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 town's 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 somehow 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 whichever 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 side-saddle 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 derriere. 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.