A Haunting in New Orleans - Part Two

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
WARNING! This is adult oriented fiction of a strong sexual nature. If you are under 18 years of age or easily offended by such material, then click your browser's BACK button now. The copyright of this story remains with the author, Night Owl. This posting does not give you the rights to post this on any website without obtaining the author's permission first.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Story Content: M/f, Horror, Bondage, Whipping, NC)


Part Two:

The next morning Jennifer went to work as usual, but after three sleepless nights, it was going to be struggle just to stay awake. She was already convinced that the strange and ghostly experiences plaguing her had something to do with the house, but she wouldn’t go as far as to admit to herself the place was haunted. There had to be some rational explanation that a Princeton/Harvard Law grad, like herself, could accept.

Ghosts or no, she was ready to move out, and soon. First, she wanted some answers, so later that day, she met Katrina at the Cajun restaurant they had talked about over the phone. It was located at the heart of New Orleans -- the bustling French Quarter.

Katrina Campins, or "Kat", as everyone called her, was attractive, but not as beautiful as Jen. Her long, somewhat prominent nose, narrow brown eyes and thin lips received mixed reviews from men; but nonetheless, there was a sex-appeal in her mannerisms and style of dress that often drew looks in her direction whenever she entered a room. That day she showed up at the restaurant in a gray dress suit with a very short skirt that showed off her impressive legs. She was slender like Jen, though not quite as curvy. Her skin was an almond color as opposed to her friend's china doll complexion, and her dark chestnut hair, fell straight around the shoulders. She really had a knack for appearing both business-like and alluring at the same time.

“Hey girl,” Katrina smiled and took off her coat to reveal a white sleeveless blouse and an impressive set of willowy arms. As she took her seat, her smile suddenly turned to a frown.

"Wow, you weren't kidding about not sleeping, were you?"

"What do you mean?" Jen asked.

"Those dark circles under your eyes. You look like you haven't closed them in a week."

"I know. We have a big case coming up," Jennifer tried her best to lie. “It's been keeping me up nights."

The two women had lunch and dispensed with the usual girl talk for a while until Kat finally asked her about the house.

"So how to you like the place," then she smiled, "Ready to buy it, yet?"

"Oh, it's really nice . . . but I think I'm going to keep looking. It just isn't the right for me, you know?"

"I understand," Kat sounded disappointed, but she didn’t seem surprised either.

"Speaking of the house," Jen continued, "has anything . . . well . . . WEIRD ever happened in that place?"

"What do you mean weird?"

"Well . . . anything out of the ordinary, you know, regarding its history?"

"Mmm, you must have heard about the scandal."

"What scandal?"

Katrina crossed her arms in front of her and leaned in close. In doing so, Jen noticed the deep V in her blouse opened up a little to show-off her cleavage. She had known her friend since high school, so it was no secret that her breasts had been 'fixed' since then.

"Well," Kat began, "it had to do with a man by the name of John Richter. He was the original owner and lived there back in the early 1900s."

Katrina shifted her body a little, making the blouse open a little wider.

"Now what I'm about to tell you, Jen, is what I've just heard from some of the locals. So I'm not sure if this is true or not. The fact is, the place has acquired a bit of a reputation, which is why I've been having so much trouble selling it. I even checked the town records and newspapers to find out if the stories were really true and found nothing about it. Personally, I think it's just a case of town gossip run amuck."

"What?"

"Well, this guy Richter was a bachelor, and a good-looking one at that; very popular with the ladies. Apparently though, he was also into some really kinky stuff -- you know, like bondage, whips and chains, that sort of thing."

Just then, Jennifer thought her heart had skipped a beat, "Go on."

"Rumor has it, that he even had a secret dungeon located somewhere under the house. He would take his lady friends down there a do all sorts of things to them, real mid-evil stuff, like chaining them up in shackles, putting them in racks, and other weird-looking contraptions; even whipping them."

"And they went along willingly with all of this?"

Kat nodded 'yes', "I guess the guy was a real charmer, but then he met this woman and they fell in love. She was very pretty, from what I hear."

"I can imagine what the sex was like," Jennifer tried to laugh.

"Me too, but then it got really ugly."

"What happened?"

"They got married, and on the surface, they became the most respected and admired couple in the French Quarter."

"But behind closed doors . . ." Jen added.

"Uh-huh, he still liked the kinky stuff. Only Richter became obsessed with it. He began treating his new wife like a slave. Then one night, he killed her!"

"How?"

"No one knows for sure. Rumor had it that he lost control of himself during one of their little kink sessions and overdid it. Regardless of how it happened, he was tried and convicted of murder then sent to prison for three years. I guess he was really grief-stricken about the loss of his wife too."

"So what happened next?"

"Well," Katrina looked around the room, then leaned forward again as if about to reveal a juicy piece of gossip, "he became seriously ill while in prison, and almost died there. Then after getting out, he moved back into the house. By then, he was still pretty sickly and didn't look anything like the man he was before. Not long after he came back though, women started disappearing, first in New Orleans, then from some of the towns nearby. The girls ranged from nineteen to twenty-five years in age, and all of them, very attractive . . . you know, like his wife."

Jennifer gasped, "How long did this go on?"

"About two years, I think," Katrina guessed, "but then one night, a woman went to the city police and told them about how she had been abducted by John Richter and kept a prisoner in his house. According to her story, he locked her in a small cage, then raped and tortured her for over a month in that dungeon of his before she finally escaped. At first the police didn't believe a word of it, because this guy was still a prominent, well-respected businessman, despite what happened with his wife. But the woman pressed charges anyway, and the police were forced to go to his home to search the place."

"What did they find?"

"Not a thing! No cages, no shackles, no whips. Just a riding crop in the stable out back, and being it was still the horse and buggy years, those were pretty common back then. They even searched the cellar for this so-called dungeon the girl mentioned and found nothing.

"A secret room?"

"Maybe," then Katrina shook her head, "but I doubt it. I've searched that cellar a dozen times myself. All that's down there now are wine racks and storage shelves."

Jennifer had to agree. She had been down there herself and saw nothing out of the ordinary, but Katrina continued,

"The police started investigating this guy anyway, because a half a dozen women had disappeared so far, and Richter was the only suspect they had. Unfortunately, he died shortly after, so the investigation never even got off the ground."

"You mean they never found out if that woman's story was true?"

"No. All they had was her word, with no physical evidence to support it, but after he died, there were no more disappearances."

Jen was silent. She didn't have to hear anymore. She didn't have to be convinced that the story was true, because she was sure of it now.

"There's more . . ."

"What?"

"After John Richter died, his brother took over the house. I guess he had the interior remodeled from the ground up, then sold it to a young couple."

"And what happened?"

"Well," Katrina paused a moment, "the deal fell through. Apparently, the couple stayed there only a few days and moved out, claiming the place was haunted."

"I see," Jen felt her heart jump again. "Go on."

"Not much more to tell after that. The brother put the place in moth balls for about 20 years, then it was finally sold after he died. Two or three families have lived there since."

"Any troubles?"

"None that I know of, but the history and the rumors that followed have given the place a bad reputation, even to this day, making it a hard sell whenever it goes on the market. The story goes, according to some the locals anyway, is that John Richter's spirit has been lying dormant all these years, waiting for an attractive, young girl to move into the place . . . you know, like his next victim," Katrina then laughed, "So you better watch yourself, kid!"

Jennifer didn't see the joke. She didn't even smile, only gazed out the window and watched the people walk by. Katrina could tell by the thousand-mile stare that her friend had something serious on her mind.

"Jen, are sure everything's all right?"

"Yeah, sure . . . or no," she stammered. "I think I'm going to move out of that house, Kat. Maybe stay in a hotel until I find something else.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's just . . . that place kind of gives me the creeps, that's all. You don't mind me running out on you like this, do you?"

"No. Of course not," Katrina reassured her. "I guess I should have told you about the house's history and all the rumors, but I honestly thought you didn't believe in that sort of thing."

"I didn't."

Then Jennifer paused for a long moment, and asked her friend the obvious question she wasn't sure she wanted to hear an answer to,

"Kat . . . what was the wife's name?"

"Losyara."

Her heart was doing somersaults now.

-------------------------

After lunch, Jennifer went back to work, with a plan to leave early so she could pack and find a hotel that evening. She had no intention of spending one more night in that house. Unfortunately, a meeting she had scheduled with a client went longer than expected, so she didn't get out of the office until 7:00. She decided to skip dinner and go straight home to pack.

The house loomed above her against the moonlit clouds as she drove up.

"Don't go in there," a little voice told her. For a moment Jen actually considered turning around and heading straight for the hotel, but she wanted to grab her things and get it all over with. Most of her belongings were still in storage across town, so there really wasn’t much to pack. Quickly she got out of the car, unlocked the front door, and turned on all of the lights.

By 9:30, she was ready, but just as she closed the last suitcase, Jen suddenly felt tired, so profoundly tired, that she could barely keep her eyes open. She decided to take a quick shower first, hoping the cool water would wake her up.

It didn't though. In fact, she felt worse -- like all of the energy had been drained from her body. After drying off, she managed to threw on a pink satin robe, then sat heavily on the edge of the bed, hungering now for the touch of her pillow.

"I have to get going," she thought, but I'm afraid I'll faint if I try to get up. Maybe if I just sit here a rest for a minute."

A strange feeling then hit Jen like a wave and quickly spread through her, causing her to lay back on the bed. It wasn't like being pushed down, but more of a tranquilizing effect. Both her mind and body were instantly calmed and the urge to flee dissipated. Now she felt almost totally relaxed. She might have been able to move if she tried but had no motivation to do so.

The next thing she remembered was hearing the voice.

"Losyara . . ."

She moaned and shifted her body uneasily on top of the bedding, then awoke just as the clock on her bed table rolled to 2:15 a.m. Four hours had already passed, but to her, it seemed like mere moments!

"Come down, Losyara."

"No . . . please," she pleaded softly, "don't do this."

"It is much too late to say no, my sweet one," the voice seemed to whisper in her ear. "Now come down to us. We are waiting."

Jen rose obediently to her feet and smoothed the silky robe around her hips. The air was so warm and sticky that night, it seemed hard to breathe. The carpet felt like wet moss under her bare feet. In the corner of her room, the ancient relic that was her air conditioner continued to moan and wheeze, then suddenly it stopped completely.

"Come!" the voice hissed a third time, sounding displeased.

Jennifer's natural instinct of resistance disappeared immediately, and she found herself responding to the preternatural call before the little voice inside her could talk her out of it. She descended the stairs down to the foyer and moved to the cellar door. She placed her hand on the doorknob. It was ice cold. As she swung the door open, cool, dank air rushed out to caress her face and legs. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes to breath in the stale, musty scent. It smelled like an open grave. For a moment, she thought to herself that wearing just a short satin robe with loose sleeves seemed a little inappropriate. She thought of those low-budget B-horror movies, when the pretty damsel always went to investigate some eerie noise while dressed in a scanty nightgown, and of course, there was usually someone, or something waiting for her around the corner.

"Down here, Losyara," the voice sounded faint and distant down the stairs. "We are waiting for you."

She started to descend the cellar steps. The air became even colder, moving up her bare legs, and seeping under her silk robe. She took each step carefully until she reached the bottom of the stairs, then holding her arms out, she moved slowly forward. It was black as pitch now, and the room seemed to go on forever, much larger than she remembered the cellar to be -- at least, in the light of day.

She noticed how the floor began to change underneath her feet. It was wet now, and uneven, as though made of stone. The space also seemed to close in around her. Instinctively, she stretched her arms out to her sides, and her groping fingers found two walls in the blackness. Jennifer knew then that she was no longer in the cellar, but in some narrow corridor leading to . . . a dungeon?

"Come girl," the voice beckoned. "It is not much further."

Jennifer stepped forward with her hands brushing against the walls to guide her through the darkness.

"That's it. Follow my voice."

The tone was soothing, hypnotic, and it's pull seemed to grow stronger as she approached, like it was draining any energy Jennifer might have had left to resist it. She barely noticed the silky brush of cobwebs against her body, or the smell of blood and sulfur in the air.

Suddenly, the walls gave away. Her blue eyes blinked several times, as if awakening from some daze. Reaching back, she tried to find the corridor again, but it didn't seem to exist anymore. Deep down she knew there was no going back now. The secret corridor had closed its doors, locking her in.

"It is good to see you in the flesh, my love," the voice was close. "Now you belong to ME, to do with whatever I please."

Jennifer could feel the presence of others in the room. Many others, and all eyes were on her now. She stood in the blackness like a statue, arms down at her sides, not daring to move. Then, slowly but very surely, she felt a touch on her skin. A shape, a hand-like shape rubbed her left cheek, cupping it, caressing it as if to console her. She caught a brief glimpse of the face she had seen in the mist two nights before - long, pallid, as white as a corpse, with dark piercing eyes -- then it disappeared, and the touch was gone.

"Now, raise your arms, girl. Raise them high."

She did so, allowing the loose sleeves of her satin robe to slide down past her shoulders and bare her arms. She immediately felt something lock around each dainty wrist -- restraints, cold and hard, like steel. Her submission had begun. The rusty chain above her pulled, raising her, stretching her body and lifting her feet off the cold, wet floor.

Now suspended, she wriggled expectantly and waited for the sound of His voice again, but all was silent.

"Master?" she heard herself call. Her voice sounded disembodied, like someone else's voice. She called again, but there was only silence. Her head was a jumble of emotions - fear, eager anticipation, sexual excitement, wonder. Where is He? Why did I come here? What is going to happen to me? Am I already dead?

Suddenly she felt something sharp, tearing through the robe down along her spine. A knife . . . a very sharp knife. It ripped again into her sleeves, and the torn fabric slid off her body. Jennifer was naked now as she hung there, helplessly stretched and shivering in the dark. The cool, dank air immediately encroached around her, turning her newly bared skin into gooseflesh all over. Finally, the silence was broken by the sound of a female voice.

"Her flesh is so warm, so ALIVE. May we taste it, Master?"

"You may."

Jennifer whimpered as the ghostly hands ran up and down her body, followed by invisible wet kisses. The lips were female, but they felt cold and clammy, like the lips one might find on a corpse that had been lying bloated in the wet earth for some time. In spite of that, she reacted eagerly to their attentions. Her breasts swelled like ripe melons as the hands groped for them. Phantom tongues lapped at her arms, legs, back and belly. Like hungry infants, they suckled her nipples, turning them into taut buds of pink flesh. Jennifer moaned and swayed on the chains, and just as she thought she would go mad, the ghostly hands and lips were gone.

"She is ready for you, Master," the female voice announced.

"Ready to receive the whip?"

"Yes, Master."

Almost immediately, Jennifer heard the whistle of leather through the black space around her, then felt a line of stinging pain across her breasts.

"Ohhhhhhh . . ." she threw her head back and groaned out loud.

Blow after searing blow sliced across her smooth, delicate flesh. The red pain morphed into white heat that spread throughout her body. Her vagina twitched with excitement. In her mind, she visualized the deep red marks the phantom whip probably made. Rivers of moisture rolled off her, but she couldn't tell if it was her own sweat or fresh blood from her many wounds.

Finally, Jennifer could no longer contain herself. Fireworks exploded in her mind's eye as her body spasmed and erupted. She shook violently, screaming, the gritty chain rattling ominously above. She felt herself rising, her spirit abandoning the flesh that was being decimated by the whip. She was free, but she knew it would not last long. Her Master would want her to return to her own body for more punishment. As she hovered in the darkness, a voice in her head seeped up from recent memory,

"Down here, we play, Losyara. WE ALL FLOAT AND PLAY … FOREVER!"

-------------------------

The next day Katrina stopped by the house to get it ready for a scheduled walk through. She tried the doorbell first, and when no one answered, let herself in with her own key. The house was immaculate, thanks to Jennifer, so there was very little she had to clean up. When she entered the master bedroom, she saw her friend's suitcases and a few boxes sitting next to the door. Apparently, Jen had decided to stay the night after all. She pulled out her cell and dialed her friend's number. The phone rang in a purse sitting next to one of the bags.

"Strange," she thought, "She must have forgotten her purse when she left for work."

Katrina took her things and put them in one of the storage closets so they would be out of sight, then went to the kitchen and left Jen a note, telling her where they would be when she came back. When she moved into the living room, though, she stopped dead in her tracks. The temperature had suddenly dropped at least 20 degrees in a matter of seconds. It was like walking into a wall of cold air. She checked the air conditioner. It was off. Katrina knew some of these old homes had drafts, but it was at least 90 degrees outside!

"Great," she rubbed the gooseflesh from her bare arms, "now how am I going to explain this one."

Before she could finish the thought, the cool air went away just as quickly as it came, but it left her with a weird, creepy feeling that she couldn't shake off, like someone was watching her now. She recalled Jen telling her about a "creepy" feeling she also had when in the house. Where WAS she anyway?

Katrina searched the ground floor, half-expecting someone to pop out of nowhere. Nothing. Like the cold air, the feeling went away. She shook her head and laughed nervously.

"OK girl, get a grip on yourself."

She decided there was still time to grab a quick lunch before the 1:00 walk through and hoped the couple would be here waiting when she got back. Grabbing her briefcase and coat, she quickly headed for the front door. It was then, she noticed the door to the cellar standing wide open.

“Odd. Wasn't that closed when I first came in?”

She set the coat and briefcase down, then went over to the door and stood at the top of the steps.

"Jen?" she called out. Silence.

She tried the light switch on the wall, but it didn't work.

"Probably the circuit breaker outside," she thought to herself. "That's easy enough to fix."

Katrina then reached for the door to close it, when suddenly, a breath of icy air wafted up the steps and brushed against her silk blouse. She drew a breath. She felt a tinge of arousal course through her body, with the same force one might feel after receiving a shock from touching an empty light socket. Underneath the blouse, her nipples tightened and pressed against her lacy bra. She wanted to move away from the door, but she couldn't. Something was holding her!

"Get out of there!" her own voice inside warned, but it sounded far away, and weak.

She stood in the doorway for what seemed like an eternity, looking down into the black void. Looking past it. If Katrina could see herself, she would have recognized the same thousand-mile stare she saw in her friend's eyes the day before. She took one step forward, then another. She paused a minute and waited for her voice to warn her again, but it was gone, replaced by another voice; a masculine voice. She continued again, down the dark cellar steps.

"I'm coming," she whispered, and the door closed behind her.

End