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A Weekend In Nightmare Hall (Simon Grail)

A Weekend In Nightmare Hall by Simon Grail

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Martine Stevenson, Kristy Halewood and Lydia Eveleigh, accept chauvinistic, millionaire showman Ansell Macalister’s live television challenge to spend a long weekend alone in deserted and supposedly haunted Durnsmore Hall. He thinks pretty, young women like them will be too frightened to stay inside the Hall for three whole days. However, if they succeed, they will win a prize of £1,000,000 each.

But the house proves to be anything but empty. Soon the three women have been stripped naked and plunged into a nightmare of sex and perversion; being made to satisfying the twisted lusts of people who claim to be the spectres of its former inhabitants, although they seem all too solid and human in their carnal needs.

Are their persecutors really Macalister’s stooges, who are trying to scare them to make the show more exciting, and also to cheat them of their just reward? Are they intruders who have infiltrated the challenge for their own amusement? Or are they really the ghosts of the cursed Durnsmore clan?

Wherever the truth lies, Martine, Kristy and Lydia have no choice but to play their games. If they survive this, they will have earned their prizes!

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 3 / 2019

No. words: 27400

Style: Male Dom - M/F, Fem Dom - F/F, Dark Secrets BDSM/Bondage

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


Excerpt from: A Weekend in Nightmare Hall

Martine, Kristy and Lydia approach the Hall to begin their challenge under the eyes of the cameras and crew. Suddenly they are enveloped in a cloud of what they take to be special effects mist, that blots out the hall grounds and the spectators…

Still enveloped in the grey mist, they clambered up the short flight of steps up to the massive iron bound oak door that loomed before them. Martine twisted the heavy latch ring and pushed, but the door would not open.
‘It’s bolted shut!’ she said, leaning her shoulder against it again and shoving hard.
‘But I thought we were meant to let ourselves in,’ Kristy said.
‘We were,’ Lydia agreed, adding her weight to Martine’s with no more effect. ‘Maybe they’re playing games with us.’
Scowling in annoyance Martine swung the heavy knocker, which banged heavily.
‘There shouldn’t be any crew left inside by now,’ Kristy said. ‘It’s empty.’
‘So why can I hear footsteps?’ Martine said. ‘I don’t think we can trust anything Macalister told us…’
A bolt was thrown back and then the door swung ponderously open with a creak of hinges. It framed a tall, white haired, cadaverous figure in a dusty black tail coat and white stiff-collared shirt. Involuntarily the women flinched back a step.
‘Ahhh… Miss Eveleigh, Miss Halewood and Miss Stevenson,’ he said in funereal tones. ‘Do enter. The Master is expecting you…’
‘The “Master”?’ Martine asked doubtfully.
‘Mister Howard Durnsmore, of course, Miss.’
‘But… I thought he was dead.’
‘He is, Miss. But as the last descendent he is still the Master of the Hall…’
‘Of course he is,’ Martine said, glancing knowingly at the others. ‘And you are…?’
‘Graves, the butler, Miss.’
‘Good name. And I suppose you’re dead as well?’
‘Of course, Miss,’ he said smoothly. ‘I predeceased Mr Howard by some fifty years while I was still serving his father. But fortunately the ancestors kindly decided to retain my… ahhh… services, along with those of other selected loyal members of staff. Now please come in. The Master does not like to be kept waiting…’
They stepped into the hall, palely illuminated by the grey light coming in through its tall leaded windows. Dark, wood-panelled walls were hung with dark oil paintings and there were rugs on the floor. A massive staircase led up to a landing on which suits of armour stood guard. As they stepped inside a large long case clock, its pendulum swinging with a heavy, relentless tic, toc, chimed eight.
‘I thought this place had been cleared out,’ Kristy said. ‘It was empty on the film we saw earlier.’
‘Macalister’s just playing games with us,’ Martine said dismissively.
Graves closed and bolted the door behind them. ‘If you would come this way. Dinner has just been served.’
‘Whose dinner?’ Lydia asked.
‘The Durnsmore’s, Miss.’
‘Dine together often nowadays, do they?’
‘Not usually, Miss. But tonight is special. They have gathered in your honour, as you might say.’
‘But… how did you know we were coming?’ Kristy asked nervously.
While Martine rolled her eyes in despair at her naïve enquiry, Graves said solemnly: ‘The television company crew have been talking of little else while they worked in the house, Miss. The master thought it would be… amusing to welcome you to a banquet, so he allowed their preparations to continue. Not that it will make any difference as far as you are concerned, of course.’
‘I suppose you don’t get as many visitors as you used to,’ Martine said, struggling to keep a straight face.
‘Not as many as we once did, Miss,’ Graves agreed solemnly. ‘And few stay very long…’ He glanced over their jumpsuits with polite disapproval. ‘Regrettably there is no time for you to change into something more suitable for the occasion. Please follow me…’
As Graves led the way across the hall and along a corridor, under her breath Martine whispered to the others: ‘Do they really expect us to believe all this?’
‘It is a bit like stepping into some old Hammer horror film,’ Lydia agreed.
‘Well I don’t care if it is all fake as long as people are still watching us,’ Kristy said, a brief flash of steely determination transforming her naturally open face as she looked about her. Then she frowned. ‘Where are the cameras?’
‘They must have hidden them to make it seem more convincing,’ Lydia said.
‘But we could see the ones out in the courtyard,’ Kristy pointed out.
Graves halted in front a pair of heavy double doors, swung them open, stepped aside to let the women past him and announced formally: ‘Miss Eveleigh, Miss Halewood and Miss Stevenson, Sir…’
It was a lofty hall with a massive hammer beam roof from which hung great chandeliers of flickering candles, which filled out some of the shadows the grey light coming through the hall’s many windows failed to disperse. On one side a log fire crackled in a great fireplace. And yet despite this the room still felt cold.
At one end of the room was a big table laden with dishes and candelabras, with ten people seated at it waited on by several footman dressed in powdered wigs and tail coats. Opposite the table three heavy wooden high chairs had been set out in a row.
‘I wonder why they didn’t show us any of this earlier,’ Martine said sarcastically.
The figure seated in the middle of the table waved a hand. ‘Let me see them…’
Graves ushered Kristy, Martine and Lydia forward. Now they saw the diners properly.
They were dressed in a variety of costumes apparently sampled from period dress over the last four hundred years. Of their number three were women. They all looked up as they approached with sudden intense interest.
In the middle of this strange congregation sat the man who had spoken. He wore a more modern jacket, white shirt and bow tie, but his face was covered by an elegant Venetian mask. His eyes flashed out from its sockets as he appraised his guests.
‘Yes, not bad at all,’ he said. ‘We’ll have a lot of fun with them.’ This brought forth a medley of nods and chuckles and grunts of agreement from the other diners. Then he raised a glass to the women half mockingly. ‘But where are my manners? I am Howard Durnsmore. Welcome to Durnsmore Hall.’ He indicated his fellow diners.
‘And these are my assorted relations and ancestors. Do take a seat…’
He indicated the three heavy chairs. Close-up the women saw they were fitted with black iron hoops, which lay open as if in invitation on their arms and front legs. Heavy leather straps hung from their sides and each had a mechanism of rods and gears shiny with grease situated beneath their seats, which were in fact no more than ridges along each side of a void. A chain drive connected the mechanisms under the seats to crank handles that projected from the solid backs of the chairs.
Unconsciously Lydia, Kristy and Martine flinched away from the sinister devices.
‘Oh, this is too ridiculous,’ Martine said. She looked about the room, searching for hidden cameras. ‘Nobody is going to believe this, Macalister! If you’re going to set something up then you come up with something a little more subtle. This lot of ham actors aren’t going to scare us or the viewers!’
The chatter at the dining table abruptly ceased and Kristy shivered as she felt angry eyes glaring at them.
Howard said: ‘That odious Celtic upstart cannot hear you, nor are we his employees, Miss Stevenson. You are no longer in the house he fitted out with his cameras and microphones to play out his childish challenge. You are in our time and place now, suspended in a moment somewhere between life and death…’
‘And you’re all dead as well,’ Martine said wearily.
‘Of course. Were you not told?’
Lydia said: ‘it’s just that you look pretty solid for dead people.’
‘We can take corporeal form for a time within this house. A subtle torment permitted to us by the curse which binds us here, so that we are teased by a reminder of what we have lost.’
‘That must be… useful.’
‘Oh it can be most useful,’ Howard said suggestively, making Lydia shiver.
All this time Kristy had been gazing at them in wonder. Now while Martine and Lydia looked bemused and disbelieving, she said tentatively, ‘But… if you’re dead aren’t you sorry for what you did? Don’t you want the curse to be lifted so you can move on to the next plane of existence?’
‘Don’t say you think this lot are real ghosts?’ Martine said in despair.
Howard laughed. ‘Your companion sees the truth but she does not to understand. It takes more than a gypsy’s curse to deny the Durnsmore’s their sport! We defy our fate and our deaths! We shall see who breaks first!’
The rest of the company joined in raising their glasses to him and crying: ‘well said!’ and banging their hands on the table. The women shrank back a little more. They were certainly taking their parts seriously.
‘And talking of sport, your so-called challenge ended the moment you stepped over the threshold,’ Howard said. ‘Now you will entertain us. We rarely have such pretty women to play with so, if you are sufficiently amusing, we shall spare your minds, but your bodies will be ours to do with as we wish…’
‘What you mean our bodies?’ Martine asked, for the first time feeling a twinge of fear.
‘Why do you think we have taken corporeal form?’ Howard said. ‘We want your bodies to indulge those dark pleasures and practices for which we were damned, naturally. Now you can make it easy on yourselves by undressing voluntarily, or our servants will do the job for you. Which is it to be?’
Lydia said in disbelief: ‘Undress?’
‘We wish to see you all naked so we may choose suitable individual scenarios to play out with you, according to our different tastes,’ Howard explained.
Kristy whimpered. ‘B… but there was nothing in the contract about being naked…’
Lydia said: ‘It’s all a ridiculous bluff. He’s just trying to frighten us.’
Martine called out loudly: ‘Macalister, you know we won’t do it and they can’t make us. You couldn’t show it anyway. You’ll have to do better than this to scare us out of here.’
‘I told you that Macalister can’t hear you,’ Howard said. ‘Nobody can hear you but us. And I promise you this is no bluff. You’re on your own in my house and in my power. Now if you will not cooperate then it shall be done unwillingly…’ He snapped his fingers to the servants hovering behind the table. ‘Strip them and put them in the chairs. Then we shall see them cry… ‘
Three servants stepped forward, reaching out towards the women. There was nothing in their faces except grim determination to obey their order. Oh God they really mean it, Martine thought in alarm.
Lydia, Kristy and Martine backed away only to run into the arms of three more be-wigged men who had somehow appeared behind them. They grabbed hold of them by the hair and twisted their arms up behind their backs. Their hands were very strong and cold. While they held them firm the other men unzipped their jumpsuits and began to strip their clothes off them.
The women kicked and struggled and swore at the men, but they were too strong and totally unmoved by their threats. The jumpsuits were peeled off and then their underwear. In a minute there were totally naked. Then the pairs of servants held each woman between them with their arms pulled out wide and each with a hand holding her hair to keep her upright so those seated at the big table could appreciate their naked beauty, turning them round between them so they could be inspected from both front and back.
‘Let us go!’ Martine screamed at them in rage as she shivered in fear and shame. ‘You can’t treat us like this… awww!’
One of the servants holding her had slapped her hard across the cheek and she subsided into frightened whimpers. The blow also shocked Kristy and Lydia into fearful silence. This could not be happening to them, and yet it was. Something had gone terribly, impossibly wrong…
‘As you will soon discover, we can do whatever we wish with you,’ Howard assured her, as he studied her naked form with interest.
Martine had a compact figure with a tight waist and slim hips. Her buttocks were smoothly rounded and in proportion to her strong thighs and sturdy calves. She had high- set breasts which were not overlarge but very prominent, tipped by small neat brown nipples. Her pubic bush was dark and thick and cropped about its edges to form a neat triangle.
Lydia had wide womanly hips and shapely legs. Her full breasts were capped by pale brown nipples. Her navel was deep as were her pale fleshy deeply cleft buttocks, which showed a prominent bikini shadow. She had a thin pubic bush of dark curls which did not conceal the cleft of her vulva.
Kristy was perhaps the most striking of the three of them. She had full jutting pneumatic breasts tipped by light pink nipples. Her figure was soft and shapely with wide hips. Her golden pubic curls were closely trimmed, exposing a deep pink slot. Her fleshy, creamy buttocks were perfectly smooth and round.
There were appreciative mutterings and ribald chuckles from the table, while the women trembled under their gaze, feeling burning shame mingling with their fear.
‘Oh yes,’ Howard said. ‘You really are all quite remarkable specimens. Macalister might be a common oick but he knows how to choose his women. We are going to have such fun with you. Put them in the chairs…’

Author Information

Simon Grail is an artist and author of many strong BDSM content A1 books, including the best sellers "Sex Slave Holiday","Hell School for Teachers" and "The Young Women of St Evals" and "The Bagatelle Club". Past works include:"The Purgatory Club" trilogy, the "Bondmaid" Saga sextet, the "Lesbian MILF Blackmail Gang", "Sisterhood of Submission", the "Dragon School" and "Castle of Slaves" novels, and several short stories including the ongoing "Breaking in..." and "Nightmare in..." series.


Publisher Information

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