The Haunting

by Hawkwood

It was going to be a dream vacation!

After saving diligently for years, Elizabeth was finally getting to see Merrie Olde England. It was only a week, but she'd get to see Buckingham Palace, the Tower of London, and well, just everything!

She'd been afraid she wasn't going to make it. The travel agent had looked at her budget and shaken his head in disgust. He could get her a cut-rate plane flight, he said, but there simply weren't any lodgings anywhere NEAR London that she could afford. Grumbling, he had pulled out a very thick book and begun prowling through it. His eyebrows had raised and he said he had never seen this ad before. It seemed that there was an old Tudor manor house on the outskirts of London that offered room and board for a surprisingly low cost. The charge would be, he noted in amazement, almost exactly what she had to spend.

And now she was here! taking a real English taxi to a real English manor house to spend the best week of her life! The house looked old, like most of the buildings she saw, but well kept. She knocked at the door, and was startled when a very ugly little man had opened it to invite her in. The interior was decorated in the most amazingly preserved antique style. There wasn't anything in the building, so far as she could see, that didn't look, well, HUNDREDS of years old. She seemed to be expected, and decided that she wouldn't let the ugly clerk spoil her holiday.

The little man assurred her that her reservation was in order and it was unnecessary to check in. He carried her bags with surprising agility up the antique staircase. Her room was huge, with a giant poster bed, a real honest-to-goodness settee, and one of those huge cabinets to hang clothes in. (The little man had solicitously put her suitcase into this cabinet.)To one side there was an absolutely fascinating dressing table, with a huge mirror and a softly padded bench.

Only the bathroom (which the ugly little man had insisted on calling the loo) was a disappointment. There was an ancient looking wicker hamper for her laundry. And in one corner, there was a more-or-less modern flush john which had obviously been a recent installment, but no other running water of any kind. A table held a pitcher and bowl for "small washing" and a huge, incredibly old copper tub stood to one side. If she wished to bathe, the little man said, he would gladly fetch her a sufficient quantity of hot water from the kitchen. It was hardly what she had expected, but she decided it was very quaint, and VERY English, and it might be fun for a change.

Announcing that dinner would be served at six, the little man had withdrawn, politely refusing her offered tip. For several minutes, she had just stood and looked around, admiring everything in the room. Then she had climbed out of her wrinkled travel clothes and made an attempt to freshen up with some "small washing." At one point, as she bathed her breasts with the cool water, she seemed to feel that there was someone else in the room, but she was obviously wrong, and put the notion down to jet lag or something.

Standing naked before the huge mirror, she sighed. The body in the mirror was as antique as the furniture. Not old, so much as styled for another time. Her breasts were full and heavy and her belly round but not really fat. Turning, she assessed her rump and found it decidedly too large for the late twentieth century. There had been a time, she thought, perhaps when this house was much newer, that a figure like hers was considered rather spectacular. But back home in Chicago, where everyone worked ovetime to look as thin as possible, she was considered practically obese!

Sighing again, she went to the armoire to select something to wear to dinner. Her suitcase was there, but it didn't want to open. Try as she might, she couldn't get the lock to release. She was afraid she would have to put her travel clothes back on when she saw a gown hanging to the far side of the cabinet. It was, she saw, a very beautiful and very OLD gown, of heavy velvet and lace. Holding it up to herself, she decided it was about her size. She wondered if this was some sort of courtesy of the hotel, like a bathrobe in a Holiday Inn.

There were no other garments of any kind in the cabinet and she decided to wear the gown to dinner. At first, she had put her own underwear back on, but she immediately saw that the gown's very low neckline wouldn't work with her bra. Feeling more than a little naughty, she took the offending garment off. In the mirror, she realized how beautiful, and risque' the gown was. It showed of her breasts nearly to the nipples! And she realized that she looked very good indeed.

Then a very embarrassing thought occurred to her. Her J.C. Penney cotton panties were an insult to this magnificent gown. No one would know whether she was wearing any anyway. Feeling appropriately wicked, she tugged the panties off and put them in the hamper with her other dirty clothes.

Dinner was another surprise. A rather large table was set for two and she was seated at one end. The same ugly little man served her a very pleasant soup and explained that the other place was always set for the master of the house. Elizabeth asked if he would be joining her and the little man had politely laughed. The last master of the house, he said, had died nearly three hundred years ago.

She thought that a VERY quaint custom indeed, and then it dawned on her that she must be the ONLY guest tonight. The little man confirmed this, offering the explanation that few people wished to lodge so far from the center of town.

When her soup bowl was replaced by a huge platter of roast beef, Yorkshire pudding and buttered casrrots, she found she was very hungry. The little man who seemed to be waiter as well as cook, and bellboy, and concierge, and well, whatever, showed her a bottle of wine that looked like it had been in someone's cellar for centuries. She tasted it very carefully, and found it delightful! Accepting a glassful, she continued her meal.

All through dinner, she felt like someone was staring down the neckline of her gown, but she could never catch the little man looking at her at all. And of course, there was no one else in the room.

Her wineglass was refilled as quickly as she drank any of it, and by the time dinner was over, she was feeling quite mellow. As the last of the dishes was cleared away, the little man asked if Elizabeth would enjoy a tour and a bit of history of the house. She was a bit unsteady on her feet, but decided she certainly would. Smiling oddly, the litle man led her into what seemed to be a Library.

As she crossed the threshold, a gust of air swept under her long skirt and up over her bare thighs and buttocks. It felt, she thought, remarkably like a caress, but she attributed the nonsense to having too much of the excellent wine.

Over the mantle was a portrait of the most handsome man she'd ever seen, and her guide confirmed that this was indeed the long-deceased Master of the House. Like many old portraits, the eyes seemed to follow her around the room. The look on the man's face was almost a leer.

The Master of the House, she was told, had been something of a rake. It had been his habit to invite young women to his home to seduce them. The library, where she now stood had been his most important room in this effort. The books which she could see everywhere represented a most incredible collection of pornography. The master had been something of an expert in guessing what sort of lewd representation would strike his guests as intriguing.

Elizabeth wasn't sure whether to believe this, and went to open one of the books at random. She gasped when she realized she was looking at a picture of a naked young woman across a gentleman's knees being vigorously spanked. Embarrassed, she had started to close the book, then looked more closely. Amazingly, she thought the woman in the picture looked very much like HER. Looking closer (and blinking at the effects of the wine), she decided she must be wrong. She quickly put the book back where she found it.

Next on her tour was the revelation of secret passages behind the bookcases, leading to many other rooms of the house. She was escorted through one of these to her very own bedroom! Here, she learned, the master had brought his young women when their defenses had been properly reduced. It was something of a legend that no woman ever left this room a virgin.

For the second time, Elizabeth felt the errant breeze under her skirt, and this time she was quite sure it felt like a caress, more lewd than the other, intruding into her most private parts. She blushed at the little man's inquiry whether she wished to continue? Well, the legend would not die with her anyway. Eddie Hemphill had seen to that back in jigh school when he seduced her after the junior prom. Of course, since she hadn't come INTO the room as a virgin, it wasn't really the same.

The next room was quite frightening. It had no windows, but the walls were hung with heavy velvet draperies. Strange heavy wooden structures were everywhere, an odd looking triangle stood against one wall, and a rope and pully hung from the ceiling. To one side, she thought she recognized a pillory, the strange device for imprisoning a misdemeanants neck and wrists in a most uncomfortable, bent-over position. Last, there was an exercise horse, rather like the vaulting horse of her high school gym, but somewhat smaller. Most frightening of all, a stunning variety of whips and paddles and straps and switches humng from hooks around the wall. Elizabeth had no trouble at all determining the purpose of these implements.

The master, she was told, found considerable pleasure in inflicting pain on his sexual partners. Here in this room, draped to prevent any sound escaping it, legend said that he had warmed the buttocks of some of London's most aristocratic women, as well as some of the most notorious. To his guest's obvious look of fright, he added that no woman had ever been brought here against her will. On the contrary, if the stories were true, women had begged him for the privilege of visiting his "snuggery."

Elizabeth found it impossible to believe that anyone would have voluntarily entered this room for its original purpose. Still, there WAS an indefinably, well, sexy atmosphere in the room. As if reading her mind, the little man confided that not all the screams in this room were those of pain. Almost as many had been of uncontrollable rapture.

Elizabeth realized that she was yawning, both, she supposed, as a result of her long trip, and because of the dinner wine. Perceiving her problem, the little man had smiled and suggested that she might like to retire. Nodding, she had allowed him to escort her to her room. He inquired whether she wished a bath, but she said no, perhaps the following day.

Feeling a little disappointed, she had removed the beautiful gown and hung it back in the cabinet, but now she noticed another garment there. This was of silk, and obviously intended for nightwear. The material, she discovered, was as soft as a cloud, and so sheer that it seemed no more than s fog over her hand. She took it down from the hanger and slipped it over her head.

In the big mirror, she saw a rather different woman, still her, but now, somehow, appropriate. The gown made her seem like one of the lithographs of old London courtesans. She smiled at herself and retired to the huge bed. But once there, she found herself unable to sleep.

Turning to the bedside table, she found an ancient oil lamp, and lit it to send a golden glow through the room. Beside the lamp, she realized, there was a leather bound book. Curious, she opened it and drew back suddenly. It was the book she had opened in the library! The same picture, of the naked woman being spanked, seemed to glow in the yellow light. Looking closer, she was sure that the woman in the picture could have been her twin sister. Even the hairdo, soft and long, was the same.

Intrigued in spite of herself, she lay back in the bed and began to read the story that went with the picture.

The young woman was a country girl, unused to the city, who discovered she had not enough money to hire lodgings. The master of the house (She looked again. Yes, it HAD said "the master of the house.") had charitably offered her dinner and a bed and she had accepted. At dinner, she had taken too much wine, and when the master had taken her to her bedroom, she had drunkenly insisted that he make love to her. The master had demurred but she had insisted.

Thinking to dissuade her, he had told her he could not accommodate her unless she would submit to a sound spanking first. Put off at first, the girl had finally decided the prize was worth the cost and agreed.

Elizabeth's eyes widened as she read the description of the spanking, incredibly detailed and, she realized to her surprise, tremendously erotic. She found herself envying the woman whose buttocks were glowing so redly, especially when the master had then made the most passionate love to her. The book described that in detail as well, and Elizabeth found herself breathing hard as she read. She had finished the story with her hand between her thighs, trying to bring a small part of the ecstasy the book described. Closing her eyes, she lay back on the bed, fingers very busy indeed.

A sudden gust of wind in the room put the lamp out, and she felt frightened by the darkness.Then she felt a hand on hers and started. She thought the small man had come into her room at first, but realized that the hand was larger and stonger than his had been. Terrified, she let him replace her now wet fingers with his own, while his other hand had caressed her breast through the sheer silk. She found herself breathing raggedly and when his lips met hers, she opened her mouth eagerly.

Then she felt him tugging her erect in the bed, and then forwrd, and she realized she was being pulled across his lap! She knew immediately what he intended, but she found she could not resist. More accurately, she had to admit, she didn't want to resist. It was the story, only real, and she knew that a spanking was part of it. It didn't surprise her when he tugged her nightgown up to bare her buttocks.

The pitch dark of the room didn't seem to bother her visitor. His hand found her ass without difficulty, smacking quite painfully onto her flesh. Elizabeth was surprised at how badly the spanking stung and burned. Her unseen assailant seemed determined to bruise her bottom, so vigorously did he spank her. She squealed and struggled, but his arm herld her firmly across his knees and his hand found her wriggling buttocks with an amazing dexterity.

When she was quite sure she would be badly injured, the spanking had stopped, and the man (she was QUITE sure it was a man, and a rather large and strong one at that) had pulled her into his arms. He had kissed her then, and it was as if a hot iron had been pressed to her lips. She felt herself melt in his embrace, and offered no resistance whatever when he laid her back on the bed. She felt his hand displace her gown, then go between her thighs, separating them. With two unseen but expert hands on her breasts, she felt him enter her.

Almost immediately, she had begun to tremble in ecstasy. Her lone previous experience with sex had been pleasant, but hardly the stuff of dreams. THIS time, she knew what it meant to be FUCKED! She heaved and squirmed under his expert intrusion, her body spaming in ecstasy time after time. When she felt him finally thrust deeply within her and explode, she almost lost consciousness. She could barely remember his withdrawal as she surrendered herself to exhausted sleep.
In the morning, she wondered if it had all been a dream. The big mirror on the dressing table assured her that her bottom was not the slightest bit bruised, as it surely would have been if any of that had been real. She realized a moment of disappointment, then shook it off, attributing her "night of passion" to exhaustion and strong drink. Even the book, she noticed, had apparently been her imagination, as it was certainly not where she had "left" it.

Shrugging, she dressed for her first day in London. As she was pulling on her skirt, she felt the odd breeze again, like a caress over her panties, and one that seemed vaguely disapproving. She tugged her slacks on with a feeling of chagrin, as if her wardrobe was no longer suitable for her trip.

The ugly little man had served her a massive breakfast of eggs, sausages and muffins with a superb marmalade, ans she discovered that she was incredibly hungry. She eagerly accepted a second helping almost a large as the first and ate it without difficulty. Considering that she seldom had more than a donut and coffee at home, her appetite amazed her. The little man was complimentary, telling her that the Master of the House had always appreciated a hearty appetite.

Her first tour was disappointing. Windsor Castle and the Tower were about what she had expected, perhaps not as pretty as the travel brochures. By lunch, she was bored. In the afternoon, she decided to go shopping in some of London's quaint little clothing stores. Those were disappointing too, until she found this musty little store that sold the most incredible lingerie.

Used to a choice between the plain cotton of most stores, and the coarse lewdness of a few "specialty" stores, Elizabeth was overwhelmed by the erotic creations of silk and lace. Her budget really did not allow for such extravagance, but she could not resist a truly spectacular pair of panties, or "knickers" as the English called them. As she carried them to the counter, she was embarrassed even to have the clerk check them for her. Then he asked her if he should put her purchase to the account of Master Lawrence?

Puzzled, she said she didn't know any Master Lawrence. The clerk merely smiled and entered the total on a very old and yellowed card, politely but firmly refusing her money. She was torn between protesting and accepting this sudden luck, and eventually decided to take her delightful new knickers and leave quietly. She hoped that "Masterr Lawrence," whoever he was, would not be too irate when her lacy silk knickers showed up on his bill.

That evening, she requested a bath before dinner. The little man had quickly filled the antique tub with hot water but bringing it in buckets from the kitchen. A scented oil was dissolved in the water which seemed to perfume the entire suite. It had an odd, musky smell, but not at all unpleasant. Elizabeth had stripped and lowered herself slowly into the luxurious warmth.

And then she seemed to feel a man's hands on her again, like the caresses of the breeze on her buttocks the night before, but much more palpable. Like a servant, the unseen hands washed her, with special attention being paid to her breasts and the most intimate area between her thighs. Embarrassed at first, she surrendered to the caresses and relaxed in the water, enjoying the incredible sensations. She had experienced orgasms in the tub before, but always by her own fingers, and not as delightful as the one she then enjoyed. The water was quite cool when she finally left the brass tub and dried herself with a luxurious towel.

As she dressed for dinner, in yet another gown provided by the management, she decided to wear her erotic new silk and lace "knickers." These clung tightly and almost invisibly to her buttocks, and had the most incredible seam between the legs. Whenever she walked, it seemed like a continuing caress where she was most sensitive. As before, the low neckline of the gown would permit her no bra, but the dress provided all the support she could want, lifting her breasts like an invitation. Already breathing hard, she had eaten an excellent dinner without really knowing what had been served.

After dinner, as she accepted a brandy in the library, she went to look more closely at the portrait of the "Master of the House." A small brass plaque on the base of the frame noted "Master Lawrence Martinson." The name rang a bell, but it was several moments before she recalled the lingerie store clerk telling her he would put the items on "Master Lawrence's" tab. Startled, she looked closer and shook herself. THAT, she thought, was an amazing coincidence. But, of course, Master Lawrence could be anybo dy, couldn't he?

To distract herself, she took another book from the shelves. Opening it at random, she gasped at the image of discipline that greeted her. A woman (she wondered if it was the same one as she had seen before) was now displayed in a pillory, bent deeply with her neck and wrists imprisoned, She was naked but for a pair of lacy knickers festooned about her ankles. Behind her, a man was applying a bundle of switches to her rump with evidently severe results. Her rump was obviously raw and tender, but there was no evidence that she objected to the punishment.

With the book under her arm, she retired to her room.

The story that went with the picture was even more erotic than the one the night before. The woman (evidently the same one) had been seduced and spanked by Master Lawrence (THAT reference made her tremble). Fearing her own reactions, she had fled. But then she had received the most extraordinary gift: a pair of silk and lace knickers, obviously intented to be seductive. The sensation of the silk against her buttocks had eroded the woman's determination not to return to her seducer's home. Irresistably drawn, she returned to his home.

Master Lawrence had welcomed her with a touch of disappointment in his voice. She had fled his embrace, which sorrowed him, but he would not impose himself on her. The woman, now sorry that she had fled, had begged him to take her back. He had demurred, indicating that she obviously did not care for his particular style of lovemaking. The woman had insisted that she found his attentions delightful. Dubious, Master Lawrence had insisted on some proof of her change of heart. The woman had then offered to be "birched." Elizabeth deduced that this "birch" was the bundle of switches in the picture.

She didn't finish the story. Instead, she went to find the Snuggery again. It was locked. She found the little man who seemed the only other human in the house, and asked to be admitted. Smiling, he opened the door for her. Inside, she looked at the strange devices with a new understanding. Curious, she asked the little man if she could be placed in the pillory, "just so she could tell her friends about it" when she returned home.

The now obviously leering little man had told her it was customary to remove a lady's dress before committing her to the pillory. Elizabeth blushed as she realized that her only other garment was the silken panties. Still, it seemed so RIGHT. She allowed the little man to take her dress, trying not to notice his eyes on her breasts.

He had lifted the upper jaw of the device, and instructed her how to bend forward to place her neck and wrists in the half circles of the lower. It occured to her that this was an incredibly vulnerable position. And when the top jaw had been lowered into place and secured, she was frightened. It did not help that the little man excused himself and left, noisily locking the door behind him.

And then HE was there again. She felt his hands on her rump, then on her breasts. As her nipples came rigidly erect, the pressure of his fingers grew painful. The pillory prevented her from turning to see him, but when his hands had undone the drawstring of her knickers and allowed the garment to drift down her legs, she knew what must happen next.

The birch announced its approach with a swishing noise, and then her buttocks felt like they had been assaulted by an angry rose bush. Involuntarily she had writhed at the sudden pain. Behind her, the unseen assailant took advantage of her unguarded squirming to lash the birch between her thighs, and then again across her rump.

It was incredibly painful. So much so that Elizabeth could not even articulate a response. Her breathing was ragged and hurried and her rump danced lewdly in a vain attempt to shake of the fiery residue of the birching. Her partner gave her the better part of a minute to appreciate each stroke, and then the dreadful swishing noise would announce the resumption of her punishment.

She quickly lost count of the strokes, but the whipping seemed to last forever. Nothing she had ever known had been so painful, but for whatever reason, she found that she did not want him to stop. Her stance widened, mostly for balance, but when this invited the birch between her thighs, she gasped and widened herself still more. She realized, incredulously, that she was trembling with rapture. Each stroke of the switches was like a fiery caress, and each now drove her closer to a climax. The hoarse voice she heard encouraging him to whip her harder was her own!

When her climax finally overwhelmed her, she thought she had never known anything so amazingly delightful. the waves of pain from her tortured buttocks were part of her ecstasy, and she treasured every burning caress of the switches. Weakened by her release, she stood panting in the device as the lights suddenly went out.

Terrified by the dark, she had started to scream, but stopped when she felt the unmistakable pressure of an erect cock against her lips. Knowing what was needed of her, she opened her lips to receive him. She had never performed such a service before, although Eddie Hemphill had once made her kiss him there. Still, it seemed so natural to her. Her lips and tongue seemed to act without her volition, caressing and sucking at the soft-yet-hard pole in her mouth.

To her delight, she heard a moan of pleasure, then the cock exploded into her throat. Greedily she had swallowed and sucked and swallowed again, eager not to let any of her partner's seed escape her. He finally withdrew from her and she felt suddenly alone.

She awoke in her bed, with the sun streaming the windows. Arising, she inspected her rump in the big mirror, and was only mildly surprised to see that it bore no evidence whatever of her birching. Her mind, however, remembered the painful strokes perfectly, and of course, the rapture that had followed. As she dressed, she deliberately chose the silken knickers for her only underwear.

Over another hearty breakfast, she reviewed her schedule. She was supposed to visit three famous cathedrals today. Sighing, she decided that cathedrals could wait. When she had eaten her fill, she went to the library.

For the remainder of her week, Elizabeth did not leave the old house. She alternated between the library, the snuggery and her bedroom. She read about, and experienced, an incredible variety of events. She discovered what it was like to be suspended from the massive triangle while a man set her buttocks on fire with a leather strap. She bent acrss the vaulting horse to be paddled. She knelt on her bed, thighs parted and buttocks lifted to an ashlar cane.

And after each of these terribly painful punishments, he made love to her. She spasmed in ecstasy with his cock up her ass. She discovered that she enjoyed the taste of his seed in her throat. And most of all, she knew the most exquisite rapture when his erection had entered her cunt. Her days and nights had blended into a melange of pain and ecstasy from which she never wished to emerge.

It had irritated her at first that she never saw him. Either he would turn out the lights, or he would have her locked in bonds that kept her from turning to see his face. She knew the touch of his hand as well as she knew her own, and of course, she could have identified his erection in a dark room full of aroused men. But she never saw his face.

Eventually, she realized that she already knew what he looked like. The portrait in the library told her everything she needed to know. When she felt him entering her in the dark, she could imagine the face of Master Lawrence before her. And when she bent to offer her buttocks to some new scalding experience, she could feel his leering eyes on her flesh.

As all things must, her week came to an end. One morning at breakfast, the ugly little man had told her he had summoned a taxi for her, and would have her bag in the front hall as soon as she finished her breakfast. Shocked to realize that she must leave, Elizabeth had suddenly lost her appetite. Then she felt familiar hands on her shoulders, urging her to rise.

Without resistance, she let him bend her across the table and lift her skirt over her back. Her lacy knickers were removed, and her eyes went wide at the first burning impact of the cane across her bare ass. He gave her an even dozen of the hardest cuts she had yet experienced. She realized that she was lifting herself on her toes, stretching her buttocks taut and exposing the very tender crease at the tops of her thighs. Chuckling, he accepted the invitation, placing six additional cuts directly into that sensitive place.

Her bottom was writhing in pain when his cock began to force its way into her rectum. Eagerly she spread herself to admit him and trembled as he lodged the full length of his erection in her bowel. One last time, she felt her body tense and spasm in rapture, and recognized his answering moan of pleasure.

She was halfway to Heathrow, squirming on her well wealed rump, when she remembered leaving behind her silky knickers. Determined to have this souvenir of her trip, she instructed the cabby to return. He asked her for the address, and looked puzzled at her answer. After inquiring whether she was sure, and receiving her assurance that she was, he drove her to that destination.

It was only a bare lot, covered in weeds that barely hid the crumbling bricks and stone of an edifice long ago destroyed. Trembling all over, Elizabeth told the cabby to take her to the airport. Then she noticed her driver was unusually short. And very ugly. And obviously had never seen her before in his life.

Copyright Hawkwood 1997

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