by Kiki Howell
Her ominous words, like sharp daggers, pierced my chest as she circled the big four-poster bed, chanting in a foreign language I didn’t understand. As panic twisted my guts, bile burned my throat and her intentions became crystal clear. The voodoo queen was casting a spell and I couldn’t do anything to stop her.
Despite the sultry July evening, an eerily chilly breeze picked up inside the bedroom. Whirling around the bed, echoing the tortured voices of countless lost souls, the unnatural wind made me shiver, knocked knickknacks off the dresser and banged the door against the wall repeatedly. Throwing her head back, Marie-Claudette froze, no more chanting as her sweat-covered body shook. Suddenly, the otherworldly wind quieted down and silence fell in the house. I had sent the house servants to the plantation manor, so nobody came in to check what the commotion was about. It was only me and the angry witch and I knew, before she opened her mouth again, that I was doomed. I felt her curse spreading through me as if a million icy fingers were taking root under my skin.
When Marie-Claudette opened her eyes again, they blazed with the same hauntingly supernatural element that made her voice bounce off the walls when she spoke. “Marcel Revault, I curse thee to stay in this house forever more. No one comes in. No one goes out after I leave until you sigh your last breath.”
After sealing my fate, she stormed out of the room and banged the front door shut. I hollered for help at the top of my lungs. I lived on fucking Royal Street, somebody was bound to hear me. My mind refused to believe in her magical powers, so I screamed. Nobody came. Panic stricken, the reality of knots not coming off and shouts not being heard started to convince me yet I kept roaring my anger and frustration until my throat ached and my voice turned into a hoarse whisper. Desperation hit me and I prayed to a God I didn’t believe in, but Marie-Claudette never came back and her spell insulated the house from the world.
She had timed it perfectly. The house staff didn’t expect me at the plantation manor any time soon, as I had booked a cruise to Europe on a ship setting sail the following day. By the time they suspected something was amiss, I had been long dead. When they called the police, the officers found my body tied to the bed with no signs of foul play. Due to my past behavior, people assumed I was caught in that compromising situation by a jealous husband or zealous father, who left me there to die. Honor codes and all, the police didn’t look too close into the matter as they certainly believed a scoundrel had found his rightful end.
I thought when Marie-Claudette passed away, the spell that bound me to the house would be lifted. Again, I was mistaken. Her hatred reached beyond the grave, condemning me to an eternity in that French Quarter property.
Chapter Two
CLARA –2005
Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans, but my celebrity status as a big Hollywood star allowed me to alleviate the suffering of the people living in the city where I had grown up. Heartbroken by the horrific scenes I witnessed, I fought back my anger as Rob drove me in the town car from the airport to the hotel where I was staying. Nowadays he’s my regular driver when I’m in NOLA and I am very fond of him, but back then I barely knew the guy. I wasn’t comfortable sharing how appalled I was at the way FEMA and other federal representatives had dealt with a disaster of those proportions. I had hastily put together a fundraiser in L.A. and got the first available flight to New Orleans to deliver the funds to some good childhood friends who still lived in the city. That was when I first heard of Club Desire.
“Glad to see you again, gorgeous. It’s been too long,” smirked Jeff, old friend and former boyfriend.
“I would’ve come sooner if I had time. So sorry it took a catastrophe for me to make time.”
He opened a bottle of red wine, poured a generous dose for both of us and handed me the glass as we sat at his dining table. I hadn’t been to his house in forever, but little had changed. Noticing where my gaze had wandered, he laughed out loud, “Do you miss it?”
Flushing, I forced my eyes to meet his, “What? Your dungeon? You bet I do.”
“That figures. I find it hard to believe you haven’t found a dominant in L. A., though.”
I took my time appreciating his imposing figure, which had nothing to do with height as Jeff wasn’t tall, but his chiseled abs and legs covered in soft chocolate skin were as sinful as a forbidden dessert. And just as yummy. His piercing black eyes had the power to render me speechless when we first met, which in itself was a huge feat. Not anymore. I wasn’t that young, wide-eyed woman he once knew. “You know you ruined me for all other dominants, right?” I teased him.
“As the saying goes, you never forget your first.” His laughter rang in the spacious room and I joined him.
Jeff hadn’t been my first lover, but he was the first to give me the freedom to explore my dark side. That I never forgot. He had since gotten married and started a family and I had no intention of messing that up.
“You’ve got a beautiful family, my friend. I love Fran and the kids to pieces.”
“Oh, the twins are a handful as eight-year-olds tend to be,” he took a long swig of the rich Cabernet Sauvignon. “I won’t let you off the hook that easily, mamma. What’ve you been doing about it? Or do you think these things just go away by themselves? You know I never taught you how to submit, right? I just showed you something that your psyche was screaming for. It’s a big part of who you are and it won’t die quietly just because you ignore it. It will mess you up in ways you’d never imagine.”
“Gosh, all those years in med school are paying off, right? You’ve become quite a shrink,” I grinned into his eyes.
His expression turned deadly serious as he leaned over and caught my hand in his. “Clara, I’m serious. You cannot just ignore who you are. Do you think just because I got married I turned off my Dom switch?”
“Honestly, I kinda thought you did,” I could feel my cheeks burning.
“Oh, baby girl, it doesn’t work that way.”
“You mean to say you still have the dungeon?”
“Well, with two little boys in the house, we had to get rid of the room,” he admitted with a glint in his eyes. “We kept a closet full of toys, safely locked, but we had to make the bulky stuff vanish. That doesn’t mean we don’t indulge in our roleplays from time to time.”
“How do you manage that?”
“We go to a highly secretive sex club called Club Desire in the French Quarter. Membership by referrals only and they totally vet the applicants before accepting them. Same goes for staff, plus they’ve got this ironclad contract with a confidentiality clause that will make any person think ten times before being tempted by tabloids. I see I piqued your interest, am I right?”
“You know me too well,” I was grinning so widely my face hurt at that point. “When can you get me down for an appointment?”
“Done you one better. I’ve secured a vetting interview for tomorrow. Last time we talked, it was obvious you needed this.”
I jumped from the chair into his lap, hugging and kissing the top of his bald head. “Just because you’re an awesome friend, it was obvious to you.”
“When you sent me the text about this visit, I pulled a couple of strings to make this happen.”
“By ‘pull a couple of strings’ he meant tormented the poor wife until she talked her boss into setting up an interview,” Fran chuckled as she joined us. “The boys just wouldn’t fall asleep,” she kissed Jeff’s lips. “They were too excited about showing their friends at school the pictures they took with Lady Morgaine,” she winked at me alluding to the latest YA blockbuster I had starred in. “They miss Auntie Clara, hon. We miss you.”
“And I you.” I sprang up and hugged the petite blonde.
They spent the rest of the evening prepping me for my interview at Club Desire, where they were not only frequent visitors, but Fran worked as the Human Resources director.
AFTER THE INTERVIEW, the club’s background check took several weeks, but I passed it with flying colors and becam
e a proud member of Club Desire. To celebrate it, I booked a suite for the last weekend of October so I could have much needed, long postponed kinky time.
Walking into Club Desire’s common room, called the Lounge, for the first time was an unforgettable, mind-boggling occurrence. It felt like I stepped into the set of a period movie set in Roman times, during Caligula’s reign to be more precise, since he’s known for his orgies. In the Lounge, I witnessed a wide range of quirky sexual activity. From voyeurism to flogging to feet worshipping and anything else imaginable in between. Jeff, Fran and I agreed they shouldn’t be there for that first visit, so I had no pointers as to how best select a Master. I canvassed the room searching for the one that seemed to be the best fit. The only way to tell staff from members was the club’s logo. The ones who were playing Masters or Mistresses that night had the logo stitched to their clothing, while subs wore a collar with the word ‘Desire’ stamped in purple letters on a black background.
It didn’t take long before my gaze was drawn to a 5’7” muscled body framed in soft-looking, golden skin. When the man turned to face me, his square jaw and stubble promised me determination and control while his dark blue eyes got me entranced. When he came to stand in front of me, all I could think about was running my fingers through his thick, jet black hair.
“First time, correct?” His deep voice connected to my hungry sex.
“That obvious, huh?”
“It’s just that I would’ve remembered you if you’d visited before,” a devastatingly bright grin followed his statement. “Sam, by the way.”
“Clara,” I watched my hand disappear inside his huge one, grateful for the first-name policy at Club Desire, and the guarantee of privacy, that made Sam pretend he didn’t know who I was.
“You looking for a Master or Mistress?”
The plain collar I was wearing gave away my status as a bottom without a top. “Master. Interested?”
A million-dollar smile that was sure to wet panties on the spot split his gorgeous features. “Come with me.”
Lacing his fingers through mine, Sam led me to a bar at the back of the Lounge where we sat at a small table and discussed hard-limits and laid out boundaries. Our conversation was brief and to the point. I liked that.
“One last thing. Club Desire staff is tested periodically for any health issues. My results came in this week and I’m clean, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Members must submit a clean bill of health before booking a visit, so I’m sure you’re good.”
I nodded and waited as I was doing my best to get into submissive mode. In real life that would have been almost impossible with my bossy personality, but the set-up of a sex club kind of helped me with finding the right headspace. When it was clear I wasn’t going to say anything, he grinned and went on. “Good. Safety is a top priority at Club Desire. So, even though we’re both clean, we won’t go bareback. Not even if you prefer it that way. Understood?”
Another nod and his smile grew wider. Pleasing my new Master made me feel good and a wave of hot liquid pooled inside my sex to prove the point.
“You booked a room?”
“Golden Suite,” I stood up and turned towards the entrance.
“Stop,” Sam commanded me before I took the first step, “we’re going this way.”
As he turned and opened a door hidden in the wall paneling, my body reacted to the authority in his voice. I liked Sam. He took me through a narrow staircase to the second floor and the Golden Suite, which I had inspected earlier. It was a spacious room decorated to resemble an old European master bedroom, like the rooms one would find in a Venetian palace. A huge four-poster bed covered in a black brocade bedspread with red and golden cushions piled against the headboard dominated the room. Until Sam stood in the middle of it, making it all seem small and irrelevant.
I stripped and dropped to my knees in front of him, resting my hands on my thighs, eyes fixed on the floor, in the classic submissive posture. I waited for his commands.
“Good girl,” his palm caressed the top of my head and its warmth spread through my skin like wildfire. “I like that you know what is expected of you.”
He twisted my hair in a loose bun at my nape and pulled at it, forcing my head back and my chin up. When our stares met, I licked my dry lips and smiled. “Thank you, sir.”
Locking his eyes in mine, Sam brought my lips to his zipper. “You know what you have to do.”
I did and I was eager to oblige. The bulge behind the black silk of his dressing pants hypnotized me. When I reached up, he swatted my fingers away.
“No hands.”
Challenge accepted. “Yes, sir.”
Using only teeth and lips, I divested him of pants and underwear in record time and his erection sprang free, jutting up and beckoning to me. God, I love giving head and his cock was close to perfect. Unwrapping a condom, Sam dexterously covered his dick before my lips wrapped around its purple head and I sucked it as if it were a delicious ice cream cone. Licking and nibbling, I inhaled sharply when Sam grabbed my head and sank his shaft deeper down my throat. His hands kept me at the angle he wanted as he moved in and out of my mouth. He didn’t allow me room to move as he found his rhythm and increased his speed. I didn’t mind it, though. One of the beauties of submitting to an expert dominant was not having to make decisions. I made too many of those in my real life. It was liberating to cede control to another person.
It was also pleasurable. My sex reacted to his groans and grunts as he went deeper. His fingers tangled in my hair, his nails scraped my scalp and I loved it. Sam’s moans announced he was close to orgasm. My fingers itched to tweak my nipples or pinch my clit, but I obediently clung my hands to my back so I wouldn’t fall into temptation. He would see to my reward once I made him come.
No rush.
As Sam’s movements became erratic, I felt a pair of cool hands cupping my breasts, pushing them together. I dropped my eyes, but couldn’t see a thing past Sam’s balls. I didn’t panic, which would have been most people’s reaction. Through the haze of sexual tension, I heard a deep male voice in my ear while Sam was buried to the hilt inside my mouth, “Relax, beautiful Clara, let me take care of you.”
Naughty fingers tweaked my nipples at the same time a hungry mouth found my hard clit, sucking and munching on the hard nub. I lost it. Humming around Sam’s cock as my sex trembled, I tumbled over the edge bringing him with me.
“Oh, God,” we shouted in unison.
And I knew I was screwed. Not even the most mind-blowing orgasm would erase the fact that I came without permission. That was Sub 101. A huge no-no. It was no surprise Sam flipped.
“What the heck?” He pinned me down with his disapproving stare as he stepped back and released me.
“I’m so sorry, sir.” Hanging my head, I shut my eyes, trying to will my sex to stop quivering.
“You seemed so obedient. I thought I could trust you.”
Not wanting to speak and risk sounding as if I were talking back, I kept my mouth shut and dropped my shoulders, using body language to convey my thoughts.
“You’re right. You should be ashamed,” he cupped my chin and his piercing eyes searched my face for a long time before he added, “It’s your first transgression, but I can’t give you a pass. On the other hand, I don’t want to act on impulse because right now I’m pissed. I’ll step out and give us both time to cool down. You don’t need to kneel down until I return, but the second you hear that doorknob twist, I want you back on this exact spot. Understood?”
I nodded and he pulled up his pants, zipped up and left.
A prickly sensation ran up my spine as the door shut behind Sam. I was alone in the room, yet it didn’t feel like it. Unfolding myself, I stood up, hands balled on my hips. I demanded, “Who are you? Why are you here?”
The air cooled several degrees and I heard a faint swishing noise as a dark-haired figure shimmered to the left of me. I tur
ned to face the ghostly tall man, dressed in a navy-blue velvet, thigh-length sack coat, typical of the late nineteenth century. His white shirt was barely visible underneath the double-breasted vest and his wide silk necktie looped into a loose knot, held in place by a stickpin with a tiny ruby crowning its head. His wavy black hair was cut short just above the shirt collar and he wore the steamiest grin to match the naughty glint in his hazel eyes. He bowed with a flourish, “Marcel Revault, at your service. Glad to find out you’re an empath. I don’t get to meet many around here.”
“You mean to say you never leave this place?”
“Precisely.”
“What happened to you? Need help in any way?” Marcel wasn’t my first ghost, having grown up in New Orleans with this gift and all, but he was definitely the hottest. I was still tingling from the explosive release he’d just given me and staring into his mesmerizing eyes didn’t help cool me down.
“I don’t think you can help, but thank you for offering,” he plopped himself on the overstuffed chair facing the bed and rested his chin on his fingers, raising an eyebrow as he eyed me.
Made aware of my state of nakedness, I sat on the bed, crossing arms and legs for some degree of concealment. “You can wipe that smirk off your face. Not embarrassed, just cold.” A half-truth as I did feel self-conscious being naked around people I didn’t know well.
“For the sake of our budding friendship, let’s say I believe you, even though we both know that is not exactly the whole truth.”
“Damn it, you read minds.”
Instead of replying, the cocky ghost unfolded himself from the chair and came to sit beside me on the bed. Hooking an arm on my shoulder, he pulled me in and whispered, “That and I can sense what you’re feeling, like those tiny aftershocks spreading through your nerves starting here,” he dipped two fingers in my wet folds and I watched him, unable to find strength or the will to stop him. “Good girl. Relax and enjoy.”
