Gromet's PlazaLatex Stories

The Revenant of Hargreaves Manor

by William A. Lemieux

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© Copyright 2004 - William A. Lemieux - Used by permission

Storycodes: Solo-F; fpov; latex; leather; corset; boots; gloves; collar; neck-corset; cons; X

Continues from

Part 7

I felt safer once I was back in the familiar confines of "my" room, the first boudoir I had explored. I looked around. So this was to be mine, was it? I felt a thrill of nervous excitement, the sort of expectant exuberance I imagine a young lady must feel on her wedding night. But I was no blushing bride, and there was no nervous groom here intent upon bedding me.

The huge bed did however, call to me, and I began to undress. Just as Lord Hargreaves (for surely it had been he who had played my host downstairs) had promised, my skirt and other garments came off quite easily in that room, and after a brief struggle with the laces of my corset, I was bare. I am quite certain that my peers at home would have been horrified that I slept in the nude, but it was a habit of years, and I wasn't about to give up my comfort just because I slept in a strange place.

I left everything where it fell, thinking to tidy up in the morning. I was too tired to care about proper housekeeping just then, or even the bath I so desperately needed. I crawled through the bed curtains, but immediately smacked my head upon the iron wheel-and-harness thing I had seen on my first visit. It hung right over the middle of the bed- it could hardly have been in a more inconvenient place! I rubbed my forehead and glared at the offending device, trying not to think about it's probable purpose. I stared up at the hole in the canopy where the support chain disappeared. It seemed to go right through the ceiling.

Damn and blast it! It occurred to me that there must be some way to raise and lower the thing- surely one couldn't be expected to sleep in this bed with that ominous construct hanging right over one? I swung out of bed and prowled around it. Sure enough, on the wall on the other side of the bed was a small handwheel I had missed on my first visit. (Obviously, I am too easily distracted by new clothes, especially those for which I have a certain… fascination.)

I cranked it experimentally a few times, and slowly, the thing began to rise. It took a lot of cranking, but the mechanism had been made cleverly, for very little effort was required. A good thing, since I am not so strong. Eventually, the thing was tucked up into the shadows of the huge canopy, and there was plenty of room for me to sleep comfortably.

I slept the deep sleep of the innocent, (never mind the obvious fallacy), yet feverish visions of bizarre bondage and ghostly lovers occupied my thoughts as I drifted off, and when true sleep finally came, my dreams as well.

I awoke abruptly, grasping at the shreds of my last dream as it faded in the bright morning light. It had been a disturbing scene which faded quickly in the bright light of the morning. I vaguely remembered that it had involved five phalluses, but it had been neither particularly erotic nor disturbing, only weird.

But… light? I sat up to find daylight streaming in through the opened bed curtains. Hadn't they been closed when I had gone to bed? I stared around me. The window drapes had been pulled back as well, giving a splendid view of the woods surrounding the house. I got out of bed and looked about the room. The perverse clothes of which I had divested myself so eagerly the night before were nowhere to be seen. Someone had been in here while I slept! No doubt their intentions were laudable, as the place was now tidy again, but nevertheless, the realization sent a few shivers up my spine.

A satin robe had been left lying over one chair. I got up and put it on, a bit suspicious, since after all, clothing from this house has fooled me before, but it remained a perfectly ordinary robe, and did not see fit to bestow any unwelcome attentions upon my person. The next order of business was a bath- I smelled as bad as the horse which had brought me here.

As far as I knew, there was only the one bath, the next door down. Did all the (hitherto unseen) residents share that one large facility? What a decadent notion! I made my timid way down the hall and looked the room over. I paused for a moment over the padded basin/couch, but in the end I opted for the shower/bath. And what a shower it was! There were knobs galore, and six different nozzles, and the bath was deep enough and wide enough for four!

What really caught my attention was the basket of perfumed soaps, shampoo bath oils, and sponges just outside the shower doors. Another thing that had not been here on my previous visit. It seemed I was being well cared-for.

I shrugged off the robe and proceeded to take the longest shower of my entire life, followed immediately by an even longer bath. Happily, the hot running water (!) never ran out. I was a little wrinkled when I was done, but clean and relaxed. I returned to my room feeling much more civilized.

The next question was what to wear. I opened both armoires. My own riding leathers were nowhere to be seen. I checked the closet. As before, nothing but shoes and boots. It seemed I… there was something on the bed. Someone had been here again, while I bathed.

A tidy pile of glossy black clothing, leather, straps and buckles, and so forth was surmounted by a small hand written note.

My Dear Emily, it would please me greatly
if you would wear these things today.

When you are dressed, you will find breakfast
waiting for you in the dining room. I regret
I will be unable to join you until this evening.

Please make yourself at home- read, relax, listen
to music. You may explore the rest of the house
as you will, but as you are no doubt aware by
now, it holds a surprise or two for the unwary.
You are in no danger, but you may stumble across
one or two things which may be distasteful to you.

I look forward to seeing you again tonight. Won't
you join me for dinner at 7? Formal dress is


Well! The man certainly had cheek! Nevertheless, I was flattered by this attention, however presumptuous. I turned my attention to the pile of clothing on the bed and made a quick inventory, uncertain whether I was actually able to comply with his instructions whether I wished to or no, and fearful of what might happen if I did not. My first reaction at the selection of clothing resulted in a rather unladylike suggestion for my host, but after a moment's contemplation, I realized two things. Not only might it be unwise for me to refuse, possibly incurring some unpleasant punishment (I thought of the punitive content of many of the paintings throughout the house), but secondly, what reason had I to be embarrassed? After all, the residents of the place (where-ever they were hiding) had surely seen far more outrageous things!

Having reached that conclusion, my admittedly acute interest in the clothes took over and I began fumbling with straps, buckles and clasps, trying to divine how it all went together. At least it was a change from the ever-present gutta percha clothing.

The better part of my raiment for the day was to be an elaborate corselet or corset-dress fashioned from black patent leather. This outrageous garment had no covering for the breasts or buttocks, however! There were no bust cups as such, only small individual shelves, like cups that had been cut open. The bottom hem extended nearly to my knees, but the derriere was cut out in a large circle and a separate section of lacing eyes closed the lower portion. I flushed as I saw that the strap connecting the two was intended to run between my buttocks.

The pile also contained a pair of the now-familiar high boots, so I set the corselet aside, knowing I would be unable to bend enough to don the boots once the stays were laced tightly about my waist, hips, and thighs. The boots were easy enough to put on although if possible, their heels (and the arch into which they forced my feet) were even more extreme than the ones I had worn before. The tops had lacing eyes around the rim, and looking at the corselet, I saw that matching eyes were placed about its lower hem.

I struggled into the corset-dress then and laboriously laced up the back as best I could. This was no easy thing, but I'd had years of practice getting into my own stays unaided, so I managed it eventually, although I had to stop for breath and rest more than once. The hardest part was the portion below my rear. I had laced the top part first and soon found that I couldn't bend enough to reach the bottom portion. I had to loosen the top and start over.

Pulling the strap tight and buckling it squeezed my cheeks deliciously, but made them protrude even more. By the time I was done, I was convinced that I made a ridiculous sight, but I refrained from looking in the mirror for the moment. I wished to delay the embarrassing vision of my projecting bottom and breasts as long as possible.

Lacing the bottom hem to the tops of the boots was tedious, but simple. When those laces were tightened as much as possible, it lent quite a unique sensation to my legs, as if someone were constantly trying to pull my boots up. Different, and actually rather nice, once I got used to it.

There were only two more things to put on, a pair of long black gloves in shiny patent leather, and an odd sort of collar, also in black patent. The latter was in effect a miniature corset with boning, the top and bottom of which being contoured to accommodate the head and shoulders. When laced on, it had the effect of forcing my head regally erect, and limiting head movement quite severely. The effect was disconcerting, but I decided I liked it.

When I was dressed, I pirouetted before the long dressing mirror, trying to get used to the idea of walking about with most of my more delicate parts on display. In the end, it was the remembrance of just what sort of household I now found myself in, that comforted me enough to venture out of my room. This place was, and had been for more years than I had been alive, a den of iniquity, a haven of the perverse, a refuge for those who like myself, had discovered within themselves a greater capacity for physical enjoyment than most people knew existed.

Whether revelation or mere rationalization, it was enough, and it was a much more proud and confident woman who stepped into the hallway. I was glad to have a warrant of sorts from Lord Hargreaves, for I fully intended to continue my exploration of his fascinating manse, despite (or perhaps because?) of my previous experiences. I had even tucked the note into the top of my corselet, in case I finally ran into some denizen of the house, who might otherwise question my inquisitiveness.

But first, breakfast! I negotiated the huge front staircase carefully, although it's architects might well have had my boots in mind, so wide and shallow were the steps.

I found the dining room through the sitting room, midway through the house. As promised, a sumptuous breakfast, enough for many more than myself, was spread on the table. There was scarcely room for the single place setting, for all the food! Steam rose from several covered dishes, and I was reminded with a shudder, of the legend of Beauty And The Beast.

I broke my fast on hot tea with milk, cinnamon scones, a poached egg, and several sorts of fresh fruit. Ever the gourmand, I would have eagerly sampled all that the feast had to offer, but my corseted condition left no room for gluttony. As a dietary measure, I can recommend tight-lacing to all young women who are conscious of their figure.

When I had finished, I debated only briefly what to do next. Lord Hargreaves' note had suggested that I might bide my time by reading, playing music, or continuing my explorations.

Now I adore music, but I have no musical talent of my own, and while books are an undying passion for me, my most immediate interest was in satisfying my curiosity as to the rest of this fascinating abode.

So I made my clumsy way upstairs again, intent upon exploring the remaining two rooms at the left end of the hall, and possibly the third floor as well, if those abominable animated stairs would permit it.

I paused at the door to the bed chamber where Lord Hargreaves had received me the night before, wondering if he slept within, or was hiding in some remote cranny of the immense house. His comments on nocturnal habits brought to mind the horrific writings of Bram Stoker. Perhaps he was asleep in a coffin in the basement. It occurred to me to wonder whether the place had a real dungeon, like the old castles. I shuddered, and passed over that door.

The fourth door opened onto what could only be the complement to my host's bed chamber. This room was as feminine and graceful as the other had been masculine and businesslike. It was recognizably a bedroom, with a bed (thankfully unoccupied) as huge as milords, but there the similarity ended. Where the other room had a fireplace with andirons, this had a large tiled mantle and apron with a painted porcelain stove. Where the other featured iron candelabra, this employed fine china oil lamps. Curiously, I realized that neither room had the electric lights I'd found in my room! In all, a charming little boudoir, and wholly uninteresting. I left it unexplored.

The fifth room was more like what I had come to expect from this bizarre mansion. Obviously another play room, it was outfitted similarly to ones at the opposite end of the hall, albeit with very different accessories. I ventured in and looked around. The most striking feature was a huge tank or pool with glass sides supported by a metal framework, that took up fully a fourth of the room. It dominated the room, and were it not for the windows, draperies, and wallpaper, would have made the place look more like a laboratory than any sort of boudoir or play room. It was taller than I by at least a foot, reaching to within a few feet of the high ceiling. I looked it over curiously. I had no idea what it was for. There was some plumbing, including one very large pipe, some valves and levers on one side, and a drain in the floor of the tank. Steel ladders led to the rim and down inside. It might just as well have been an elaborate swimming pool or whirlpool bath, save that it was empty, and this was certainly no solarium. I struggled up the stairs, looking in, and struggled down again, no wiser than before. I shrugged and moved on.

There were a great many cabinets along the walls, and the center of the room was taken up by several unusual pieces of complex furniture. I rummaged through a few cabinets and found a host of garments, equipment and accoutrements in leather, rubber, and metal. There were strait-jackets and arm binders, corsets and leg-binders, helmets and hoods, and not a few things I couldn't identify at all.

One item that immediately struck my fancy was apparently a body-binder built for two, in the shape of a mummy case. It bore two helmets, had a laced closure, and an investigation into its interior revealed long pockets for each occupant's arms and legs. It looked like an exercise in frustration. I put it away with a bemused smile.

This room, like the others I had seen before, was positively stuffed with pleasurable possibilities, but I could experiment later. I was still itching to discover what lay above me on the third floor.

I closed the door behind me and went to the door in the other wing which led to the third floor stairs. I opened the door slowly, cautiously, half expecting to find that haunted riding crop on the other side, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. I set one foot on the stairs. Nothing happened. I ventured another, looking over my shoulder in case that horrid whip should reappear. Nothing. Slowly, I made my way up the stairs, checking nervously behind me as I went, expecting the stairs to go into motion again at any moment. To my surprise, I made it to the top without incident. I found myself in an attic space, which appeared to run the length of the house. It was immense, it was dusty, and it was dark. I shivered, despite the fact that the vast room was quite warm. Chests and boxes were everywhere, arranged in relatively tidy rows. A few empty picture frames were stacked in a corner. A dress form, covered in dust and cobwebs stood forgotten to my left. There was nothing here but what one would expect to find in an attic.

Why then the ghostly protection I had run into upon my first visit, why the mechanical stairs? And where in the hell did the domestics stay? If indeed there were any such. By then, I was more than willing to believe that Lord Hargreaves really was some sort of sorcerer, and that his house was peopled solely by unseen, intangible servants. I shivered again, and quit the attic in a hurry.

That left the basement, if there was one, the kitchens, and whatever else I'd missed on the first floor. Given my previous thoughts on the subject of basements and dungeons, I wasn't about to venture that far alone, and with the exception of the library, the first floor seemed far too mundane to be interesting. I decided then, that I should spend the remainder of my afternoon with the entertainments available here on the second floor.

I wandered into one of the rooms at this end, the one where I had so carelessly (and deliciously) trapped myself the week before. I gave the fiendish mask and it's accessories a wide berth, and looked over the room.


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