Guardian Girl (The Chronicles of Staffordshire) (42 page)

“Yes, darling.”

“Should I freshen up for this interview? My dress is soiled and your chauffeur destroyed my panties.”

“Don’t worry, Lenore. I’ve taken the liberty of assembling a more appropriate ensemble for your interview. It’s waiting for you downstairs.”

Two doors offered access to the tightly guarded world beneath the estate. The one off the main kitchen was secured behind a push-button combination lock. A second, more secure entrance lay hidden approximately 300 yards away from the house proper, secluded in a wooded area off an unmarked, side entrance to the estate. A three-car, brown-gravel parking area sat tucked into the brush nearby, making it possible for select guests to discretely enter the playland without drawing the attention of prying paparazzi or – worse - underage eyes.

Rory escorted Lenore down via the express route. The lighting changed as the host led his guest into the bowels of the house via the kitchen stairwell. The ambiance changed from bright and airy to gloomy and subdued. Imitation torches lined the basement hallway, giving the underbelly a foreboding, castle-like feel that aroused Lenore’s top-secret, prurient core.

The tour guide pointed out the sights along the tour route. “On either side of this hall are a series of suites, each one designed to facilitate fantasy playtime. Each room is outfitted to recreate a specific era or setting. Once a person enters, we want them to lose themselves completely in the fantasy and forget the world above.”

Lenore saw what looked like 10 such rooms in the hallway; two down the hallway to her left, eight to her right. At the far end of the hallway she saw an eleventh door, an exit perhaps.

“We have rooms fashioned to resemble a classroom, a doctor’s office, an athletic locker room, a hospital suite, an executive’s office, a Victorian sitting room with adjoining bedroom, a church with confessional, altar, and pews, a hotel swimming pool, a wooded forest, a jail cell, a gourmet kitchen, and a section of cabin from a 737 jet.”

Lenore glanced at Rory. Before she could ask, he advised...

“Yes, it is a real cross-section of a 737. First class, of course.”

Mouth agape, eyes wide with astonishment, Lenore shook her head. “These are all… ‘Play’ rooms?”

“Yes. Adult ‘play’ rooms, but play rooms nonetheless. Each one is equipped with a suitable fantasy wardrobe – tailored in advance, when possible – and a selection of era appropriate food and drink. Each room is cleaned and prepared as needed by the estate staff.”

“Rory…?”

“Yes, darling…”

“Just how much sex do you people have in this house?”

Rory gestured toward the eleventh door. “Come with me, Lenore. Your interview is this way.”

Walking briskly, ignoring the lesser attractions for a time, they arrived at the farthest end of the hallway. Lenore figured the door to be located directly underneath the grand ballroom above.

“Your interview is in this room, my love. Maricela has kept her company in our stead. Your personal access code is 150362.”

Lenore punched her birth date into the keypad located to the right of the door. She heard mechanical sounds come from inside the door. It automatically unlocked and opened, releasing with an airtight “whoosh.” The pair stepped into a small foyer with a similar door on the other side.

The outer door closed automatically behind them and resealed itself. Upon completion of the seal, Lenore felt a gentle breeze sweep across her body as stale air escaped the chamber and fresh air rushed in. At the completion of the purging process, the inner door opened automatically.

Wide-eyed with amazement and titillation, Lenore stepped into an artificially candlelit playroom.

Awakening Alice had stumbled into a Wildly Wicked Wonderland.

Twenty Nine

Rory and Lenore had stepped into a fully-equipped, exquisitely sado-masochistic dungeon; a safe, secluded venue in which to induce pain and pleasure upon willing subs and slaves. The debauched panorama offered Lenore a control freak’s dream come true.

Hanging along realistic, granite block walls were manacles, bindings, lashes, an assortment of Wartenberg wheels, feathers, ball gags, whips, tapered candles, electric prods, wide leather paddles, wrist and ankle cuffs, and other BDSM paraphernalia. Everywhere Lenore looked she saw the accouterments of Gothic and neo-Gothic bondage and torture.

The woman with the neatly-constructed, photo-ready persona smiled as she considered the caliginous freedom such a hideaway afforded. The paparazzi could not intrude. Her father could not condescend.

Lenore could finally be completely Lenore.

One person in public, another in private.

Proper, elegant, and dignified above ground for public consumption.

Deviant, depraved, and downright dirty in the privacy of her new underground playroom.

Lenore finally understood the painstaking care behind Rory’s plodding revelation of the home’s dark secret. To prepare Lenore for the hidden chamber beneath the ballroom, he had to escort her through a sequence of meticulously executed encounters by which she would first release, then embrace, the filthiest yearnings of her over-wound soul.

The maid’s fondling was merely a tantalizing appetizer. The chauffeur’s digital manipulation the first course. With each lecherous deed, Rory tested Lenore’s moral boundaries and her predilection for a fluid sexual identity. One surrogate orgasm at a time, Rory gauged Lenore’s readiness to assume control over the estate’s darkly spirited activities.

Maricela’s sexually servile flirtation.

Joshua’s digital domination.

Joshua’s soiling explosion into Lenore’s mouth.

Sonia’s slurping, intrusive extraction of Joshua’s seed.

Sonia’s added molestation before departing.

The clear implication that Lenore’s hoped-for fiance had shared a similar encounter with Sonia many times over.

Each step in the journey chiseled another crack in Lenore’s burnished image of elegant propriety.

The comfortable familiarity of the love triangle between Rory, Lena, and Lenore suddenly made sense. Any lingering hesitation she felt regarding the immorality of being loved by and making love to two different partners vanished from her mind.

Love and sex were indeed distinct matters; one for the nourishment of an eternally needy heart, the other for the nourishment of an eternally famished libido.

By remaining present during her perversions with Joshua and Sonia, Rory removed any moral concerns to which Lenore might have clung. Her circle of lovers could permissibly extend well beyond the marriage bed.

Lenore would always love Lena and Rory, of that there was no doubt. Lena and Rory owned Lenore’s heart. She could not take a single breath without either lover by her side, especially the Wild Child.

But Lenore could now enjoy sex with whomever she pleased.

A ravenous sexual creature swiveled her head this way and that, absorbing the room and its richer nuance. Lenore was a woman created for sex, fated for sex, formed by the gods with the most desirable attributes of every man’s – and many women's – fantasies. Her sultry, golden eyes to seduce. Her full, sensuous lips to kiss and to give head. Her supple, tanned skin to mingle consenting sweat. Her trim, Lena-trained body to endure marathon intercourse. Her long, strong limbs, equipped to wrap a lover snugly and fan his or her flames of lust. Her gluttonous vagina, eager to consume manhood and womanhood alike.

As Lenore took in the spectacle of the room and the unbridled sexual freedom it afforded her, it felt
right.

It felt like
home.

Concerning her rite of transformation, Lenore reconstituted the puzzle pieces and breadcrumbs of seemingly innocuous things Rory shared over previous months, both about Alicia and the freaky supermodel herself. Rory must have brought Alicia to Staffordshire. He likely took her virginity after Allie willingly succumbed to the intoxicating romance of the halls and bedrooms above. Then, without the benefit of a proper process of introduction, he foisted the dungeon upon her unprepared heart.

Lenore imagined the terrifying impact such a room would have on a naïve, innocent young woman named Alicia Drummond. For Alicia, the room likely represented the horror of lurid, demonic entrapment, a novice lover’s Hell on earth. She likely knew only the pleasure of a single lover’s touch; Rory’s. She was not properly prepared to join with and dominate multiple lovers and submissives. The profusion of immobilizing, pain-inducing toys in the dungeon would have immediately overloaded her sense of sexual decorum and safety.

For Lenore, the room represented a long-overdue homecoming to a deviant niche of sexuality she never fully explored. Lenore embraced the room, lusting for it, scanning it hopefully for naughty tidbits and boundary-pushing, kinky delights. It smelled eerily familiar and comforting. It had the thick, musky scent of well-worn leather, much like the myriad first edition volumes in her father’s library. It reminded her of the fantasy worlds she read about and imagined as a girl. Everything about the room felt safe and inviting to the future Mistress, even the bondage devices.

Like the Master Suite, the dungeon featured a king sized bed, though it was situated along a wall to the right, with a four-post frame and two, tall closets on either side. As in the master bedroom, mirrors adorned the ceiling above the bed. Mirrors ringed the entire room, in fact. There were mirrors on the columns, mirrors on the doors...

Mirrors, mirrors everywhere. A supermodel’s narcissistic delight.

Unlike the Master Suite, however, the bed was not covered with the bright, red, satin sheets of the world above. Rather, it was covered in black, silver-trimmed satin sheets and a black, satin comforter. The black theme present everywhere in the room only added to its dangerous appeal.

Further exploration of the room would come another time. Lenore suddenly remembered she and Rory were not alone.

In the middle of the bed lay a freckle-faced, red-headed young woman, somewhat familiar looking and no older than Lenore. The woman was chained spread-eagle to the four posts of the bed, blindfolded and lying face-up atop the comforter. Her beauty captivated Lenore. A 5’6”, toned-up specimen, the submissive appeared to weigh a lean 130lbs. A nearly perfect set of firm, young, C-ish tits heaved above the woman’s trapped frame.

Scanning the woman from head to toe, Lenore observed a closely trimmed, stubbly hint of an auburn bush to go with the lass’ natural, auburn hair. Tracing further down her legs, Lenore obsessed over the woman’s perfect feet, her nails painted a vibrant crimson to compliment her hair and Anglo-Saxon coloring.

Ohhh… Her feet. Lenore unconsciously licked her lips, imagining herself sucking the young woman’s toes and licking her soles.

“My interview?” Lenore asked hopefully, eyes fixed on the prize.

“Yes, my love,” Rory confirmed.

Maricela straddled the young woman across her mid-section, her maid uniform hiked fully over her firm, flexing ass. Maricela’s considerable assets spilled out of her uniform and into the face of the woman lying captive on the bed, a nipple slipping into the submissive’s mouth. A dew drop of moisture from Maricela’s shaved-bald pussy smeared across the blindfolded woman’s waist.

An unseen presence bedeviled Lenore. A surge of incendiary sexuality leapt into her body, her vagina twitching and eager, her mind succumbing to wicked urges. Perusing the room, taking in the various bondage devices - sex-chairs with attached shackles, ceiling-hanging chains with an attached leather seat - she felt her pulse quicken.

Why resist? Nobody outside of Staffordshire would ever know of her sin. Well… The Wild Child would soon learn of the playroom, but Lenore was certain Lena would positively
adore
what Rory had done with the place.

Rory observed Lenore’s breathing, watching it become deeper and more deliberate, long, trembling breaths reflecting the candidate’s growing state of awakening.

“All of this… This will all be mine one day?”

Rory smiled. “This, my sweet Lenore, is
your
playroom. In this room, we are
all
your servants… Including me, my Mistress.”