Part 5
The streets were deserted and thoroughly damp from the heavy fog that
swirled around me. Under the first streetlight (noting that this hamlet
was backward enough to still employ oil lamps), I took out the amulet, and
circled the carving on the back with my finger. Zip! The corset
tightened itself once more.
I resumed my leisurely stroll, revelling in my secret pleasure, while the
rods danced and wiggled silently within me. At each corner, I would take
out the amulet and trigger the magic (as I now thought of it), accepting
the changes one by one, each difference making it that much more difficult
to continue my constitutional. Once or twice I heard the footsteps of
some other somnambulist, perhaps a policeman (did this town even have
policemen?) or a shopkeeper up late at the towns one and only pub. But
in each case I merely held still away from the lights, and allowed the
enveloping fog to conceal my presence.
Eventually, I was back in the same situation I had experienced in my
room, not quite immobilized but hard pressed to set one foot in front of
the other, teetering on tiptoe, head held up high and stiff, staring
straight ahead.
I paused in the shadows alongside the library, wondering mischievously
what would happen if I were to continue tracing the circle of the amulet.
How far could this go? I ducked into the deeper darkness of the
adjoining alley.
It is said fools rush in where angels fear to tread.
I looked around the empty streets, assuring myself that I was well hidden
in the fog and shadows and quite alone. Then once again I set fingertip
to carving and circled the amulet.
This time a strange thing happened. The circles and runes began to glow
with an ethereal, flickering gold light, as if a handful of fireflies had
somehow been secreted inside. The corset contracted only slightly more
before it stopped, a fact of which I would have been glad had I been
aware of it, but my attention was elsewhere. For at the same time, the
"collar" which up to now had stopped at my jaw line, stretched itself like
a living thing up and over my face and head. At first I panicked, but it
quickly became apparent that I was not to smother, for my eyes and nose
were left uncovered. The rest of my head and neck was firmly encased in a
rigid coating of... whatever it was.
But the most distracting effect was a powerful throbbing which arose in
the rods within me bringing a flush to my face and a wash of heat
throughout my body.
After a moment, I got used to the lost mobility of my head, telling
myself that it was hardly different from the leather hoods I had made use
of in the past, simply more rigid and form fitting.
It was far more difficult to get used to the vibrations in my crotch, and
before long, they had me well beyond aroused, and the temptation to throw
caution to the wind, to let things take their "natural" course was simply
overwhelming. Obviously, there was no one about, what had I to fear? I
fully intended to consummate my adventure right then and there. Turning
my body this way and that, I peered about to make certain I remained
unseen. Then I deliberately held the amulet out in front of me so that
the garments tightened around my skin making me, if possible, even more
immobile.
Ah, heaven!
Unfortunately, as I said before, I tend to lose concentration when I
spend, and as I approached my first climax, I dropped the amulet.
Instantly I was transported, as the rods continued their mad wriggling
dance, but my clothing became so tight and stiff as to be nearly rigid.
I began to come in less than a minute, and I continued to climax
repeatedly thereafter, until I was near to screaming. It seemed that I
could not stop! I desperately needed a brief respite, but no rest was to
be mine, as I could not stoop to pick up the amulet. In fact, I could
not bend at all as I was held nearly rigid from bust to ankles. I
couldn't even see the thing from my position, since I was quite unable to
look down except with my eyes. In a red haze of lust, I struggled to
concentrate on my desperate situation, cautiously taking a few tiny steps
back until the amulet came into view. It seemed to take hours, and I fell
prey to another wave of spending before I had managed it. The amulet lay
in plain view of the sidewalk at the entrance to the alley, next to a
street drain.
That had been close! Now if only I could somehow pick it up before
someone happened along.
In desperation, I looked about the alley for some tool or implement I
could use to retrieve the amulet. There was nothing nearby. I teetered
on tiny mincing steps down the alley, resting a hand on one wall for
balance. Several yards down was a muck pile (reeking of spoiled
vegetables) behind a store, and a rake. Perfect!
It only took a few years to reach it. I took up the rake and slowly made
my way back to the mouth of the alley, my body threatening to betray me
with yet another paroxysm of pleasure at any moment. The vibration and
obscene squirming of the rods within me, combined with the incredibly
restrictive suit, boots, gloves, et al, was a combination that could only
have been devised by a fiend, and one which conspired to put me quite out
of my mind with wanton abandon. I stared at the amulet, which lay a few
yards from my feet, and tried to concentrate. Carefully, carefully, I
inched forward, the rake scraping the ground in front of me with a noise I
feared would bring constables from the next county. I planned to inch
forward until I heard or felt the amulet under the rake, then pull it up
within reach.
*tinkle*
Ah-hah! I pulled backward gradually, painstakingly, noticing as I did so
that the tension on my body was abating somewhat. It was going to work!
*tinkle-tinkle..PLOOP!*
The suit tightened around me like never before, and the rods literally
leaped inside, wriggling and shaking with renewed vigor. My heart hammered
within me as I sagged against the wall under this new onslaught. NO! How
could I have been so clumsy? I backed slowly down the alley, holding the
wall like a drunk just to keep from teetering over. (were I to fall, how
would I ever get up again?)
The grating came into view, and confirmed my worst fears. The amulet had
fallen into the drain and was irretrievably lost. Coherent thought
threatened to slip away entirely as I convulsed in another wave of
spending. I tried to shake off my body's betrayal, tried once more to
think. My only hope now was to get back into my room some how and cut the
clothes off.
Then my heart froze.
To my ears came the distinct sound of footsteps. As I listened they
grew louder, advancing down the street toward this very alley. In a blind
panic, I teetered further into the shadows of the alley, only just
remembering to take the rake with me. It was hard enough walking on those
towering heels with my feet on tip-toe, with almost no play allowed by the
skirt around my ankles, but to attempt to walk quickly, and without making
noise, was fruitless. I did the best I could, sure that I was making
enough racket to wake the dead.
I stopped when I came to a small service door, pressing myself into the
recess as best I could and trying to suppress the shaking which wracked my
body still. If only the damned fiendish clothes would let up for just a
minute!
The footsteps came closer, closer, until the mist-shrouded shadow of a
male figure appeared in the mouth of the alley. I held my breath (no easy
feat, since the corset left me precious little breath to spare) and prayed
I had not been heard. The shadow stopped. It turned, and appeared to
look right at me. Surely he could not see me through the pea soup which
surrounded us?
At that precise moment, a frightful yowl erupted from further down the
alley, accompanied by a clatter of rubbish bins. I started, and nearly
screamed before I recognized the sound, my heart pounding within my breast
like a trip hammer. I heard a low chuckle from the shadow at the street,
and he moved on, his footsteps quickly fading in the heavy fog.
I breathed a sigh of relief, and swore to which ever patron saint looks
after alley cats that they should enjoy my gratitude and protection
forever more.
Now back to my rooms? But it seemed certain that, in my current state,
I would not be able to regain the safety of my room at the hostel
without waking Mrs. Robson. I certainly didn't care to have her discover
me now, especially since I wasn't at all certain I could carry on an
intelligible conversation.
I was in a very nasty pickle. How was I to get these clothes off without
destroying them? What could I do? A moment's thought gave me what
seemed the only possible solution. I would have to return to the mansion
early, tonight, under cover of darkness. I had to assume that either the
room where I had first dressed was somehow enchanted, like the necklace,
enabling me to get out of these things, or I would have to pray that I
could find something in the house to cut them off of me. As wickedly
enjoyable as they were, I wasn't about to spend the rest of my life in
them, and I was certain that the incredible sensation coursing through me
then would not stay pleasurable forever!
Creeping to the mouth of the alley, I assured myself that the street was
indeed empty before making my slow and painstaking way to the stables.
This was no trivial journey, and I discovered just how late I had risen
when I saw the first pink tinges of sunrise coloring the east.
I was happy to find that the gentle gelding I had rented before was
still in the riding stables and not at pasture somewhere. The stable
door was unlocked. I felt like a thief, though I had little doubt he
would find his way back without difficulty. I searched through my hand
bag and found several pound notes which I left tucked into the stable
door as a "rental fee". If nothing else, it relieved my conscience
somewhat.
I had taken care of all of my personal arrangements that morning, with
the exception of the few things which I had just left in my rooms, which
included my beautiful new boots. I would just have to come back for them
later.
My next dilemma came when I tried to mount. It seemed impossible! I
had fitted him with a gentlemen's saddle, since a sidesaddle would have
been quite unmanageable under the circumstances. I found a mounting
block, though it was barely any help, and it took several tries to get me
up as well as semi-mounted. In the end, I discarded the saddle entirely
(enduring another laborious and distracting trip to return it to the tack
room). Finally, I ended up lying on my front, along the animal's back,
with my feet sticking out ridiculously behind. The poor horse seemed a
bit nervous about this, but extensive cooing and assurances from me seemed
to gentle him. By the time I managed to set out in the direction of the
mansion, I was very tired, and the sky was growing perilously light. It
was going to be a precarious ride since it was all I could do to maintain
my concentration as it was, and I had no desire to meet some early riser
on the road.
The ride to the manse was uneventful, although certainly a long and
entertaining one. I could not give the poor horse any commands other than
neck reining and vocal cues, and I didn't feel secure at anything faster
than a walk. I came three more times during the trip, and nearly fell off
on more than one occasion. I will not bore you dear reader, with the
prurient details, but suffice to say I was in a more than agitated state
by the time I once again stood upon the porch of Hargreaves Manor. I was
fortunate that not once had I seen anyone on the way, for the sun was
fully risen before I arrived. But as the first golden rays touched the
treetops above me, I was finally granted relief. Slowly, gradually, I
felt my clothing sliding and squirming around me, felt the compression
around my body relenting, and the rigid helmet slide from around my head
and neck. In mere moments, I found myself clad in the original version of
the attire I had first put on at the manse. Slowly, comprehension came.
These features only worked at night?!
Now I was convinced of magic, though it flew in the face of everything
I had been taught, everything I believed. I was grateful, nevertheless,
for I could at least finish my ride in relative security, and even a
modicum of comfort, and without assuming that ridiculous position. The
faint wiggling of the rods inside me might not have existed, in comparison
to the unnatural animated throbbing they had exhibited earlier. Finally,
I could relax.
When I reined in at the end of the drive, I left the horse untethered
as a precaution. It had not seemed disposed to wander on my last visit,
and considering the events of my previous stay, I was worried what would
happen to him if I didn't return when I expected to.
Once more I faced the huge white doors, my knees feeling none too stable,
not only because of the stimulating ride out, but because a part of me was
now willing to believe that Hargreaves Manor might actually be haunted.
By what, I was not yet prepared to guess.
I forced myself to grab one knob with a shaking hand and turn it slowly,
opening just the right hand door as I peeked inside.
I half expected to see the front hall decor changed yet again, but it was
now restored to the same state it had been in upon my first visit. That
is, ten statues lined the hallway, leading up to the grand staircase at
the far end. I shuddered. I was not dreaming. I knew full well that
those statues had been right there when I came in the first time, and had
been conspicuously absent when I had left. Who or what had moved them,
and why? For that matter, how? Although I could not tell what they were
carved from, their weight must surely have been considerable.
I stayed motionless for a time, drinking in the ambience of the mansion,
the dust-flecked beams of sunlight slicing in through the high windows
like shafts of ethereal amber. They looked almost solid enough to touch.
My hesitation was due in part to a feeling that I ought to proceed with
more care and deliberation on this trip, and partly for sheer rest.
Remember, every movement I made still resulted in the most delicious and
wicked thrills emanating from my sex and breasts, although I was largely
inured to such stimulation by that time.
Once again, I had the uncanny feeling that I was being watched, though my
powers of observation are usually quite keen and I felt certain I should
have spotted any spies. I peered around the hall, trying to see the place
as if for the first time, perhaps catch some detail I had missed on my
first visit. Well, there were the two side doors which I had previously
neglected. Shaking off the paranoia that threatened to grip me, I tried
the one on the left.
It opened onto a perfectly ordinary if quite opulent sitting room,
replete with a harpsichord or clavier in one corner. I closed that door
and tried the other. This one revealed a positively immense library, a
wealth of books in all sizes and shapes, that dwarfed any private
collection I had previously seen. This was more to my liking! I walked
up and down the stacks, which towered some 20 feet or more over my head,
taking care to walk around, rather than under, the rolling ladder. I have
never been superstitious, but after my recent experiences, I was
determined not to take the slightest chance.
It seemed that the librarian had had a preoccupation with erotica,
psychology, and the occult, as the vast majority of the collection was
dedicated to those subjects. I noted books of unusual construction and
garish coverings, titles both cherished and familiar (de Sade, Boccaccio,
Clemens) and several that were unfamiliar and strangely covered. I took
one of these latter books down, written by one "Anais Nin". The cover had
a garishly printed paper wrapped around the cover, as if to advertise the
contents.
Another, on witchcraft, was by one Alistair Crowley. I checked the
printing dates. To my amusement, the books were apparently some sort of
novelty, for both this and the previous work bore dates several years
in the future!
Tempting though it was to immediately sit down and spend the next several
years absorbing the contents of this curious library, I did not allow
myself to swerve from the purpose of my visit, and took myself back to the
great hall.
With trepidation, I set foot on the stairs and forced myself to put one
booted toe in front of the other, my arousal climbing almost as fast as my
feet scaled the stairs due to the increased sway of my hips. Climbing
stairs in those boots was difficult, but I managed by swinging my nearly
rigid legs wide from the hip, and pulling myself up with the banister. It
wasn't easy, and I must have looked a comical sight indeed, but the
pleasure of being so restricted was compensation enough.
I arrived at the top of the stairs somewhat breathless and relieved to
find no spirits, residents, or other apparitions greeting me there. On my
first visit, I had turned right down the hall, and had explored all the
rooms save for the last door. I decided to first discover what lay behind
that last door, then return to the left-hand wing of the house.
I hobbled my way to the door in the end of the hall, and opened it.
Nothing more than a set of stairs. I pictured the sight of the house from
outside, and realized that there was indeed another floor above this one,
the windowed dormers of which I had admired from outside, At the time, I
had assumed it was either attic storage rooms or studios, servant's
quarters, and the like. The stairs, being plain and uncarpeted, lent
themselves to the latter theory, but I decided to take a quick look, just
to be certain. Although, dressed as I was, `quick' was a relative term.
I was about a third of the way up the stairs when it happened.
I heard a swishing sound, and a split second later, before I could even
turn around, I felt a stinging blow on my rear. I whirled in anger, ready
to gouge the eyes out of any stalker so bold as to take such liberties with
my person, yet what I saw froze me in my tracks.
There, hovering before me in the doorway, was a riding crop. And nothing
more than a riding crop. No spectre or visible means of support was there
to wield it yet it remained in mid air, swaying slightly, and as I
looked on in fear, it rose and descended again, this time landing a
vicious blow to my thigh.
I cried out and began to flee as best I could up the stairs. As soon
as I turned, the horrid thing began visiting a hail of painful slaps
against my poor derrier. I managed to make it up several stairs, trying
in vain to ignore the slithering and wiggling sensations produced within
me as a result. The blows stopped.
I twisted cautiously to look behind me. The crop remained at the foot
of the stairs, hovering impossibly in mid air, occasionally whipping from
side to side, as a prospective purchaser might test it's heft and balance
in the tack store. Something looked wrong about the view over my
shoulder.
Somehow, both that infernal crop and the doorway appeared to be getting
closer. I looked back at the stairwell. The stairs were moving! Never
mind how impossible this was, the stairs were moving down the stairwell,
carrying me with them, toward the waiting crop!
I scrambled to haul myself up the stairs, my insides churning, my bosom
heaving, dragging my nearly useless legs along with me, now having very
serious (if belated) second thoughts about wearing the boots on this
visit. I was a mass of conflicting emotions and sensations. I didn't
want to admit that there really was a something, a ghost if you will,
holding a riding crop behind me. It was getting hard to think clearly as
once again the insistent sensations within me gradually took over, and my
mind began to slip away into that delirium of sensuality where one simply
experiences, without the ability or inclination to contemplate the events
taking place.
Despite my efforts to ascend the possessed (or perhaps merely mechanical)
stairs, I knew I was falling behind because I could hear the swishing
sounds of the crop behind me. I was afraid to look back. At the same
time, I was critically embarrassed as I felt my arousal peaking, the effort
of climbing the stairs in that infernal outfit rapidly sliding me toward
orgasm.
It wasn't long before the inevitable happened. I stumbled slightly and
caught myself, but at the same time, I fell heavily against the stairs,
and slid bump-bump-bumping down them, falling even faster than the
fiendish stairway mechanism had lowered me. In the process, the wild
shaking and rattling which resulted within my sex, and the rough thumping
of my tightly encased breasts against the stairs pushed me over the edge,
and I succumbed to the throws of my climax, even as I slid within range
of the waiting riding crop.
The ghostly wielder showed no mercy as it rained blow after well-placed
blow on my buttocks (positioned most conveniently since I ended on
hands and knees after I fell). The resulting stimulation, dulled as
it was through layers of rubber and my own fog of sensory overload, served
only to intensify and prolong my contractions until I was distraught and
mindlessly sobbing with body-warming pain and unbearable pleasure.
