use the term ‘queen’ quite loosely, that dress was scandalous), dressed her in my underwear, she somehow eluded my desires for her. Being as cold as a Vampyr is probably a perfect metaphor for her and yet, even like that she looks so hot.
An hour ago she was trying to kill me and half an hour later I was flirting with her again.
If it wasn’t for the risk of more than a love bite, I’d be working out how to drag her off somewhere quiet.
Quiet as…
Let’s not go there.
I find my hands between my legs as I think of her, not for the first time and probably not for the last. I’d prefer her tongue, of course, and that experience back in the theatre was magical; she ticked all my boxes and a good few more.
The way she came to me and literally begged me to tie her up. I’m way more dominant than sub but I can’t help feeling that if she’d wanted to tie me up I’d have gone down like a pussycat.
And when I did have her exactly where I wanted her, kneeling with her arms tied so tightly behind her back she could barely move and those new breasts of hers jutting out…and those nipples! So stiff! I used a frog tie, of course, I wanted full access to that hot and so deliciously sensitive little box of hers. God, I wish she was the pet and not Tiffany. I’d have brought her up here no matter what that bloody butler said and I’d have made her eat me out just like she did that first time.
What Charlotte wants, Charlotte gets. And what a prize! Who’d have thought it; so little experience, so much talent.
When I climax, it’s as if all the heat of the water warming and soothing my skin suddenly floods inside and I gasp as it washes through me then I sit for a while in the warmth of post-coital bliss with nobody to disturb me thinking what it might be like to lie with my hot Vampyr lover assuming that her idea of a post fuck cigarette isn’t to gorge on my blood as I quietly exsanguinate.
A respectful knock on the door rouses me from my erotic goth fantasy and Jenkins announces that breakfast is about to be served in the study. The sun is up now and I know Charlotte, the blonde escape room girl, has to climb out of the tub and go to work trying to get us out of this place.
There are clothes laid out on the bed for me; a corset with what feels like real whalebone, linen blouse, long skirt, boots and a short jacket. I’m reminded of how Priya dressed in our last period adventure but this is way more practical; real Victorian adventurer chic. I’m just wondering how I’m going to get the corset on when my door opens and a girl walks in. I think I recognise her from the underwater base too; she was probably one of the ones who tried to kill me but today, here, she’s wearing a maid’s dress; a rather brief one compared to my costume; there’s certainly nothing prudish about it from the low cut top to the short skirt, stockings and pretty little boots with their kitten heels. More Victoria’s Secret than Victoriana. Although I’d never admit it, I do like a bit of steampunk - let’s hope Kink lets me do that one.
What am I saying, I’m going to escape.
After dissing the butler, I might have been tempted to ask my slutty maid a bit about where I am and even what I’m expected to do but she’s wearing a gag and it’s obviously locked in place.
Kink obviously wants me to do this by myself.
She smiles round the gag and indicates a lacing bar which I duly go up onto my toes to grasp, not finding myself in any way surprised when she deftly cuffs my wrists to it. I’ve read enough smutty pseudo-Victorian novels to know this sort of thing happens all the time to hapless adventuresses.
The corset takes her a little work but I’m not disappointed with the result even if it is a little hard to breathe. It’s probably about as tight as the one Priya wore.
How we girls suffer to look good.
If only Izzy could see me now.
After admiring myself in the mirror I begin to wonder if there is any underwear but it seems lady Victorian adventurers were all sluts, which figures. There are stockings, of course and some very cute lace-up boots with nice little heels like the maid’s. I watch as she kneels in front of me to lace them up, looking up at me briefly as if she knows exactly what I’ve been doing in the tub. If she wasn’t wearing that gag, I might be asking for other services.
And here I go again. It must be almost thirty minutes since my last wank. God, I could grow to love this place!
The blouse is crisp and white with a little lace collar and just diaphanous enough to show my nipples which I guess is a reminder that I’m a sex object in one of Kink’s games.
And, if I’m going to play that role I want to look my best. If Priya’s family are watching, mine probably are too and who knows when one of them might turn up. The skirt is a little tight, not quite enough to hobble me but it does nice things with my curves where they round out below the corset and, if I need to run, I guess I can always take it off. (Might have to loosen the corset for this too). But what the hell, I have a werewolf to watch over me and, probably, a queen of the night - assuming she doesn’t bite first.
In a little under thirty minutes, I’m ready to face the world and a decent breakfast.
The maid releases me and trips from the room in a manner I can only describe as ‘saucily’, even looking back and giving a wink when I call after her.
I don’t pursue her. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t get anywhere and, now I think about it, I can’t recall when I last ate.
I descend the stairs like the lady of the house I am; this is partly necessitated by the skirt but I also endured deportment classes as a child. I’m only marginally aware I’m not wearing any knickers under my skirt; I mean it’s not as if it’s the first time and the skirts I usually wear are a lot shorter than this one.
Breakfast is all that I might have expected: porridge, eggs, bacon, toast and marmalade, even kedgeree. Perhaps not ideal for a girl wearing a corset so tight her breasts swell every time she breathes but I enjoy it anyway and, as this is VR, it probably doesn’t contain any calories.
There is tea too and proper coffee!
Oh, please Professor, can we just pause this scenario for a couple of days so I can enjoy this?
As I eat, I take the opportunity to study the room. It’s what you might expect for a house like this and, actually, not a million miles from the very same room in my family’s summer home. Kink has obviously been inside my head and has taken this from my memories.
I should probably feel violated or even embarrassed if he knows some of the things I’ve done in my life but oddly, I don’t. I’ve never been one to hide from the limelight and most of campus know what Charlotte gets up to. Besides, if I’m going to solve this one on my own, it’s probably good that I’m on familiar territory - with the corollary that my friends are all creatures of the night.
Looking closely, I can see the decor is a little more old fashioned, in deference to Bram Stoker presumably, but the stuffed animals, ouija board, voodoo dolls and the like are all still there. Somehow, they don’t look quite as scary as they once did.
The shotgun is mounted over the fireplace. It’s a Chekov and was my grandfather’s pride and joy. It’s probably responsible for most of the stuffed animals.
The picture over the fireplace is of my great grandfather's father, Jonathan and wife Edie, as it was in our house though they are depicted as Victorian adventurer types. Great-grandma Edie is wearing pretty much the same clothes as me and I can’t help wondering if she’s going commando too. There are other paintings, including one of me when I was young; all golden curls and dimples. God, I was cute.
There’s also a verse in a frame that looks very biblical;
“When the sun descends in fire from the skies
Along with the moon, the dead will arise
Begone, mortal before the next dawn tide
For that is when the four horsemen will ride.”
I remember the four horsemen from Sunday school (our preacher was pretty evangelical). It’s all end of the world stuff from Revelation: war, famine, pestilence and death. It’s a bit melodramatic but I’ve done enough escape rooms to know a clue when I see one which gives me a time-frame to work to and, given the state of the rest of my team, I think the dead rising is easy enough to explain.
On the table, a spot a book, allegedly great grandfather Jonathan ‘The Paths of the Dead.’ There’s another on ‘The Vampyrs of Transylvania’. Well, that figures. There are other books too by a variety of authors: ‘The War in the Demimonde’ by S Mayer, ‘The Real Blood of the Vampyr’ by Charlene Schulz.’
Hmm.
I select ‘An Anthology of Demons and Fantastic Creatures’ by N. Scamander and leaf through as I finish my buttered toast spread with a thick layer of marmalade. Priya has a full page spread; a demonic centrefold. Apparently, she’s a Succubus: a demon who seduces men and takes them to bed to conceive changeling children whose bodies demons can use to walk in the world of humans. Assuming she doesn’t eat me, I guess I haven’t got much to fear there. According to the entry they can be trapped by pentacles and bribed with fresh meat. That’s probably useful information especially if she’s thinking of me as an alternative to said meat.
That’s when I spot it: great-grandfather’s journal.
That’s got to be worth a look.
There’s a newspaper clipping inside the cover (another classic ER clue) from the Southern Gazette about his expedition to find the gateway to the netherworld.
Hmm! I guess we all know what that means. So far so good.
However, there’s an awful lot to read and Charlotte isn’t really very good at that sort of thing so I open it at the last page.
It’s dated October 31st, 1897. ‘I plan to open the portal tonight,’ he writes. ‘The date seems most propitious.’
Ok.
I flip back several pages and see a sketch of the altar where Isabel nearly ended this scenario a little prematurely by using me as a snack. He seems to be suggesting that this is the portal.
That sounds promising.
I start reading at this point but my great grandfather’s father’s writing is tedious in the extreme and after several pages of dense text I flick forward hoping to find a reference to how to open the portal. If it’s here, I have the rest of the day to take a well earned rest and plan how I get a few hours with my hot Vampyr in a way where she can eat out without me having to die as a result. That’s when another of his sketches captures my attention. I see Priya or someone who looks like her and Izzy.
God, she’s hot.
I flick on a few pages.
As well as sketches there are photos; lithographs I suppose. Most just show the area surrounding the house but then I come across one of Edie.
Fuck!
My great grandmother is kneeling naked and bound tightly with ropes. She’s looking up at the camera with what can only be described as a coy expression. I shut the journal quickly and then, after a moment, I open it carefully, half closing my eyes, partly to see if I’m right and partly because I’m fascinated about the idea of my great grandmother being a closet submissive. It’s definitely her and I’m guessing she’s in her late thirties at this point. Like most of the women in my family, she has the Scarlet looks. In fact she looks a lot like me.
I suppose this is logical.
‘Edie has asked that I bind her again when I go out,’ Jonathan writes.
Sly devil!
Edie is in a reverse prayer tie with her legs frog-tied and there is rope harness round her body.
I can’t help feeling I’d struggle to look that good in such strict bondage.
I flip through but there are no more bondage pics.
Then I find an entry that shocks me.
‘She came to me again. The creature. And I seemed to have no choice but to lie with her. I know it is a sin but I desire her.’
The sketch shows Priya or something that looks like her.
Again! My great grandfather has fucked this creature more than once.
‘I am still binding Edie each time I leave the house,’ he writes next.
Well, he wouldn’t want to be disturbed while fucking his demonic lover!
‘It is fortunate that the previous owners have left suitable equipment for retraining her. There was a chest in the cellar. It is clear they encountered similar issues.’
Suitable equipment? Similar issues?
The next page shows Edie naked again but this time she’s wearing some sort of straight jacket and not the usual white canvas one; this is in black leather and studded and her arms are wrapped around her belly and her breasts are clearly displayed. I’ve got one of these in my toy box back at collage. I always hoped to get Izzy into it. Edie is gagged too and the look in her eyes… It’s as if she’s pleading - and I don’t mean pleading to be untied.
The next entry is even more disturbing.
‘I can’t believe it! Edie has invited it into the house. An abomination.’
There is a sketch too.
It’s Isabel or at least another Vampyr. He’s caught it on film too. An undead, lesbian, fetish scene. Edie’s tongue is buried between the Vampyr’s legs and the Vampyr seems to be doing a similar number on her.
I should probably be revolted by this but I’m oddly fascinated.
I wonder what the abomination is: that his wife is tonguing a Vampyr or that it’s very clearly a female Vampyr.
All this sex and Vampyr stuff is having a predictable effect on me and I realise I’m rubbing myself through my skirt.
Come on Charlotte, got to focus.
I turn the page reluctantly.
‘…and I am working on the cantrip to activate the portal…’
Oh!
I flick through the last few pages but there is nothing more useful, just another encounter with a succubus that shows Jonathan tied to the bed and a picture of Edie strapped to some sort of frame which looks remarkably like a steam punk version of one of Kink’s restraint rings; naturally, she’s naked again.
I know my thighs are wet but I think I’m getting close. (To the solution of this escape scenario - and…)
I guess I need to look for a spell book or grimoire or something like that. My little brother was into Dungeons and Dragons and made me play with him. I wish he was here.
Actually, I don’t.
I browse the shelves but there is nothing that obviously shouts ‘Magical Spell Book.’
Maybe there are clues elsewhere in the house.
I go out of the study and up the stairs. In the original version of this house, my parents’ bedroom was on the top floor and I guess that would be a good place to start. Then there’s the cellar but even in daylight, the thought of going down to the cellar in this place gives me the creeps. However, even as I climb the stairs, my resolve starts to waver and it’s like I’m a little girl again, frightened of the bogeyman or maybe just the undead spirits that clearly haunt this place.
I’m not surprised when I see her, the little girl in white.
I’m sure I saw her once when I was a child. I was coming up to the second floor and there she was on a child’s scooter. I heard the noise first then I saw her, just a flash of white dress and blonde hair. And I heard the squeak of the scooter’s wheels. After that, when I came up to the second floor I would close my eyes and run to my parent’s room.
And sometimes, when I was in bed at night I could hear the squeak of the wheel.
I suppose looking back there was probably a more innocent explanation: a curtain billowing in the wind and the bed frames in the house were all a bit rickety.
But she’s definitely there now, blonde and blue eyed and…I recognise her from the picture in the study: it wasn’t me, it was her and as I watch she starts to come towards me and the wheels of the scooter are squeaking and suddenly I feel a chill that is beyond that of draft through an open window.
I close my eyes and run.
One…two…three.
I open my eyes, I’ve gone a step too far and she’s almost close enough to touch me.
I burst into my parents room.
It’s just as I remember it. At the time I found it creepy. Now, I’m just freaked out that there are ropes tied to the bedposts and I get a moment of deja-vu.
I try to calm myself but I can’t help glancing back at the door.
I can feel that ghostly little girl outside. The wheel of her scooter is squeaking as she moves up and down the hallway. I know she’s waiting for me just as she was waiting for me when I was a child.
But I’m a grown up girl now and I make myself go round the bed and open the nightstand.
Bingo! Edie’s journal is in the drawer.
‘I am so ashamed,’ she writes when I open it randomly. ‘Ashamed by the needs this place seems to create within me. I have asked Jonathan to bind me again when he goes exploring. He was not willing at first but now I think he is inured to it; perhaps even enjoys it. God, how I wish he would show some sign of that. When he binds me I am helpless; in his power. I so wish he would touch me. The desires…. I cannot bare them. When he does not bind me, I touch myself most sinfully…and there is the girl…strange and pale…’
So, she had a Vampyr fetish too.
I know what she is saying. Since I’ve been in Kink’s worlds I’ve been constantly horny. It’s not surprising Edie would have felt it too.
Another entry reads: ‘I have started to distract myself with the device in the cellar. I began using them when Jonathan left the house but now I creep down there even when he is working. It is the only way. One turn leads to pleasure but is not enough to fully satisfy; two leaves me spent. When I tried three I could barely walk for two days.’
She has sketched Kink’s steampunk restraint ring. I shouldn’t be responding like this but the image of it, of her writhing on it, takes my hand to my crotch.
A few ‘days’ later, I read…
‘It is not enough. I can resist her allure no longer. I have made preparations to invite her in when Jonathan next goes exploring. I will take nightshade, a small dose, so that she cannot turn me. The book said it would excite her passion too. I will offer myself to her and her invite will be on condition she lets me bind her and I will lie with her.’
I turn the pages to reveal things a girl probably shouldn’t know about her great grandmother but which pruriently excite me.
‘Oh God. I have sinned gravely. I cannot stop myself and I cannot leave. After we lay together, I gave the book of cantrips to her to take to the crypt.’
The sketch shows Edie tied to the bed with the Vampyr crouching over her.
I think of Isabel. Silent. Pale, Beautiful.
Like Edie, I can barely stay away from her a moment longer.
I rush from the room, oblivious now of the ghostly child in the corridor until she confronts me. Before, when I was young, she was a flash in my vision, something that might or might not be there. Now, she is there. Real and shimmering and maleficent.
There are times when a girl has to grow up.
I run at her, grasping my crucifix although I’ve no idea if it will help. I close my eyes as I am about to collide with her but, of course, I don’t hit her, not in the conventional sense. I do feel her, chill…more than chill…icy; I feel her wrap around me; it is like being smothered in a cold wet blanket which, where it coats my face, smothers me. The chill is absolute like plunging into a freezing lake soaking my clothes and penetrating me to the core, slowing me so that I can barely take another step. I force myself on and after what can only be an instant but seems an eternity I know I am free of her. However, I am bitterly cold, shivering and, when I lift my hand to my face, there is a cold slime covering it; it coats my body and clothes too. My mind conjures the word ectoplasm; slimy and disgusting. I open my eyes and try to wipe it away from my face.
Without stopping, I run down the stairs two or three at a time despite the tightness of the skirt until I find myself in the hallway. The door is bolted but I pull them back and heave it open then run out into the warmth and brightness of the daylight beyond. The sunlight on my skin is like a balm and I stop for a moment, my chest heaving as I fight against the tightness of the corset to fill my lungs and to let the heat of the living world penetrate my body.
The crypt seems less threatening in the bright midday heat and I pull open the wrought iron gate, emboldened by my triumph over fear of the ghost before descending into the cool earthy depths. Priya is still there, perched in stone but I can’t shake the sensation that she is watching me and that, if I turn my back, she will leap from her pedestal and devour me. The light in the crypt is dim and I can’t help wishing I’d brought a torch. Isabel would have thought of that. In the real world, I’d just pull my phone out but, of course, here I can’t.
And there she is. At least, there her coffin is.
‘The Vampyr feeds on blood…must rest in daylight hours…’ The anthology told me as if I didn’t know. ‘They can take the form of bats and large dogs…they are turned by the signs of God, burned by holy water…they must be invited in…and belladonna excites their passion…’
Well, you learn something new every day.
‘A stake through the heart is the only way to stop them…’
Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that and I certainly don’t want to get onto the decapitating bit.
I know she’s there. I can feel her. Surely if I lift the coffin lid it will do no harm. It is almost dark down here.
I creep forward, reach out and take hold of the handle.
The lid is heavy and opens with the expected and almost satisfying creak.
Whatever I think of Kink, he understands theatre.
And there she is; beautiful, silent, pale.
Dead.
And yet…
Her eyes are closed as if she is asleep, her lips, oddly red, slightly parted as if…
I cannot resist, I bend and touch my lips to hers. Icy cold, utterly still and yet, as a draw back, I think I see the faintest hint of a smile..
And there it is, clutched to her breast; a book. ‘The Grimoire of Dark Cantrips’.
If you wanted to keep your husband away from something why not give it to your lesbian Vampyr lover?
I take the book resisting the temptation to do anything more to my silent beautiful and utterly defenceless lover.
Back in the study I find lunch has been left. There is a spicy orange soup and thick chunks of sourdough; ham and tomatoes, cucumber and relish and a small bottle of cold beer. There’s coffee and chocolate cake too.
The fire in the hearth is still burning.
I really could get to enjoy this lifestyle.
First things first, I take off my wet, slimy blouse and hang in front of the fire. I can’t go around looking like I’ve spilled lunch down my front and besides, now it’s wet, my nipples are even more clearly on show. The skirt is damp but I don’t want to strip off completely although there might be other advantages.
Control yourself, Charlotte.
And so, I curl up, topless, on a chaise lounge and eat the soup which is curried pumpkin and pour the beer (I’m supposed to be a lady, I can hardly guzzle if from the bottle) then open the spell book to leaf through it while I enjoy the rest of the food.
There’s some pretty interesting stuff in it: love spells (hmm), curses (I’d love to try the cockroach curse on one of Professor Murdle next time she’s berating me for a late assignment), transmutations…
I wonder if this stuff really works.
‘Opening a portal between worlds,’ it seems, requires ‘recitation of the cantrip’ on a ‘nexus’ which I assume to be the stone altar and a bunch of herbs.
I really will have to thank my little brother for those D&D games.
I finish the bread and ham and my beer; then I pour myself some coffee and sit back; it would be rude not to eat the chocolate cake, and it’s divine.
Needless to say, when I finally get around to exploring the shelves, I find ‘The Druids Guide to Herbs and Other Useful Plants’. Satisfied I can identify the required ingredients including mandrake, wormwood and, just in case, (and for a completely different reason) belladonna and, discovering that they are best harvested late in the afternoon before sunset, I settle myself down for a little post-prandial power nap.
But it’s not going to happen, the moment my mind isn’t occupied by other thoughts, it wanders to what’s happening between my legs.
Beer and chocolate cake. God I need a fuck!
I can see Edie’s journal on the desk beside Jonathan’s and I start to think about that device in the cellar. It was a red herring in the first escape we did and I wonder if that’s what it is again. Will I climb into it and find myself trapped?
I really should be more resolute. The others are relying on me.
But the journal says there are other toys too. There’s no harm in a little fun and I’m really horny now.
My blouse isn’t dry so I pick up a woollen throw and wrap it around my shoulders and go out into the hall and along the passageway that leads to the cellar. When I was in the house before, my brother and I used to dare each other to go down into the cellar. It was dark and spooky and full of cobwebs and I remember once, he shut the door while I was down there and left me.
I was terrified.
But, I’m a big girl now and I’ve just faced a ghost and been into a crypt containing a sleeping Vampyr. The fact there is a lantern and a box of matches by the door suggests to me that I’m supposed to go down there so I light the lantern and open the creaky door and begin to descend the steps.
There’s a bit more scuttling and the lantern casts spooky shadows on the walls and I have to brush cobwebs away as I descend.
It’s hard to believe Kink has created all this. He must be a fucking genius. Perhaps, when we get out I’ll ask him for an internship. He must have some use for a hot blonde cheerleader.
And there it is: Kink’s machine. It’s not exactly like the ones I’ve seen before; this one is brass and there is a large metal ball hanging from the top. There are other levers and arms too and little brass cones. To be honest, engineering is a bit of a closed book to me. Isabel’s brain must be wired differently to mine to understand this stuff. Like Edie said, there’s a big key in the back that looks as if it winds up a clockwork mechanism.
I hold the lantern up and look around and there’s the leather straight jacket that shows off a girl’s breasts. It’s sitting in an old sea chest which is open and when I look inside there’s all kinds of bondage paraphernalia. If he wasn’t so shocked, Jonathan and Edie could have had a whale of a time together. At least Edie seems to have made use of it.
The sight of all that leather gear ratchets up my arousal a notch and the woollen throw is tickling my nipples. There’s only one way this is going to go. I look back at the restraint ring, already fumbling with the waistband of my skirt. When I’ve got it loose I shimmy out of it and then remove my shoes. I think about the stockings and corset but decide to keep them on.
I’m Charlotte Scarlet, I have to think of my appearance. I’m guessing I have quite a fan base out there and as a general rule, subtly is better than nudity.
Edie said two turns left her unsteady but I reckon I’m up to it. I’ve got two hours to kill and I want to make the most of my time. I turn the key twice and hear the mechanism click portentously. Then I reach up and slip my hands into the top cylinders feeling an almost reassuring clunk as they are locked in place. Then I pull up my legs and slide them onto the lower cylinders. There’s another clunk and then I hear gears begin to engage. A movement to the side catches my eye and I glance to see the arms with the cones on, swinging in towards me. The cones have tubes attached to them. It only takes me a moment to realise where they are going. They’re cold on my breasts and I gasp. I gasp again when there’s an odd whistling sound and some sort of vacuum sucks my tits hard against them. Then two large balls swing up. I realise I’ve seen something like this before; we did an experiment in science at high school. It’s called a van der gr… something generator; it makes your hair stick up and it gives you…fuck! I struggle against my restraints but I’m well and truly stuck.
Edie seemed to have enjoyed this.
Then again, she felt guilty about her urges, maybe the pain was cathartic in some way.
I look at the static generators. I can see something moving, no doubt charging them.
Fuck! I struggle again.
Maybe if I called out Jenkins would come and release me…or Tiffany.
I probably should have said where I was going.
Pop! There’s a spark, a burst of light in the dimness of the cellar and a sharp blast of pain assaults my nipples.
I struggle but there is nothing I can do and then I see something moving below me.
No!
There’s a rod rising between my legs and I know exactly where that’s going to. Let’s hope my clit’s not in for electro-torture as well. It doesn’t and I’m not that surprised when it slides in easily but become increasingly nervous as it continues to rise. It’s getting bigger too.
Oh!
Just as I think I can’t take anymore, there’s a clunk and it stops, stretching me and filling me in a way that’s far from unpleasant. Then something happens. It’s a light tickle at first and then a more intense feeling, something brushing my labia.
Oooh! I like that.
Suddenly, there’s something moving above me and when I look up, I see the big metal ball descending. What’s that for? I see it begin to split and open. It’s padded inside and there’s something long moving down in front of my face.
I hate penis gags! (Though I quite enjoy using them on other people, especially guys).
But I’ve paid my money and now I have to take my medicine. I open my mouth as the ball closes around my head. It’s not the biggest gag I’ve ever worn and I find I can take it without a risk of vomiting. When the ball clicks shut all sound suddenly disappears.
Ok!
I’ve been in sensory deprivation tanks and Tiff once took me into one of her recording rooms with all the sound damping. I’ve met a few subs who tell me it’s the perfect way to fully appreciate all the sensations of bondage.
‘Unnnk!’ I gasp around the gag as my nipples take another jolt.
Then it all starts to move, the whole ring tipping me forward and the phallus inside me moving in and out as the brushes or whatever that are working on my labia do their thing. The cones tug on my breasts and are pulsing slightly, kneading them. Something brushes my skin on the side of my chest just above the corset, a little below my armpit and I jump. Something touches me on the other side.
I’ve endured tickling before but I guess there’s no safe word this time.
Slap.
Something hits me across the buttocks, a belt probably.
And, before I know it, I’m squirming and tugging at my bonds, my body subject to the will of this infernal machine as I endure a heady mix of pain and pleasure; merciless teasing interspersed with tickling and nipple torture and a relentless spanking that’s just too much to be pleasurable but not enough to be painful.
The first orgasm takes me by surprise. I’m naturally dominant but I’m always happy to go down for the right person. I’d go down for Iz without a second thought, especially Vampyr Iz. Well, assuming she wasn’t intent on drinking my blood. I enjoy a bit of self bondage too and, frankly, this is the ultimate self-bondage device - assuming it lets me out when I’m done.
I probably should have gone for one and a half turns. Edie had probably ridden the machine a few times before she wrote about it in her journal and she’s clearly had quite an active sex life here, albeit at her own hand and with the help of a certain lady Vampyr.
Should I be jealous?
Quite frankly, I don’t care at this precise moment. The second orgasm is coming and it’s going to be a big one. Yes, I’d like Iz to walk in and find me like this and maybe tease me a bit before releasing me so she can strap me into that straight jacket and make me eat her out.
Oh God, I’m going to cum!
Part 2
Two hours later, I crawl from the cellar, clutching the woollen throw. The machine released me into complete darkness. I guess the lantern must have gone out at some point. For a moment, I feared I had been restrained for too long as I slumped to the floor, utterly spent, my limbs aching and my pussy throbbing; my tits were burning and my bum was stinging. Then, I saw the light coming from around the door and began to crawl towards it, finding the throw as I went but not my skirt or boots.
I kneel in the passageway examining my body, the red marks on my nipples and the bruises on my breasts. My bottom is red and blistered in places.
And I stink.
I could really do with another bath but I hear a clock chime.
One…two…three…four.
I drag myself to my feet and, leaning heavily on the wall, stagger along the passage to the study.
I try to sit down but it hurts too much so I kneel in front of the fire for a few moments to recover then lever myself up again, pick up the herb book and what must have been Jonathan’s haversack that is hanging on the back of the study door and head off in search of Tiffany.
I figure that having a dog or wolf to help me sniff out the herbs might be useful.
I find her in the kitchen, lying on her side in front of the range. She’s back in human form, she’s also tied up with her arms and legs stretched out in front of her. She’s muzzled too. Jenkins is sitting beside her on a wooden bench smoking a pipe.
‘I’m going out,’ I tell him in my best lady of the house voice.
I see his eyes rove over my body. I’ve put the blouse back on to cover my breasts but my sex is bare under the corset and my stockings are soaked where my pussy has been drooling on them for the last two hours.
I hope the pipe smoke has blunted his sense of smell.
‘Very good madam,’ he says, his expression remaining neutral as he takes the pipe from his mouth.
‘I’ll take the er…dog with me,’ I say, indicating Tiffany.
He nods and leans down, freeing Tiffany’s ankles and then her wrists. She kneels up, her hands going down onto her thighs to allow him to remove her muzzle leaving her in just a wide black leather collar. I watch as he strokes her red hair and then she drops to all fours, her voluptuous body shimmering for a moment until I can see only a large wolf. Her fur, I see in the daylight, had a hint of red.
‘Come on, Tiff,’ I say.
She nuzzles Jenkins’s thigh and then turns to follow me out into the hallway. I unbolt the front door and, as we leave, I hear Tiffany give a soft whine. I’m sure there’s an answering one from the kitchen then we are out into the afternoon sun. It’s a warm day for late fall. We walk past the graveyard and into the dark wood. It’s definitely not as scary in daylight. Tiffany pads beside me and I can’t resist running my fingers through her fur.
She brushes her body against mine. In the light, her fur is redder.
‘We’re collecting herbs,’ I tell her, ‘for a spell that opens a portal so that…’ Even as I say it, it sounds ridiculous.
Beside me, Tiffany’s form shimmers and a moment later, she is there; all buxom redheaded five foot nothing of her.
She sniffs theatrically. ‘Someone’s had a good time.’
I glance at her. ‘I’m not the only one.’
Tiffany frowns.
‘You have dried cum on your chin…muzzle…whatever.’
‘Yeah, I probably do,’ she laughs. ‘It’s not the only place,’ she says in a slightly lower voice. ‘He’s hung like a fucking donkey. Well…wolf, whatever.’
‘You don’t mind being a werewolf then.’
‘Fuck no! Not if they have that much stamina.’ She pauses. ‘And I don’t have to worry about clothes.’
‘I had a bit of an accident.’ I say trying to hide my blushes at being out like this in no skirt or knickers..
We walk on in silence.
‘Charlotte?’ She stops and I turn to look at her. She always calls me Charlotte, never Charlie. ‘You know before…’
‘Before when you were chasing me and trying to rip my throat out.’ I can’t resist it, she winds me up for some reason. I mean, I’m promiscuous but she’s a complete slut.
Actually, we’re not very different in that respect and I’m beginning to understand why she does it.
‘I meant when you said I shouldn’t go down because…’ She’s said ‘go down’ freely enough but she can’t bring herself to complete the sentence.
‘You lack self confidence?’ I ask, needling her again.
‘Look, forget it.’ She starts to change back into a wolf.
I watch. I can be a real privileged bitch sometimes. I watch as she pads ahead of me.
‘For the record…’ I call out. ‘Yes, you are fucking gorgeous. You have great tits and I wish I had hair like yours.’
She turns, circling me, sniffing.
‘And I’m not just saying that because you could rip me apart.’
She nuzzles me.
‘Don’t go getting any ideas,’ I tell her, pushing her snout away and suppressing my ego with an effort almost as large as the one which stopped me winding the machine by three turns. ‘But I would like to be friends.’
And there is Tiffany standing in front of me, stark naked aside from her collar, her face covered in a grin so wide I’m worried her face will crack.
‘You’re not so bad yourself, Charlie,’ she says. ‘Though I think you're just as much of a slut as I am.’
I can’t help grinning back. ‘Well, before you sweet talk your way into my bed, we have some herbs to find.’
‘You’re really going to do magic?’ she asks. ‘Are you a witch or something?’
‘No but I found a spell book,’ I tell her. ‘And the spell needs herbs which I’m hoping you can help me find.’ I show her the herb book which she studies carefully for a few moments.
‘Put it on the ground,’ she says and then she shimmers and changes again.
I place the book down open at the page describing belladonna. She lowers her snout, sniffs and then lifts her head, sniffing the air.
Then, she’s off.
We arrive back with a basket full of the ingredients for my spell and I’m not too surprised whenTiffany slinks off to the kitchen. It’s close to sundown, the sky is turning red and I have a feeling things are going to start happening soon. There’s one thing I’m very much hoping will happen and my first job is to crush the belladonna. Then I take a knife and make a cut on the tip of my finger, squeezing it to drop blood into a bowl. The book says that I could take the belladonna myself like Edie did and let the Vampyr bite me. The approach I’m using seems safer on two counts - which has to be a first for Charlotte.
There’s a lamp like the one I took into the cellar on the windowsill and I light it. Then I go down to the cellar. This is partly to retrieve my skirt and my boots. It’s one thing to walk out in the afternoon with nothing below my waist but I don’t want to be stumbling around in the dark, running from ghosts and ghouls and things that go bump in the night with nothing on my pussy or my feet. I can’t help smiling when I realise the cellar no longer smells stale and dusty, it smells of me.
The machine is there just as I left it and I’m tempted. Just a half turn, perhaps.
I steel my resolve and retrieve my skirt and boots, dressing again. I might even pass for a respectable lady again.
I pick up the leather straight jacket too.
So far, so good.
The study’s getting dark when I return and begin to chop and grind the other herbs. Jonathan must have dabbled in magic because there is a mortar and pestle in his desk along with a variety of other ingredients I’ve noticed mentioned in spells. He must have been really frustrated at not being able to escape even though Edie clearly wanted to stay. I wonder if I might actually prefer to stay.
Of course I don’t. I’ve been kidnapped and imprisoned and…endured relentless sexual stimulation. Besides, I can fuck Izzy when we get out.
I am hot to see what it’s like with a Vampyr though.
The tap on the window makes me jump.
I turn and see a pale face at the window and that makes me jump some more.
It’s her.
My hot Vampyr date.
I take off the crucifix and go to the French windows and undo them. I know I’m safe, she can’t come in unless I invite her.
She regards me warily…hungrily.
She doesn’t look well; pale, obviously, but sunken eyes, something about her demeanour, hunched but somehow predatory. A scavenger rather than a predator.
‘Hungry…’ she says, her voice hoarse, a low hiss in her throat.
I hold out the bowl with the blood and the belladonna in and she takes it warily, sniffing it.
‘Take this and you can have more.’
She clearly senses a trick but the blood proves too much and I watch as she licks the bowl. There isn’t much blood but the effect is immediate, her eyes shine darkly and her face takes on a strange pale glow, the predator is back.
‘Thank you.’ She hands me back the bowl and I know she’s waiting for me to take it so she can grab my arm and drag me out to feed.
‘With this I bind you,’ I say, recalling the spoken cantrip for completing the spell.
She hisses and her body shakes violently, something like a shiver or a shudder but far more powerful.
It’s time to test how effective my first magic spell has been.
‘Take your clothes off.’
She looks at me with a faint smile and then begins to undress.
I missed her striptease in the theatre, I was a little tied up but this is worth the wait. I see her unbuckle her corset and then slide out of her skirt. It seems Vampyrs in these parts go commando too. Then she peels off the camisole leaving just the stockings and boots.
‘That’s enough.’ I say and she looks oddly coy, standing there, her breasts and sex bare, those long dancer’s legs outlined by slutty fishnets.
‘You can come inside,’ I tell her. ‘But you must wear this.’ I hold up the leather straight jacket and she regards it with a smile playing on her lips.
‘It won’t hold me,’ she says.
‘It will, while you are bound to me.’
‘Belladonna,’ she grins. ‘Clever.’ The smile fades. ‘But is it enough?’
I toss her the jacket and she slides her arms into it then turns so I can tighten the straps across the back. I can’t suppress a shudder as I begin to buckle the straps, that slender body, the skin so pale, the dark hair I sweep aside at her neck, the curve of her bottom. As I work down the buckles, I notice something that I didn’t before; the jacket has been repaired as if the stitching has been torn. I wish I’d noticed this before. I hope whoever repaired it did a good job.
‘Not going to do it all up?’ she asks mischievously when the jacket is snug and there’s just the crotch strap to secure before doing her arms.
‘Maybe I will.’ I squat and reach between her legs to grasp the strap and at that moment, she turns faster than I would have thought possible and before I know it, she’s crouching over me, one arm pinning me with a strength I would not have thought possible and the other has swept my hair aside leaving her mouth is poised over my neck. If she was alive, I would be able to feel her breath.
I know I am beaten. I can see that I've reached too far across the threshold. I’m outside, in her world.
‘Don’t let your arrogance betray you,’ she says. Then she releases me.
I stand, flustered. ‘I’m not arrogant,’ I snap.
She turns and looks at me with those dark eyes as if she is probing me, judging me. I’ve seen that gaze before, that look Isabel gives me when I’ve got away with something I shouldn’t have.
Charlotte always gets what Charlotte wants.
There’s just a hint of amusement, a mocking lift of an eyebrow that is exquisitely nuanced. It’s odd the real Isabel’s face would be a complex mask of controlled emotions at moments like this and yet here, where she’s clinically dead she seems capable of almost impossible subtlety. Perhaps it’s a power thing. If we were a couple (and, yes, I’ve thought about this a lot) I’ve always assumed I would be the dominant one. Now I’m not so sure. She might be the one in the straight jacket but if she can really shred the heavy leather and I haven’t given her enough belladonna, I’m completely at her mercy once she comes inside.
‘Turn round,’ I command in a voice I use for my subs.
She obeys but I’ve no idea how much control I really have. She could just be doing this to humour me. I pull her arms tight into her belly, wrapping them around and tightening the heavy roller buckles as much as I am able. I can see that one of the buckles has been straightened, the other has been replaced.
She turns and walks into the house.
I did say she could do it if she wore the jacket.
The heels of her boots clunk on the wooden floorboards of the study.
‘Nice place.’ She saunters round admiring the hallway as if she wasn’t half naked and strapped into a straight jacket with her breasts bare. Then she turns. ‘So are we getting out or have you been frittering the day away?’
I stare at her. ‘Arrogant'! ‘Frittering the day away’!
‘Look Iz…’ I draw myself up to give a lecture about how I might be the blonde bimbo of the team but I can pull my weight.
‘You’ve clearly been enjoying yourself,’ she says.
‘I…’
‘I can smell it.’ She regards me suspiciously.
Is she jealous?
I can’t stop myself, blushing. ‘There’s a machine in the basement…’
‘Just a machine?’
She is jealous!
‘Just a machine, yes.’ I reassure her. ‘And, yes, I have a plan to get us out.’
‘I expected no less.’ She walks towards me. ‘And, this plan. When does it start?’
‘Around midnight.’
It’s not the whole truth; the cantrip will work at any time tonight; ‘a time when the veil between worlds is thin’: i.e. Halloween.
‘Midnight.’ She smiles. ‘So we have some time to kill.’ She steps closer. ‘Or I could just feast on you now.’
‘Iz…’ I take a step back. This really isn’t how I imagined it would go. ‘I bound you.’
‘But you didn’t say I couldn’t drink from you.’ That judging eyebrow lifts again. ‘Attention to detail, Charlotte.’
‘You are forbidden to drink from me,’ I say hastily.
‘Nice.’ She grins. ‘Am I allowed to fuck you?’ Another step. We’re almost face to face now.
‘That…’ I swallow. ‘Would be acceptable.’ I look back into her eyes, then my gaze drifts down to her breasts; so beautiful, so pale, globes of soft cool flesh I just want to touch; dark nipples I want to kiss and bite and…
‘You can be very shallow sometimes, Charlotte.’
‘What…I…!’
‘And careless…’
This really wasn’t what I imagined at all.
There’s a tearing sound, the buckling of metal and suddenly Isabel’s arms are free of her sides and a moment later she’s ripped the jacket off and has me bent over the desk, her body pressed against mine.
‘I forbade you to feast on me…’ I cry out, fear rising inside me.
‘But you said I could fuck you.’ Her mouth…teeth…fangs are grazing my neck. ‘And we Vampyrs do have other needs.’ She licks my neck; the coolness of her tongue is odd. Then sniffs. ‘Ectoplasm?’ She looks at my blouse. ‘You have had an interesting day.’
That’s the Isabel I know and love! She has me exactly where she wants me and she’s distracted by some curiosity.
In any other situation, I’d probably shout ‘bite me’ but she gets the message anyway and in a moment has shredded my blouse. Her cool fingers trace momentarily across one of my breasts, the nail grazing my nipple which responds so obviously I blush. I see her smile. She’s all predator now. Then she rips away my skirt. The smile broadens and she traces her fingers over my pubic hair.
‘I’ve never seen you like this,’ she says, ‘it feels nice.’
I shudder but it has nothing to do with fear.
‘Where’s the bedroom?’ She asks. ‘Or should I tie you to the chaise longue.’
‘Upstairs,’ I manage to gasp.
‘Then what are we waiting for?’ She sweeps me up in her arms and carries me through the door and up the stairs as if I weighed nothing.
I direct her to the second floor. Scooter girl is still there, squeaking up and down but at the sight of one of the queens of the undead she backs off to give us room. Then my Vampyr lover kicks open the door of the master bedroom, my parents room, Edie and Jonathan’s room and throws me on the bed.
‘Are you sure you didn’t have too much fun today?’ Isabel looks at the ropes.
‘I’ve been waiting for someone,’ I tell her.
It takes her only a moment to bind me, spreading my limbs and tying the ropes and, without any supernatural strength I’m here for the duration.
This really wasn’t what I expected but I can’t help thinking of Edie and her Vampyr lover and, now that I think of it, the straight jacket was in the picture and, if I’d have looked closely, I probably would have seen it was torn.
I lie helpless as Isabel walks around the room looking at the pictures on the wall and pausing in front of the mirror. I watch her play with her hair.
‘Can you see yourself?’
She turns. ‘Oh, Charlotte, you’re so gullible sometimes.’
‘Iz…’
‘That’s what mistresses are for isn't it?’ She cuts me off again. Isabel never normally behaves like this. She might be fearless in the escape room and willing to engage in weighty debates at college but socially…socially she’s…inept.
Beautifully, adorably, frustratingly inept.
Sometimes I want to put her on strings like a puppet and help her.
‘Mistresses?’
‘As in I’m your mistress and you’re tied to the bed. Isn’t it my job to tease you, humiliate you, make you beg?’ She plays with one of the little fingerless gloves. ‘You know it’s what you want.’ She pulls off the glove. ‘Which reminds me, have you been spanked?’
‘The machine…’ I say.
‘Oh yes.’ She pulls off the other glove. ‘The one in the basement.’
Suddenly, she’s sitting next to me, perched on the bed. I barely saw her move.
‘Have you been a naughty girl, Charlotte?’ She asks, regarding me with those dark eyes. ‘Have you?’ The tip of her finger touches my chest under the collarbone. ‘Do I need to punish you?’ That finger starts to trace down onto my breast. ‘Does Isabel need to punish naughty Charlotte for being a bad girl.’
I shudder as I wonder what dominant Vampyrs do to submissive mortal girls.
I swallow. ‘I’ve been a very naughty girl, Mistress.’
‘And while you were being a naughty girl were you thinking about Isabel? Was naughty Charlotte playing with herself and fantasising about all the things she was going to do to little Isabel?’
That finger starts to circle my nipple.
‘Were you? Did Charlotte think about Isabel while she had her hand in her pussy.’
‘I was thinking of you.’ I gasp. That finger teasing my nipple is impossibly stimulating. ‘I…I came…’
‘Well, I think there’s little doubt about that.’ Isabel says. ‘You stink like bitch on heat.’
‘No…’
‘No, Mistress.’ Isabel punches my nipple.
‘No, Mistress, I mean I came to you while you were asleep.’ I look up at her, at that pale beautiful face. ‘I…I kissed you.’
That makes her smile.
‘What a naughty little sub you are, Charlotte.’
She bends and kisses my nipple and it’s like a shock, like I was back on the machine but a thousand times less painful and a thousand times more arousing. I think that if she kisses my nipple again I’m probably going to cum.
‘And did naughty Charlotte do anything else to little Isabel while she was asleep?’
I look up at her, my mouth open, my eyes wide.
‘I…’
‘You saw me all helpless and you didn’t take advantage of me?’ She says in a tone of innocent hurt.
‘I…’
‘It didn’t stop you back in the theatre, did it Charlotte?’
‘The theatre?’
Her gaze and that finger on my nipple is making it hard to concentrate, to think straight.
‘Back in the theatre, naughty dominant Charlotte tied poor little Isabel up and made her do all kinds of unspeakable things. Helpless, she was, little Isabel, tied up so tightly she could barely move, and naughty Charlotte teased her and made her lick her out and put all kinds of toys inside her.’
‘But you…you enjoyed it.’
‘Oh, yes.’ She smiles. ‘Every second. And now I’m going to enjoy every second of dominating you, of making you squirm and beg and cum until even that slutty body of yours can’t cum again.’
‘I could…’ I say, surrendering to the inevitable, my hand clutching at the sheet and twisting it as I arch up and offer her my helper's body, ‘take that as a challenge.’
Her smile broadens.
The next few hours pass in a blur of hereto unimagined, unbelievable sexual arousal. Rather than the chill of her touch cooling me, it seems to excite me so that the unexpected arousal of her cool finger teasing my nipple and the electric excitement of her kiss seems like nothing compared to the power she has to tease me.
She is unhurried in her teasing, touching me, lingeringly, kissing me gently in a way that leaves me urgently desiring more. My first orgasm rocks the huge heavy bed and I’m soon begging for a second. It doesn’t take her long to make me tell her about the stash of sex toys in the chest in the cellar and with inhuman speed I find myself bound facing one of the posts of the bed, blindfolded as she leaves me hot and panting and eager for her return. Despite the fog of my arousal, I can’t shut out the sound of the little girl, the squeak of her scooter in the passageway beyond and the fear that now I cannot run if she comes and that she can drag me down into the dark cold depths in which she dwells.
When the door opens again and I feel a chill hand on my body I scream.
But it is Isabel.
‘You missed me, then?’
‘Yes, Mistress.’ I gasp. ‘Please don’t leave me alone again.’
‘But what about dawn?’ She chides, her fingers caressing my back, running down my spine in a way that makes me whimper with delight. ‘I will have to leave you then. Unless…’
She leaves the word hanging.
‘You do still want us to be together, don’t you Charlotte?’ Her hand is cool on my bottom that is still red and sore from my spanking at the hands of the machine. She caresses me gently, her fingers exciting me, making me want more. ’Together for eternity.’
Something, her teeth, I think graze my neck.
‘Together…’ I say.
‘A conversation for later,’ she says. ‘But first, naughty Charlotte needs to be spanked?’
‘Yes, Mistress.’
I jump again as something slaps against my bottom.
I hear a soft hiss. ‘You’ve no idea how much it excites me to have you in my power like this,’ she says. She slaps my bottom again. ‘The beautiful, dominant, desirable Charlotte Scarlet reduced to a whimpering sex toy.’
Slap.
Even when she spanks my sore, aching bottom my body responds, my arousal building. At some point, I cum, then I cum again.
‘No more please…’ I whimper. ‘I can’t take any more.’ I know I’m crying, crying with pain even as my body craves more.
‘No more?’ She barks a laugh. ‘We’ve barely started.’
‘Please, mistress…’
She presses her body against me, the coolness of her loins calming the burning in my bottom and her nipples…like sharp points of ice against my shoulder blades. Her hands come to my breasts, fingers teasing my nipples.
‘Let me please you.’ I gasp as fresh arousal kindles inside me. I swear I’ll die or have a heart attack for something if I’m made to cum again now.
‘What a good little sub you are.’ She pinches my nipples gently. ‘But I’m coming back to these.’
In a moment I am on my belly on the bed in a hogtie. There’s no laborious tying, she moves with impossible speed, the ropes seem to just appear on my body and, as she removes my blindfold I see her sitting among the pillows, her legs spread, her pussy gaping.
‘Come along then, slave.’ She says. ‘Put that hot tongue of yours in mistress’ pussy and show her how much you love her.’
‘Yes, Mistress.’
I’m a gymnast but the hogtie is brutally tight so that I can barely move and my back is arched so far back that I think I might snap my spine if I put any more strain onto it. However, Mistress has commanded and Charlotte obeys. Inch by painstaking inch I grovel forward and my belly, the ropes binding me digging into my flesh making each moment an agony; there are ropes around every part of me, my thighs, my calfs, my breasts, between my legs, there is even one around my neck that is just a little too tight.
Fear spikes along with my arousal.
Finally, I reach her, panting hard from the exertion as helpless in her power as I’ve ever been. I look up and meet that dark gaze and then I lower my head and push out my tongue; shocked and excited by the chill of her body.
It is a strange sensation, almost unpleasant. Her pussy is cold but it is as if I can feel her arousal, as if she is sharing it with me and I begin to wonder if that is what has been happening while she has teased me to repeated orgasms. Has she been vicariously experiencing the pleasure she has brought me? Has her arousal touched me? I have enjoyed this symbiosis to some degree with my favourite subs, finding myself close to orgasm as they squirm and beg for Mistress Charlotte’s touch.
My suspicions are confirmed when she climaxes; her body shuddering, convulsing, a howl escaping her lips and it is as if her pleasure is transferred to me so that I feel myself climax, helpless in the impossibly tight hogtie.
Or maybe it’s the knotted crotchrope.
We lie for some time until my body begins to scream for release.
‘Please, Mistress…’ I beg, ‘untie me.’
‘Of course,’ she says with a feral grin. ‘But I haven’t forgotten what I’m going to do to your nipples.’
I am bound with my arms behind my back strung up towards the canopy of the bed and my legs spread wide, a position that leaves me completely vulnerable. I’m not sure I can cope with another spanking but I really haven’t got any choice. Even for the seconds I’m free I have no hope of escape or even defending myself.
Isabel lies beneath me, looking up at me, her fingers toying with my nipples.
‘This is unfair,’ I tell her, ‘when do I get to play with yours?’
She half sits up and guides my lips to her right nipple. It’s like having an ice cube in my mouth - rock hard, literally; but then when I lick it, I feel it respond.
‘Careful,’ she warns, ‘you wouldn’t want to cut your tongue and bleed everywhere.’
‘You can, if you want to,’ I say, ‘you can feed from me.’ It’s partly that I’m too exhausted to care and partly that I never want this to stop. I want to be Isabel’s submissive sex toy forever.
‘Perhaps I will feed later,’ she says, lying back and stretching her arms above her head and I look down at her pale and beautiful.
When we get out, I’m going to reenact this scene with her in bondage and me lying looking up at her helpless body or maybe we will both be bound to the bed and we’ll have to squirm and struggle to touch and lick and play with each others’ bodies.
‘I haven’t forgotten about torturing your nipples,’ she says, looking at me then at my breasts. ‘You left mine bruised back in the theatre.’
I did.
She rolls off the bed and retrieves two wooden clothes pegs from the chest. I have a pretty good idea they have been used before. She lies down again underneath me and eases the first one open. They’re the old-fashioned sort, a split cylinder of wood.
‘Owww!’
They’re also extremely tight.
She flicks them.
‘Owww!’
‘Shall we see what else is in the box?’
‘Please, Iz…Mistress, they really hurt.’
‘Then we’d better find something to take your mind off them.’
I grit my teeth.
How can she be so dominant?
‘Ohhh!’ I gasp.
‘Does that help?’ she asks.
‘It’s certainly…taking my mind off… Oh, god.’
‘Your Christian god has nothing to do with it.’ She pulls her finger out of my ass. ‘And I recall you used a strap on me in the theatre that was a lot bigger than my finger.’
‘Yes, Mistress.’
‘Good girl. You’re learning.’
I hear her rummaging in the chest.
‘There doesn’t seem to be any lube,’ she tells me. ‘Shame.’
She doesn’t sound disappointed.
‘But there’s plenty here.’ She rubs something cold and hard on my sex. It might be part of her but it’s probably something worse. I don’t get that tingle.
Then it goes in. I’ve taken butt plugs before but this one feels huge and when I’ve just managed the first part, there’s another bump.
I try not to scream.
‘There,’ Isabel says, ‘that should take your mind off your nipples.’
I let out a little whimper and then everything changes as she presses herself against me, against my bottom, pushing the plug harder against my straining sphincter but it doesn’t matter anymore, neither does the pain in my nipples because her fingers are between my legs and the feeling is just as electric as when she touched my nipples except that it’s ten times as strong and I climax almost instantly.
‘You’re supposed to ask permission,’ she says as I hang, gasping from my bound wrists because my legs have buckled.
‘Yes…Mistress, may I…’
She touches me again between the legs and I climax again.
‘You really are a very naughty girl,’ she chides. ‘I’m going to have to punish you later.’
‘Yes…’ I can barely speak and I just give a little gasp as she bumps herself against my bottom and the butt plug jerks in another notch. Then I whimper as she flicks the pegs on my nipples.
Some time later, I am lying on my side next to her. We are both completely naked now. My wrists are bound behind me and my ankles are crossed and tied together. It’s probably the most freedom I have had all evening and yet I can barely move, I am so exhausted. She’s teasing my nipples again with her finger, apparently insatiable and I know that if she demands it, my body will respond.
In the distance, a clock chimes and we both count it as we gaze into each others’ eyes.
…nine…ten…eleven.
‘Time to go then,’ Isabel says with a sadness that is reflected in her pale face and dark eyes.
‘We could stay,’ I say, ‘we did it before.’
‘Tiffany would be really pissed if we did it again. Where is our slutty little pet anyway?’
‘Don’t be mean.’ I tell her but then I laugh. ‘The butler’s a werewolf too and, as far as I can tell, they’ve been enjoying hot sex and bottom sniffing.’
‘Maybe she’d want to stay.’ There’s a reticence in Isabel's manner, a reluctance to move. There’s more too. She’s tired. That same dark eyed, sunken look she had before.
‘You need to feed,’ I say, gently. ‘I’ve given you permission.’
‘I’ve always had permission.’ She says with a slight laugh. ‘That belladonna stuff is bollocks. Made up by Vampyrs to trick the unwary.’
‘You mean…?’
‘Yes, I could have drained you dry any time I chose.’
‘I think you may have done that already.’ I force a slight laugh. ‘I’m only mortal, remember?’
‘At least one of us should be on top of our game when we put this plan of yours into action,’ she says. ‘I do need to get my strength up. It’s probably going to be interesting out there.’
She rolls me over and I’m surprised when she frees my wrists.
‘Aren’t you going to keep me tied up?’
‘There’s no need. Besides, I don’t want you saying I took advantage of you.’
I laugh although there is no irony in her tone.
She sits up and rests with her back on the pillows then pulls me up so that I’m lying between her legs, my back against her chest.
‘Your nipples are still hard,’ I complain as they dig into my back.
‘So are yours.’ She teases my right nipple and while I can’t help my libido responding to her touch and I wince because it throbs after all the abuse it’s suffered.
‘Ready?’
I tip my head to the side and feel a stab of cold pain in my neck.
It is an odd sensation, having your blood drained, it’s a little like that sensation you get by standing up too quickly. I’ve given blood before, most students have but they don’t take it quite as quickly or nearly as much. It’s not completely unpleasant but I wouldn’t want to go through it again - though I realise I may not get the chance. I know it’s Isabel and I trust her but she’s also a Vampyr and…
At some point I do the girly thing and swoon.
I awake with a jerk and an acrid taste in my throat, my eyes watering.
‘What the fuck?’
‘Smelling salts,’ Isabel says. ‘You have a treasure trove of archaic paraphernalia here.’
I push the bottle away and wipe away the tears that have blurred my vision.
‘Come on,’ she says, her voice bouncy with enthusiasm. ‘Time for you to get us out of here.’
There’s an irony here, not just because Isabel’s always in bed by midnight and that’s when Charlotte goes out but because she’s dead and vital I’m the opposite, I feel like I’ve run a marathon. My mouth is dry and I’m trying not to shiver. ’Don’t you want to go over my plan?’
‘I trust you,’ she says.
This really is a night to remember.
‘Besides, I’ve seen the spell book and the herbs.’ She grins. ‘It’s a good plan.’ She passes me a bottle. ‘Drink this.’
‘What is it?’
‘It will make you feel better.’ She shrugs. ‘That’s what the book on herbs said, anyway.’
I take a sip and pull a face. ‘This is disgusting.’
‘Must be doing you good then.’
I force it down and it does make me feel better.
‘Come on.’
‘Clothes?’
‘Who needs clothes.’ She’s up, almost dancing round the room.
‘Some of us might feel the cold,’ I say.
‘You’ll be fine,’ she says. ‘Witches’ clothes always catch fire when they cast spells.’ She shrugs again. ‘At least they do in all the fantasy books I’ve read.’
‘Alright. Let me just get my stuff.’
She nods.
‘You go and find Tiff, she’s probably down in the servant’s quarters off the hallway.’
We go out into the hall. There’s no ghostly little girl now and I can’t help wondering where she is although I’m fairly sure I know the answer.
Downstairs I go to the study and pick up my spell book and the bag of herbs. Jonathan’s haversack is hanging on the back of the door and go to stuff them in there but I notice there is already something inside. A wooden stake. It definitely wasn’t in there before.
Perhaps it’s a clue, perhaps it will be useful though I’d better not let Isabel know I’ve got it. I put it back in the bag and then stuff the herbs and the book on top of them.
I’m going out there with a werewolf, a Vampyr and a minor demon. I should be safe but the Chekov on the wall draws my attention.
That’s got to be a clue.
I take it down and rummage in the desk for the ammunition.
There’s something different. Maybe Isabel moved stuff when she came in here. The journals have been disturbed and Jonathan’s has been left open at the last entry.
And it’s been updated!
‘She has been turned,’ it says, ‘my Edie under the spell of that abomination.’
I guess that explains the stake.
Edie’s journal is there too. I open it at the last page.
‘I buried Jonathan today. I suppose such loss is the price for this immortality. He never understood why I could not leave this place and I know I was cruel to deceive him.’
Isabel is waiting in the hall when I emerge from the study. She looks at the shotgun. ‘I will protect you,’ she says.
‘We’ll do it together,’ I say, pushing two cartridges into the breech and locking the barrel. ‘A girl never knows when she might have to defend herself.’ I think of the stake in the bag. Then I whistle and our pet werewolf emerges, not padding on all fours but in glorious buxom human form. She’s naked save her collar.
‘I’m keeping it as a souvenir,’ she says, touching it fondly. ‘I’m going to miss this place.’
I see her appraising me, see her eyes go to my breasts and my bruised nipples and take in the rope burns on my body; then they go to the side of my neck and I see a tightness around her mouth.
‘Shall we go?’ I say quickly, unbolting the door and pulling it open.
Outside, the world has changed. Beneath the light of the full moon, it is clear the dead have indeed arisen according to the poetic prophecy. I see ghostly apparitions in the yard in front of the house, the girl on the scooter is there; there are other children with her. They appear to be playing hopscotch and, as we emerge onto the porch they stop and look at us, white parodies of faces with dark black holes for eyes. I recall my encounter with the girl and try not to shiver.
Why are ghostly children so terrifying?
There’s a flap of leather wings and Pryia drops from the skies to perch on the rail of the porch.
‘Well,’ she says, ‘the gang’s all here.’
Beyond the ghostly children are other shapes moving among the trees, more ghosts and other things; lumbering creatures and oily black shapes that do not drift like ghosts but move like those amoebas they made us look at down microscopes in high school.
I slip the safety off the shotgun. ‘Ready?’
‘I’m immortal,’ Isabel says, flashing me her fangs, ‘I’m eternally ready.’
‘As I’ll ever be.’ Tiffany’s form shimmers as she jumps from the porch, changing in mid-leap into the dark wolf. Isabel is just behind, transforming herself into a black dog as she runs towards the ghostly children. They scatter, shrieking but then turning as they reach the edge of the yard, seeming to grow in size, swooping in towards Isabel followed by more white shadows that are not quite human. There are so many of them, I think I can feel the chill they emit even across the yard and I know they are seeking warmth from those of us that are still living. However, they must get past my undead protector before they can draw on my body’s warmth.
There are other shapes emerging from the trees now, lumbering human shapes. I’ve seen enough horror films to know a zombie when I see one. They are even more terrifying close up, with their torn, rotting flesh, their sores and the holes where they have lost noses or eyes; missing jaws, amputated limbs. And the stench…Tiffany runs at them, leaping on the largest one at the front knocking it to the ground and tearing at it with her claws and teeth. Priya comes behind her swooping over her, wings outstretched, her claws scything at the lumbering bodies, the spikes on her wings ripping at them.
I step off the porch. Isabel, pale and humanoid now, if not human, is dancing among the ghostly forms, adults and children alike, her fists puncturing them shredding them to wisps of mist but for every one that vanishes on the wind another two seem to appear.
Priya and Tiffany are cutting a swath through the zombies but more are coming, stepping around them, slow, lumbering but inexorable. I raise the Chekov, fire at the nearest, the shot shredding its body in a shower of stinking flesh and congealed blood. I fire again and the head of the next one explodes. I break the Chekov at the breech and reload.
Fire again, advancing towards the tree line.
I know I should be terrified but, somehow, I’m not. I’m exhilarated.
To my right, Isabel is surrounded by a cloud of swirling shapes and I wonder that she can overcome them. I feel a pricking sensation in my neck. Let’s hope she drank enough. Then, suddenly, dark shapes burst from the cloud around her; bats, driving through the ghostly shapes and scattering them to wisps.
Something brushes my shoulder and I turn. It is a zombie and it…she, I think, has just raked her nails across my skin. I am bleeding.
I’ve played enough shoot-em-ups with my brother to know what happens if you’re wounded by a zombie.
With grim resolution, I wonder how long it takes in this place.
Then I blast her to pieces with the Chekov and reload.
We make it into the trees where darker shapes lurk, Tiffany ahead, snarling and leaping at zombies, Isabel dispelling ghosts as if they are no more than puffs of smoke; and Priya soaring above us.
It seemed a long way when we climbed to the manse the day before but we are going downhill now and I find I’m barely out of breath as I jog behind the others, shotgun in hand firing at any enemies my squad miss. If I was worried about being cold and frightened, I’m not, just high on the adrenaline of it all.
Then one of the oily black shapes rears up in front of us, it’s like standing under an oncoming tsunami, huge and overwhelming and it’s about to break over me but suddenly, Priya is there, speeding into it, wings outstretched and the tidal wave seems to hover, frozen; then the two are fighting, Priya clawing and biting and slashing with her tail and the strange monster wrapping itself around her, grasping her with tentacles or pseudopodia or whatever it’s limbs are called. I stop, they are directly in front of me and I can’t help wishing I’d been some sort of queen of the night as well with superpowers. I glance at the zombie wound on the shoulder. It’s not obviously spreading. Maybe I am a witch. Maybe if I’d spent the day doing more reading I’d have learned some useful spells. But that’s just the way I am and I have had a hell of a day.
I lift the shotgun but I don’t think it will harm the creature and it might harm Priya. I start to move around them, taking out my frustration on a passing zombie with both barrels.
Then she’s in front of me. A pale figure.
A Vampyr.
Not isabel.
Edie?
I might be her great granddaughter but the kiss she’s about to give me isn’t going to be a fond one. She leaps on me and she’s as quick as Isabel but somehow I manage to catch her with the butt of the Chekov and knock her to one side where she lands and rolls and turns into a huge black dog. I can’t stop her this time. She’s as strong as Isabel and she knocks me to the ground, crouching over me, holding me down with her weight and her supernatural strength. I’ve dropped the shotgun and it’s just out of my reach. Even if I could reach it, what would I do? I grab at her neck trying to keep her jaws away from my face, my neck.
Then the world explodes and heat rolls across my skin and I look up to see Priya bathed in a a ball of fire. The black creature has been scattered, dispelled in flames and all around it the trees are burning.
Priya gives a scream that is pure exultation emerging from the fire to soar above me.
Crouching on top of me, Edie has taken more of a blow from the explosion than I have. She’s back in human form and I take the opportunity to grab the Chekov and hit her with it as hard as I can. She rolls off me and I spring to my feet, pulling off the haversack and taking out the stake. Then I drop beside her and plunge it into her chest.
I howl too, thrilled by this victory.
Fuck I love this place.
A hand on my shoulder makes me jump.
‘Charlie?’
I look up to see Isabel standing over me.
‘Remind me never to get on the wrong side of you,’ she says with a slight smile. ‘Come on, we’re nearly there.’
I stand and pick up the haversack. The forest is lit almost as bright as day by the burning trees around us. The heat is intense and we start to run. Whether it’s the fire or the fact we have defeated so many foes, nothing else bars our way and we burst into the clearing, Tiffany loping beside us and Priya soaring above.
I leap up onto the altar, pulling the bag of herbs from the haversack along with the spell book. In the distance, above the crackle and roar of the fire, I think I can hear the chimes of midnight. Pryia descends and my three supernatural companions form a cordon around me. The creatures of the night may not be attacking us any longer but they are still there, lurking in the trees around the clearing.
For the spell, I have to scatter the herbs on the altar and then rub them on my skin. I do this quickly, surprised that I’m not covered in scrapes and bruises. In fact the scratch from the zombie on my shoulder has almost healed; the bruises caused by Isabel and the machine have almost gone too.
Maybe I am a witch.
I open the spell book and call the others up onto the altar with me. Then I start to read the words. It’s weird, the words don’t mean anything to me but it’s almost as if I know how to pronounce them and it’s as if they will mean something to someone. I can hear them in my head and in the world around me, feel the alter resonating with them and when I reach the end I am suddenly alone in darkness and silence
Then there is a flash of light, blinding in the night and I cannot help but turn away to shield my eyes. When I look back, a rent is opening in the inky blue-blackness of the sky, the split in the fabric of reality; this reality, at least. Beyond I can see a figure: Kink. He’s wearing a long black coat and has his silver tipped cane under his arms and he’s wearing some sort of horned hat like a Viking - no, like a demon or devil. He’s applauding and around him I can see others, faces as if on thousands of screens; our audience presumably, here to witness our triumph, our escape; finally.
Kink is smiling and I see him glance over my head and I know he is looking at Priya who is standing behind me and then he beckons us, his eyes on mine.
I find I am crouching, Isabel’s arm is around me, protective, and I am aware that, oddly, she doesn’t feel cold anymore. I glance at Tiffany in human form again, crouching to my right and sense her desire to change.
‘You go, Iz,’ I say, breaking Kink’s gaze and turning to look at her, ‘you should lead us out.’
‘You did this, Charlie,’ Isabel says, her grip on me tightening. ‘You lead.’
I find I am oddly reluctant; here beside her, unwilling to break that connection we share.
‘Or we could stay.’ It is Priya who speaks and all three of us turn to look at her.
‘I’m just saying…’ She adds raising her hands defensively - an oddly jarring gesture given the power she wields and what she has just done in our flight through the forest.
'It is kinda fun here,’ Tiffany says.
She’s right, of course.
‘Go on, Iz,’ I say, but I know my voice lacks conviction.
‘We go together,’ Isabel says, ‘or we don’t go at all.’
‘Then let’s go.’ Tiffany stands but the rest of us stay still.
‘Oh, fine!’ Tiffany pouts, crossing her arms over her breasts.
‘Charlie?’ Isabel whispers quietly.
‘This really is much more fun than college,’ I say.
‘Tiff?’ Isabel looks up at her, and I sense her voluptuous form shimmer somewhere between human and lupine. ‘Where else can I be a horny fucking werewolf.’ She throws back her head and howls, her body changing to that of a huge wolf.
‘Priya?’
‘Oh, I’m having way too much fun to leave now.’ Priya spreads her wings and leaps into the air, her shadow passing across the moon.
‘Iz?’ I say. ‘What about you?’
‘I go where you go,’ she says, ‘and I stay where you stay.’
I slide my arm around her and hold her close. I feel the same.
‘Well?’ Kink’s face carries an amused expression although the faces around him display a mix of emotions.
Isabel stands. ‘Double or nothing,’ she says.
Kink smiles. ‘I think the budget will stretch to that. In fact, I’m already planning a second series.’
I watch the portal begin to shut.
‘Don’t think I’ll make it easy,’ Kink calls.
‘We’re counting on it,’ Isabel and I reply together.
And then the escape room door closes and Isabel and I look at each other.
Then Tiffany leaps from the stone altar in pursuit of a large black wolf and I watch for a moment as they lope off into the darkness.
Except it’s not dark, not to me. I can see into the trees, I can hear the sounds of nocturnal creatures, I can smell them on the breeze. Isabel isn’t cold anymore, neither is the stone beneath me and when I lift my hand to my neck there is no pulse.
‘Come on,’ Isabel says and even as she does so she begins to change into the huge black dog. I watch her leap down from the altar as I burst into a cloud of bats and follow her into the night.
THE END
Professor Kink’s Escape Room Challenge ‘Halloween Special’ starred:
Miss Isabel Schwarz as the Vampyr
Miss Charlotte Scarlet as the Wistful Maiden
Miss Priya Prince as the Succubus
Miss Tiffany Tease as the Werewolf
and
Professor Keith Kink as the Devil
other parts were played by members of the Escape Room team.
The series was devised and written by: thepinkbishop
Story consultant:
Sandra ‘Chastity Girl’
With special thanks to:
Faulkner G
Jessica D
Sarah S
Eugene N
Teann D
The series was edited by: Teann Daorsa
Professor Kink’s Escape Room Challenge Series 1 was a thepinkbishop production in association with Gromet’s Plaza.
Priya looks up, sniffing the air. She is crouched over a small deer, the last of its life ebbing as its blood soaks into the forest floor. There is fresh blood on her claws and it runs from the corner of her mouth.
‘By the pricking of my thumbs…’ she hisses, casting her gaze around, wary.
There is a higher predator than her lurking in the darkness.
‘Something wicked this way comes.’ Professor Keith Kink steps into the little clearing. He is wearing his devil costume, his long coat and the horns. Except he’s not.
‘Sir.’ Priya nods in welcome or is it deference and does she actually say ‘Sire.’?
Either way her wings flare, cowling over her kill, protecting it, crouching regarding him warily.
‘You did well, daughter of darkness.’ Kink smiles malevolently.
‘Thank you, Master.’ Priya tips her head to one side regarding him with a hint more welcome.
‘And good service deserves reward.’
‘Yes, Master.’ Priya lifts herself into a half crouch, folding her wings and crawls towards him dropping to her knees at his feet, her long dark hair pooling around his boots which give the curious impression of him having hooves.
She lifts her head and looks up. She can feel the heat radiating from his body as if fire is about to burst from him. The malevolent smile is back and the horns are glowing; she sees a tail flick, a barbed tail. He raises his arms; he holds a trident.
Fire erupts around them, engulfing them both.
Priya screams and Kink laughs.
When she awakes, Priya is lying on her back on the stone altar. No longer a succubus but Priya Prince, mortal once more, naked and chained helplessly, arms and legs spread and the creature that was Kink crouches over her. His clothes are gone and flames wreathe his muscular torso; the horns are still there and the tail flicks behind him, there are wings too, leathery bat-like wings and he does have the lower half of a goat.
A very well endowed goat.
Priya writhes in the ecstasy of the bondage and lifts her hips offering herself to him.