Something Evil M/F Part Six: dark
Posted: Sat Aug 14, 2021 8:23 pm
Baron Fessel opened the door to the vice box and Elvira Devlin fell nude to floor. Her body crumpled sideways out the doorway at his feet. He regarded her hungrily, his erection still at full mast. Fessel looked her over, “No” he intoned to himself. “Not yet.” He bent down and scooped up her unconscious form and walked toward the door. Her dark red hair swinging to the side as her head tilted back limply over his arm. Even bruised and sweating with blood seeping from her nose, she was an amazing physical specimen. Bruises on her breasts and hips showed the telltale forces she was subjected to just moments ago. She’d been in the box for several minutes, long enough to be oxygen starved and dehydrated.
He unbolted the door with his right hand supporting her weight with his left arm and swung it wide open. He walked back up the narrow hallway and turned at the end to a set of stone steps. With Elvira’s inert form cradled in his arms the Bromley Strongman mounted the steep stairway to surface floor of Castle Dunham.
At the top of the stairs he was met by two Great Danes. A Fawn and a Mantle, both males. They both stood their ground and began moving closer, their heads down. Elvira’s scent had set off an instinctive alarm. “Bleib!” he commanded in German. “Fuss! Sitz!” he ordered as he passed and the dogs obediently followed his commands and laid down. He walked down a long hallway lined with doors and sundry pictures, artwork from centuries past. He could feel Elvira’s body heat rise or perhaps, he thought, “I’m just getting old.” At the very end was a hidden staircase that spiraled upwards to the next floor. There he entered a long vast room filled with trophies and closets of opulent clothing from his days as a performer and that of his wife. A large ornate fireplace dominated the end of the room and to his right was a large arched window. It was open and looked out over the marshy grounds of Castle Dunham. An enormous moon rose steadily over the misty landscape shining into the room and casting shadows beyond the objects and possessions.
He laid her on her back on a table and pulled some manacles from the underside drawer to secure her hands. They clicked as he screwed the key down tightly, locking them onto her wrists. Baron’s hands shook as he worked. Not from caution or effort but from raw sexual desire. He ran his hands over her nude body. Squeezing her breasts and caressing every sinew of her taught frame. His wandering hands made their way to her vagina and he explored it fully with his finger tips. A curiosity he thought, while his hands ran casually over her hips. The bruises weren’t as large as he’d thought. In the dungeon lighting it was easy to mistake such things with the flickering lamps and dim atmosphere. “No matter,” he said aloud to himself. It’d be dark soon and the temperatures would drop considerably. He glanced toward the fireplace and the stack of logs he’d cut just last week. He stood removing his coat and laid it across a nearby chair. Baron Fessel looked at her prone form again cuffed and helpless and felt his manhood, but only briefly.
At the fireplace he lifted the screen away and placed several dry logs onto the stand inside. He grabbed the torch he’d lit earlier and held it to some kindling stuffed under the stand. In just a matter of seconds the logs began to catch fire. It spread quickly and the embers began to lift up the chimney. Satisfied it would remain alight he replaced the screen and turned to deal with his captive.
At first he thought he simply had forgotten where she was laid down. Fessel could see she wasn’t lying on the table where he’d left her. Surprise gave way to confusion as he scanned the floor around the table and out of the corner of his vision saw her. She stood silently, stoically in front of the open window. He bolted toward her, rapidly clearing the distance from the fireplace hearth to where she stood in front of the window. Moonlight silohuetted her body and she seemed to be glowing, a halo of moonlight around her head and torso. He pulled the pistol from his belt and leveled it at her back. “GET AWAY FROM THE WINDOW!” he shouted as anger rose in his brain.
“It’s too late” came her faint reply. Her voice was devoid of emotion and was that regret, he wondered?
“I’ll not let you kill yourself! You aren’t leaving this life until I decide!” Fessel stated, Smiling to himself assuredly.
She giggled like a school girl her gaze still transfixed out the window, beyond the grounds on something distant.
“I don’t mean it’s too late for ME.” she turned toward Baron Fessel and faced him. Her features a sharper than before. Her tone threatening. She dropped her hands to her sides. The iron manacles fell to the floor, broken.
“I meant it’s too late for you….darling.”
To be continued…
He unbolted the door with his right hand supporting her weight with his left arm and swung it wide open. He walked back up the narrow hallway and turned at the end to a set of stone steps. With Elvira’s inert form cradled in his arms the Bromley Strongman mounted the steep stairway to surface floor of Castle Dunham.
At the top of the stairs he was met by two Great Danes. A Fawn and a Mantle, both males. They both stood their ground and began moving closer, their heads down. Elvira’s scent had set off an instinctive alarm. “Bleib!” he commanded in German. “Fuss! Sitz!” he ordered as he passed and the dogs obediently followed his commands and laid down. He walked down a long hallway lined with doors and sundry pictures, artwork from centuries past. He could feel Elvira’s body heat rise or perhaps, he thought, “I’m just getting old.” At the very end was a hidden staircase that spiraled upwards to the next floor. There he entered a long vast room filled with trophies and closets of opulent clothing from his days as a performer and that of his wife. A large ornate fireplace dominated the end of the room and to his right was a large arched window. It was open and looked out over the marshy grounds of Castle Dunham. An enormous moon rose steadily over the misty landscape shining into the room and casting shadows beyond the objects and possessions.
He laid her on her back on a table and pulled some manacles from the underside drawer to secure her hands. They clicked as he screwed the key down tightly, locking them onto her wrists. Baron’s hands shook as he worked. Not from caution or effort but from raw sexual desire. He ran his hands over her nude body. Squeezing her breasts and caressing every sinew of her taught frame. His wandering hands made their way to her vagina and he explored it fully with his finger tips. A curiosity he thought, while his hands ran casually over her hips. The bruises weren’t as large as he’d thought. In the dungeon lighting it was easy to mistake such things with the flickering lamps and dim atmosphere. “No matter,” he said aloud to himself. It’d be dark soon and the temperatures would drop considerably. He glanced toward the fireplace and the stack of logs he’d cut just last week. He stood removing his coat and laid it across a nearby chair. Baron Fessel looked at her prone form again cuffed and helpless and felt his manhood, but only briefly.
At the fireplace he lifted the screen away and placed several dry logs onto the stand inside. He grabbed the torch he’d lit earlier and held it to some kindling stuffed under the stand. In just a matter of seconds the logs began to catch fire. It spread quickly and the embers began to lift up the chimney. Satisfied it would remain alight he replaced the screen and turned to deal with his captive.
At first he thought he simply had forgotten where she was laid down. Fessel could see she wasn’t lying on the table where he’d left her. Surprise gave way to confusion as he scanned the floor around the table and out of the corner of his vision saw her. She stood silently, stoically in front of the open window. He bolted toward her, rapidly clearing the distance from the fireplace hearth to where she stood in front of the window. Moonlight silohuetted her body and she seemed to be glowing, a halo of moonlight around her head and torso. He pulled the pistol from his belt and leveled it at her back. “GET AWAY FROM THE WINDOW!” he shouted as anger rose in his brain.
“It’s too late” came her faint reply. Her voice was devoid of emotion and was that regret, he wondered?
“I’ll not let you kill yourself! You aren’t leaving this life until I decide!” Fessel stated, Smiling to himself assuredly.
She giggled like a school girl her gaze still transfixed out the window, beyond the grounds on something distant.
“I don’t mean it’s too late for ME.” she turned toward Baron Fessel and faced him. Her features a sharper than before. Her tone threatening. She dropped her hands to her sides. The iron manacles fell to the floor, broken.
“I meant it’s too late for you….darling.”
To be continued…