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Olivia's Dungeon (Argus)


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Olivia is a young, first year co-ed who wants to be a librarian. She has always been fascinated by books and stories and takes a summer job helping the public library. When she's assigned to help catalog the books in a huge old mansion she's sure there's a secret passage. And there is! It leads to a musty old dungeon where her wicked fantasies take hold. Olivia can't resist pretending, imagining what it was like long ago.

Daniel Patrick finds her one afternoon, her wrists carefully locked into shackles over her head – naked. She is appalled, shocked, and helpless! But Patrick is a handsome, wealthy and sophisticated man who quickly seduces her and sets her mind aflame with her own dark fantasies. Olivia is overwhelmed, as he skillfully manipulates both her body and mind to draw her into a thrilling dark role playing game of submission, bondage and sexual slavery!

To him, however, it is no game, as he works to tempt her into a much more exciting and pleasurable life than that of a librarian. If he has his way she will become his obedient sex slave, servicing he, his friends, and select clients with her lovely young body.

Product type: EBook    Published by: author - self-published    Published: 3 / 2019

No. words: 34600

Style: Male Dom - M/F, Sex Slavery / Training

Available Formats: MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle


Chapter One

I have never been very cool. I've been a bookish nerd from puberty on. And I mean bookish. I loved books and still do. Oh, my parents gave me an e-reader, of course, but it's just not the same. I love to feel the weight and heft of a book, and turn the pages.
And the older the better! The smell of an old book is fascinating to me. I love reading a book from a hundred or even two hundred years ago and thinking about how someone two centuries ago held the same book in their hand and was reading it just like me!
I have a really good imagination, and a fascination with olden times and ways. I thought of being an archaeologist once, and then a historian, but in the end, I decided to take Library Sciences and become a librarian.
That's not as easy as it might seem. You need a lot of education to be a librarian! First you have to get a bachelor's degree in something, then get a masters of library science. And it helps if you can get part-time work in a library along the way.
I was lucky because I knew Carol, who was a librarian. I had spent so much time at the library as I grew up that I'd gotten to know her, so she had some great advise on what to take, and also helped me get a summer job there.
Now given I had just one year in college taking English Lit, I didn't have a whole lot of skills, and wasn't exactly given the most important jobs. Mostly, since I was young and healthy (and skinny) I did a lot of fetching and carrying.
I was assigned downstairs in the archives, where the stacks were quite high and you had to do a lot of climbing up and down ladders. But that was fine with me. It was good exercise, and I got to handle all those fascinating old books!
My only problem was I kept pausing to read them. And then Mrs. Dawson would look up the ladder and say “Olivia! Work now, read later!”
And then one day she greeted me when I came in in the morning.
“Olivia, how would you like an interesting assignment?”
Okay, I'm young and naive but even I know that's probably not going to be good!
“Uhm... what kind of assignment?” I asked hesitantly.
“An elderly man has passed away in Brentwood. He has a library of books which his heirs wish to have assessed for removal and possible donation. He was quite a wealthy man so there could be some very important old books we might be able to get our hands on.”
“That sounds cool!” I said.
“It's mostly a matter of bringing books down from the shelves to be examined and cataloged,” she warned.
“That's more or less what I do here,” I said with a smile.
“Good. You can go up there now. Mister Dunlop will drive.”
I winced. Mister Dunlop was in his sixties, as dry a stick as you'd ever want to meet (or not want to meet) whose main complaint was that young people didn't treat their elders with respect, and didn't have any morals. Ugh! Spending all day with him would be horribly boring!
But there was no way to turn it down so I glumly went out to the street with him and got into his car. It was so old it still had bench seats. Geeze. It was the size of a freaking boat, too! As for the music, you can probably guess. It played old man music.
I brought my iPod and listened to an audio book and dreamed about life in ancient Rome – a place I desperately wanted to visit some day.
We drove across town, then up into the hills. The size of the houses got bigger and bigger the higher we climbed. And there were more and bigger trees. The sidewalks disappeared and walls began to appear alongside the roads – high walls with hedges in front of them and then even bigger hedges behind them, some twenty or thirty feet high.
These people sure did like their privacy!
“Man, these people sure have money,” I said.
Mr. Dunlop only grunted. He wasn't much of a talker.
Finally we turned in at these huge black double gates and he opened his window, leaned out and pressed a button on a box thing which resembled those ordering boxes at drive-through restaurants.
“Yes?” a voice said.
“Good morning. My name is Dunlop. I'm from the public library.”
There was no reply, but the gates slowly swung inward, so he closed the window and pulled up through a long, curving driveway and stopped in front of a BIG gray stone house. We got out, with him carrying a laptop and case and me kind of following behind, looking all around in fascination.
“This place looks old,” I said.
Mr. Dunlop grunted.
It had a big, broad lawn with a fountain in the middle, turned off now. It also had big, double doors – black like the gates, only a lot shinier. One of them opened as we arrived, and a fastidious looking little man in round glasses answered it.
“I'm Charles Billings,” he said. “I work for the executor of the estate. You're from the library? Good. The library is this way.”
I looked around as we walked down corridors lined with beautiful walnut wainscoting. The whole place smelled of age! We were led past rooms I'd have loved to have gone into to look around in, filled with furniture that looked antique.
And then we found the library. Wow! This was what I called a library! I had dreamed of one day owning a library like this! It was classic! No metal shelves here, and no plastic! It was all heavy dark wood. The book shelves were ten feet high, with a rail running across the top which let a ladder on wheels slide around! A wooden ladder!
The floor was dark, ancient hardwood, as well, with a large red Persian carpet at one end. There was a kind of second level of shelves reached by going up a narrow, spiral staircase to a kind of catwalk about six feet wide which ran along three walls.
“Wow!” I said, looking around in awe.
Then I realized something
“This is gonna take a long time,” I said, frowning.
“Indeed,” Mr. Dunlop sighed.
He put down his case and opened up the laptop.
“You go up to the catwalk. Start at the far end. Examine the spines of the books and get a feel for what type of books are in what area. Take pictures of the shelves along the way. No one who cares about books enough to collect this many is going to simply throw them onto the shelves willy-nilly. There has to be some kind of catalog somewhere and some system for what type of books go on what shelves. I will look for the catalog.”
“Okay-doke,” I said. “Geeze, it's freaking hot in here.”
“It's a very old building with a very old electrical system,” he said. “It is most unlikely to have air conditioning.”
I had dressed this morning for the library, which most definitely WAS air conditioned, not a musty old building which would get hotter as the day wore on. But there was nothing for it but to climb up the stairs and go to the end of the catwalk, then start figuring out what books were stored where.
I was still fascinated with the books, but I have to admit, it started to get hot after a while, even with the windows open. Then, once I started carrying books down to Mr. Dunlop I started to sweat.
It didn't seem to bother him much, but he sat at the big desk in front of the windows getting some breeze. I was the one who had to keep running up the steep spiral staircase, grabbing armloads of books, and bringing them back!
It's a good thing there were no mirrors because I was sure I looked like hell by the time we called it quits and he drove us home. I was exhausted, bedraggled, my hair a mess, and my clothes needed immediately laundering.
The next day Mrs. Foster came with us, along with David Ross and Sarah Moore, who were younger staff. I also wore sneakers, a loose skirt and a thin, light blouse.
I still got the crappiest job, of course, which was running up and down the stairs and getting books from up there on the catwalk. Because I was 'young and skinny', as Mrs. Foster put it.
Mrs. Foster was old and fat, so I didn't really complain, though I thought Dave and Sarah were young enough. They were an item, though, and tended to do everything together.
I was at the far end of the catwalk, in no hurry, examining books to take down, when I found something odd. I tried to pull a bunch of books off and one book wouldn't come out. It was the last book on the shelf. I put the others on the floor and looked at it sitting there, wondering what it was stuck on, and then tried to move it again.
To my surprise, it would tilt but not slide out. And when it tilted, there was a clicking noise from the edge of that shelf. Since I'd spent so much time with my nose in books and had an active fantasy life I guessed immediately what it was. Sure enough, a little push and the whole section of shelf swung inward!
I wondered what was inside. Treasure!? Gold!? Bodies!?
It was a secret passage! Woo hoo! I had the urge to turn and yell at the others, then decided to explore on my own. I had my phone in my pocket so took it out and turned on the flashlight app, then stepped down the narrow interior passage.
It led about ten feet in, then went down a very narrow staircase just a little wider than me. I knew I wasn't being paid to go exploring, but couldn't resist. Besides, I figured I could say this was my paid break.
There was another short passage, then another set of stairs. This set turned and continued down, and I felt a sense of anxiety. How deep did they go? I let my imagination run to demons and monsters and other fantastical things silly girls discovered in old houses, which stoked my fears.
I came to the bottom of the stairs, which had turned from wood to stone. The walls were now stone, too. At the bottom was a stone corridor with a low ceiling. I wondered how long it had been since anyone had been down here, and felt like an archaeologist exploring ancient ruins!
I came to a door. It was thick and old and heavy, and had a foot wide window with bars across it! It also had a heavy bar that slid across to lock it, and I gaped at it, then slid the bar back. The door opened with a rusty creaking sound, and inside was a small stone room with shackles bolted to the walls!
Holy geeze!
I knew this house was old. I wondered how long it had been since anyone had been held prisoner, and why they'd been held in the first place! Did this used to be a court or something?!
I walked on and found the corridor ended in a larger room with a higher ceiling. It wasn't a big room, compared to most I'd seen in the house, but was probably fifteen or twenty feet wide and long. There was a wide table with shackles and chains on the corners, a kind of sawhorse thing, several places with shackles dangling from the walls, a scarred post with shackles attached up high, and then two wooden beams with shackles on top and bottom.
Holy shit! It was like... a torture chamber! Why would they have this, even hundreds of years ago!?
I was definitely going to have to investigate the history of this house! But for just then I let myself stare around and imagine some poor guy being tortured here hundreds of years ago. Was he an evil criminal being punished or questioned by the local magistrate, or was the owner of the house evil, like a criminal type?!
I went back up the corridor and followed it past the stair. There were a couple of more cells, and then a wider stairway heading upstairs. I turned and headed back up the other stair, emerging in the library, and closed the shelf behind me.
I was eager to share my discovery, but got bitched at right off the bat for disappearing when it wasn't my break yet, and then I thought, well, none of these people deserve to know about it anyway. Fuck them.
I continued working, thinking longingly of the much cooler basement dungeon. And when I went home I tried to do some research on the house and its history.
I discovered it had been built in eighteen twenty seven, which didn't make a lot of sense. Who would need a dungeon then? I did a little more research and found that the man who'd built it was named Jonathan Patrick. He was a southerner who'd gotten rich in the slave trade!
Bingo, I thought.
But we were in Massachusetts and they had abolished slavery many decades before the house was built. I wondered if he'd come north, but continued his old trade somehow in secret. But there was no mention of it. Instead, it looked like he became famous for being a 'libertine', who outraged society with his wild parties!
There were all kinds of rumors about those parties, which involved many ladies of 'ill repute' and 'untold debauchery'! Freaky! But what did that have to do with the dungeon?!
It was a couple of days later that I was able to find out. That was when I met Daniel Patrick, the deceased owner's grandson. Mister Dunlop and Mrs. Foster had gone out to the car to eat lunch with the air conditioning on. Sarah and David had disappeared somewhere. I was alone, sitting in the window (it was a big window) munching on a sandwich and skimming one of the books.
I didn't even notice him, at first. He walked over to me, and only then did I look up, startled.
“Good day to you,” he said.
He looked to be about, well, thirtyish. He was a, well... rough looking guy. I mean, he was wearing what looked like a very elegantly cut, expensive suit, so I wasn't worried some gang member or something had broken in. But he had a face with hooded eyes, a broad nose, large mouth, short dark hair, and a day’s growth of beard. He was good looking, but in a sort of foreboding way. Like, this was not a guy who looked friendly and not a guy who had much patience for anyone.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Uhm, uh, I'm Olivia!” I gulped.
“An interesting bit of information but not very informative,” he replied.
“Oh! I mean, I'm with the library! The public library? That guy, whatshisname, Peters, asked us to come and catalog the books in this collection.”
“Working hard?” he asked.
I frowned. “It's lunch. Mr. Dunlop and Mrs. Foster are the librarians. They're in his car enjoying the air conditioning.”
He snorted and looked around, then back at me.
“And you don't mind the heat?”
“I'm getting used to it,” I said.
“My name is Daniel Patrick. I own this place now.”
“Oh! Uhm, sorry for your loss.”
“I didn't really know my uncle, so it wasn't that much of a loss. He was a grumpy old man I hadn't seen in years.”
“It's ah uhm, nice house.”
“It's a fire trap that hasn't been renovated in decades. If it didn't have a heritage designation it would be a lot easier to sell so someone could tear it down.”
“Did uhm, interesting things happen here long ago?”
He shrugged. “Define interesting?”
“Well, people getting tortured?”
He looked at me strangely.
“You have a very odd imagination, Olivia.”
I flushed. “You know about the uh, dungeon?”
He looked at me blankly.
“Through the secret passage up there?” I said, indicating the catwalk.
“Show me.”
I hesitated, but I was still really fascinated so I hopped off the thick ledge and led him up the stairs, then along to the end of the catwalk. I opened the door and he let out a brief laugh. “Well that's interesting. Torture chamber?”
I took out my phone and lit it up and we went downstairs, eventually to the dungeon.
“Well, I'll be damned,” he said.
“The guy who, uhm, built the house was involved in the slave trade,” I said.
That guy had been named Patrick too, so likely his relative.
“Yeah, I knew that. He was a pervert, too.”
“He was? I read something about him having wild parties.”
“More like orgies.”
He examined some of the chains, then went over to a low post I hadn't seen before. It was of wood, and about two feet high. But there was also a narrower screw sticking out of it and a kind of wooden tube atop the screw. The tube narrowed and became round at the top, and Patrick examined it, then turned a bolt again and again. It raised the tube upward bit by bit.
He laughed and shook his head.
“I would suggest that some of his orgies happened down here, Olivia.”
“What? But this place is... it's not exactly uhm... party central,” I said uncertainly.
“Depends on what your notion of fun is.”
He turned the screw and lowered the tube again while I looked at it blankly.
He turned and I was aware, standing this close to him, how big he was, and how broad shouldered.
“Some people,” he said. “enjoy different kind of fun and games.”
I frowned and looked around and then I guess my jaw dropped. The tube was basically a dildo! And a woman could stand over it and then the screw would raise it up and...
My face got hot and I turned away.
“Yes,” he said. “Most likely he took some of his women down here and tortured them.”
“How awful!”
“Unless they liked it,” he said.
I frowned disapprovingly.
“I suppose it might have been him that enjoyed being tied up and … punished,” he said. “But I doubt it.”
He looked at the sawhorse thing, which had straps on it.
“This is a female punishment device,” he said.
I frowned as I looked at it. How was it supposed to do that?
He bent and I saw there were two metal poles which folded out from the base, and there were shackles on the end. Which meant... you would be sitting straddling the narrow wooden beam with your legs held apart. I winced at the thought, and then blushed hotly again.
“Care to give it a try?” he asked with arched eyebrow.
“No thank you!” I said, face red.
“Well, I don't see that this adds to the value of the house, fascinating as it is,” he said.
We went back upstairs. I was a bit unsettled. But also feeling odd with him behind me. I wasn't... threatened, exactly, but very aware that he was a large, powerful man. In the context of the weird stuff back there that felt... strange.
He seemed like the sort of dangerous guy who would tie a girl up and whip her! Especially if she annoyed him!
And I was very aware he was walking up the stairs behind me with my butt in his face!
That made me nervous, and a little off-balance. It also made me rush. There was a place where the stone stairs came to a landing, then the wooden stairs went up in the opposite direction. There were no railings or anything to hold onto. And I misstepped, slipped, and the iPhone went flying. Because of the turn the stone staircase was open a bit at the side, and so instead of falling just on the stair it flew off to the side and hit the stones below, smashing.
I almost joined it, but he grabbed me around the waist, swinging me back up.
“I have to get my phone!”
“We'll get a flashlight or something first. And I'll have it repaired if it's been damaged. I asked you to show me the dungeon, after all.”
There were no flashlights to be found, as it turned out. He said he'd have someone come around and get the phone and not to worry about it. Of course I did! I wanted my phone!

Author Information

Argus is a man with long experience and credits in the publishing world. He has had almost two hundred novels published in the United Kingdom and The United States, by such publishers as Beeline, Star, Nexus, Chimera, Silver Moon, and Olympia. He has also been published in dozens of magazines.


Publisher Information

This story has been self-published by the author

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