Shadows of a Painted Lady

Chapter One This painted lady rises out of the shadowy trees surrounding her magnificence. Nestled between a great white-columned house and a dark brown-shingled cottage, she is the jewel on this small town block, being more than twice the size of her substantial neighbors. A wrought-iron fence circles the property—one five-foot high and forbidding. Spires with pointed ends warn trespassers against attempting entry. The lawn is neatly clipped and the shrubs along the front are trimmed into a groomed hedge. Her presence in this neighborhood is rife with mysteries, which began at the turn of the 20th century. With my first gaze at her front porch, my mind tripped back in time to ice cream socials and ladies’ garden clubs. It meandered about the green lawn spying delicate flowers, while I walked corseted in white lace and silk, a grosgrain ribbon tied about my neck. I breathed carefully in the starched confinement of my womanly clothes, deriving some erotic glee from the very picture. Yet, in the midst of this serene and genteel image, the dark lure of Haliday House loomed with its profound secrets to shroud my contentment. Standing proudly, she’s painted in shades of grey and embellished along the eaves and many dormers with rose and burgundy. Craning my neck to see the very top of her tallest peak, I wondered how she was painted in her early history? Were her colors as bold as they are now? Did she startle the eye unused to seeing such daring statements of color? With her stately and esoteric charm, she bids the eyes to Stop!, while saying haughtily, “here I am” to a world that moves too fast now for her elegant pace. Her three stories worth of splendor rocked my imagination. The bay windows, the turrets, the stained and beveled glass, and a porch that wraps two sides like protecting arms about the waist suggested a thousand possibilities to my fertile brain. I was destined to think backwards, to forget the present, along with the anxiety and alarm that had been with me since Will first informed me we’d be spending a weekend at this most unusual Bed and Breakfast. I loved the idea of her, of giving my s****l fantasies such an authentic place to play. And yet, for that very reason, she scared me to my shaking bones. I only had three days to get ready—and those were three days spent in heaven and hell. My imagination bred more desire, while my fear kept slapping me in the face. I didn’t breathe a word about my trepidation to Will—after all, I was the one who found this place on the Internet. I was the one who tore through the website looking at room after room, putting me into every picture. I was the one who showed my husband what seemed like a vacation in a paradise of a different sort, with people who would understand what great longing had driven my entire life. That first night after my long and sensuous trip through the cyberspace web of images, I began to dream. At two o’clock I went to bed feeling exhausted, though my body was burning with s****l need. I rolled over behind my husband’s back and began to nuzzle his shoulder while my groin pressed against his warm ass. Reaching around his hips, my hand grabbed for his flaccid, sleeping p***s. Could I raise his erection on the strength of my s****l appetite alone? Could I awaken him into one of those languorous coupling moments that are almost forgotten at daybreak? Could we come together, silently, vent and release, then both fall numb until morning? Will was fast asleep when my toying hand began to rouse him; and for just a second I thought he’d join me in my lust. Awake enough to understand my quest, he murmured, “Go ahead, I’m too tired.” Then he fell back against the bed, slumbering quietly at my side. My arousal leapt forward. I had permission to let my thoughts of Haliday House consume my mind and take my body where it wanted to go. I could submerge myself in the great, grey painted house, walk the corridors, haunt the secret passageways, take a flying leap into the dungeon, or climb the narrow staircase to the rack in the attic. My mind reeled off a dozen scenarios while I pressed my fingers to my cunt and began to play. I pulled my labia as I entered the house inside my imagination, then fingered the slit as I donned my formal servant’s uniform. Greeted by an impressive master, I was ushered into his study to reap the consequences of being late. I was bent over his footstool with my lace slip peeking out from under the black hem of my skirt. He whisked that skirt away with a quick brush of his hand. Then his cane tore at the undersides of my ass where my thighs meet my bottom, delivering six angry cuts to that tender skin. I’d been instructed not to move or shriek or shout or moan, as it was undignified and not submissive. In compliance with his orders, I took each cut stoically while the pain seared through me. Absorbing it with teeth clenched, my mind fixed on surrender. “That’s better,” the straight-laced Master of Haliday House informed me. His face was nonfunctional in my dream-state reveries; a blur of shape, texture and design. But it didn’t matter that I couldn’t visualize his physical appearance. He represented authority, structure, control and, oddly, savage sexuality. As the last imaginary cut of that cane landed, my body reached its peak; then a flood of female nectar poured out over my hand. Once my phantom master was finished, he brusquely left the room, and me to repair and resume my duties. I glimpsed his exit, then the image in my mind faded from view, turning fuzzy like a grainy photograph. I knew that simple m**********n would not be enough to stop the arousal in my hungry crotch—the fantasy was too complex for a simple release. It was, however, enough to let me sleep. After washing my hands and adjusting my twisted nightgown, I lay down to sleep. Moments later, my dreams began. “Miss Alice, Ma’am would like to see you in her morning room,” the Major’s throaty baritone reported. The gentle young maid began to fidget as she looked into his curt expression. She was fair-skinned, with ash blonde hair, a youthful bosom, trim waist, and a beautifully blooming behind—not yet plump, but pleasingly voluptuous. Other than her natural hourglass shape, there was little to see of the womanly assets under the prim simplicity of her uniform. One could only imagine what lay hidden beneath the black dress and starched white apron. Her face was as pleasing as her body: heart-shaped, high rosy cheeks, a small bow mouth and eyes that danced flirtatiously at every man she met—including the disinterested Major Domo, Andrew. Alice followed him to Ma’am’s morning room, where she tiptoed quietly beyond the door, feeling as though the earth would shatter around her if she made too much noise. Ma’am was sitting at her writing table, having just penned a note to her sister in the East. She would be writing about the humid weather of the Midwestern summer, as she fanned her face with a brocade fan her brother had brought her from the Orient the summer before. Alice waited, standing tall and proud, just as she’d been taught. Her hands were at her side, her chin raised and her eyelids lowered, compliantly. Her mistress looked up from her work, smiling. She was a handsome woman with a mountain of glorious auburn hair piled atop her head. Her skin was delicate and smooth, and her cheeks lightly blushed—she fairly glowed. “Ah, Alice, dear,” her clear green eyes skirted the room quickly. “There,” she said, pointing to one corner, “a pillow you can use.” Alice understood the instruction and immediately scampered to retrieve the small scarlet-colored pillow with the gold braid trim. As she knelt before her mistress, her knees sunk into the soft velvet. Her hands remained unclasped at her sides; and while keeping her back straight, her gaze rested on the floor, at a spot just beyond her right knee. “Look at me, please,” Mistress Haliday instructed. Alice gazed at the woman’s face, seeing both kindness and strength. “It’s been two months, I believe.” “Yes, ma’am.” “And you’ve worked out well so far.” “Thank you, ma’am.” “There are a few things to note in Andrew’s records.” She referred to a paper on her desk with familiar writing. “A tendency to rush, and when harried, to prove graceless.” Alice remembered stumbling on the carpet in the dining room, banging into the kitchen doorway almost spilling a pot of gravy, and that worst of all mishaps, falling flat on her face in the middle of the polished foyer floor while Sir Haliday was coming down the stairs. He’d given her a lift to her feet, a kind glance, and then a reproving one as he suggested she slow down and take her time. That had been just two days ago. “I have tried, ma’am,” Alice responded to the comment. “I’m sure you have—and will,” she made the remark plainly, but was quite obviously concerned with other matters. “However, your domestic duties are not why I’ve brought you here.” Alice let her eyes rest on the thoughtful woman. She had been quite kind to her, but was like an eternal rock, solid and immovable. “You know, that as property of this household, there are many duties for you to perform. Sir is quite taken with your beauty. He would like you to join him in the cellar this evening. I thought before your first experience there that we might talk about what is expected of you.” “Yes, ma’am.” “Your primary objective will be surrender—complete and without imperfection. Sir Haliday will lead you through a series of physical tasks to enliven your body, and stir your loins. Follow his orders without question, as he knows what is best to achieve his aim of pleasure.” There was a longing twinkle in her mistress’ eye, which intrigued the young maid. “You may be surprised to know that the road to pleasure comes many ways, some disguised as pain. Deliver yourself to that pain, let it live through you, and your anguish will cease, the ecstasy begin.” This odd talk was suddenly scaring Alice. She’s heard stories—graphic stories from the other maids that would confirm the mistress’ suggestions. “You are a submissive and impressionable young woman—as submissive as I’ve seen in some time—and I’m sure you’ll adjust to these new duties. Understand, that you wouldn’t be spending this time with my husband if he were not fond of you. Be as compliant as you’ve been so far and you’ll do well.” “Yes, Ma’am.” Alice’s chin was quivering, her voice faint. Madam Haliday laid a kind hand on her cheek. “You’re trembling.” “Yes, ma’am.” A lone tear threatened in her eye. “Use your fear to guide you. Know that when you feel this kind of apprehension that behind it is the most wondrous joy. Truly, I wish it were me who the Master is calling to the cellar tonight.” She was quite envious of the fair-skinned Alice. Her eyes glimmered passionately and her hefty bosom breathed with sensuality, while her whole body reeked remorse. “Finally, my dear, understand that there is really nothing to fear. Sir Haliday seeks nothing but your happiness.” She ran her long nails through Alice’s soft blonde curls. “Go now, and be sure to wear your corset tightly laced, fix your hair and pinch your cheeks. Sir will be most pleased to see that you’re ready for him.” “Yes, ma’am.” Alice backed off the pillow and rose to her feet. With a nod of approval from her mistress, she then scampered out the door. Alice had heard of the other girls being taken to the cellar—which they had all aptly named The Dungeon. They talked about the cross, but never explained exactly what they meant, which left the goings on in the cellar of the house a mystery to the newest and most innocent housemaid. Alice only understood that the event would be s****l. Being a virgin with no worldly experience, she had no idea what might transpire between she and the Master of the house. She was, however, quite delighted that Sir Haliday was so taken with her, and that she could in some way please this powerful and very enchanting gentleman. Though he was much older than she (and even his wife), his attractiveness to women had not been diminished by age; in fact, it only increased as the handsome gentleman matured. To Alice, he’d been God-like, the paragon of mastery, the center of her desires since she walked through the doors of her new home. Yet, until he retrieved her from her ungracious sprawl on the foyer floor, he paid no mind to her—so she assumed.