The limousine glided to a halt in front of the crumbling, yet oddly majestic façade of the Black Thorn Hotel, its wrought-iron gates creaking open with a groan that sent a shiver down Alan’s spine. Beryl, the vivacious older widow beside him, patted his knee with a gloved hand, her ruby-red lips curling into a mischievous grin. “Don’t look so nervous, darling,” she purred, her voice dripping with amusement. “This is going to be the night of your life. Just remember—no hanky panky with me. I’m far too old for that nonsense.”Alan swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. He had heard whispers of the femdom fetish parties that took place at the Black Thorn, wild nights where taboos were shattered and desires ran rampant. But as a broke college student, he’d resigned himself to living vicariously through others’ stories—until Beryl had swooped in and offered him a golden ticket. Now, here he was, dressed in his best suit, about to step into a world that both terrified and exhilarated him.The driver opened the door, and Alan stepped out, the cool night air wrapping around him like a shroud. The hotel loomed above, its windows dark and foreboding, yet flickering shadows danced behind the curtains, hinting at the debauchery within. Beryl linked her arm through his, her perfume—a heady mix of jasmine and something darker, muskier—filling his senses.“Come along, dear,” she said, leading him up the grand staircase. “The fun’s already begun.”Inside, the hotel was a labyrinth of velvet and mahogany, the air thick with the scent of leather and sweat. Guests mingled in the opulent ballroom, their laughter mingling with the sharp crack of a whip and the low hum of conversation. Alan’s eyes darted around, taking in the surreal scene—a woman in a latex catsuit leading a man on a leash, another couple writhing on the floor, a dominatrix in a feathered mask towering over her submissive.Beryl gave him a gentle nudge. “Go on, explore. I’ll be in the parlor with the other ladies. Don’t be shy, darling—this is your chance to let loose.”Alan hesitated, his feet rooted to the spot. He watched Beryl disappear into the crowd, her laughter trailing behind her like a faint echo. For a moment, he considered following her, but the pull of the unknown was too strong. He wandered through the ballroom, his pulse quickening with every step. And then he heard it—a faint, almost imperceptible sound, like a whisper carried on the wind. He stopped, straining his ears. There it was again, more distinct this time—a soft, melodic hum coming from the hallway to his left.Curiosity got the better of him, and he followed the sound, the noise growing louder as he ventured deeper into the hotel. The hallway was dimly lit, the wallpaper peeling away to reveal the crumbling plaster beneath. He reached a door at the end of the corridor, the hum now a haunting melody that seemed to emanate from within.Alan pushed the door open, his breath catching in his throat. The room was unlike anything he had ever seen—a lavish boudoir draped in crimson silk, with an ornate four-poster bed at its center. On the bedside table lay a note, the handwriting elegant and precise:Put on the hood. Cuff your wrists. Kneel. And await your Mistress.Beside the note was a vintage-looking dark rubber hood and a pair of steel cuffs. Alan’s hands trembled as he picked up the hood, the material cool and smooth against his skin. He hesitated, his mind racing. Was this part of the party? Was this some elaborate game Beryl had arranged?The hum grew louder, more insistent, and before he could second-guess himself, Alan pulled the hood over his head, the world plunging into darkness. He fumbled with the cuffs, securing his wrists behind his back, and knelt on the plush carpet, his heart pounding in his chest.For a moment, there was silence—deep, impenetrable silence. And then he felt it—a presence, cold and commanding, moving closer. The air grew thick, charged with an electric energy that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.A hand—soft yet unyielding—brushed against his cheek, sending a shiver down his spine. “Good boy,” a voice purred, low and sultry, yet with an otherworldly edge that sent a thrill through him. “You’ve followed my instructions perfectly. Now, let’s see how well you can obey.”Alan’s breath hitched as the hand trailed down his neck, the touch both gentle and possessive. He felt a tug at his tie, the fabric sliding away with a whisper, followed by the sharp sound of a zipper. His shirt was peeled from his shoulders, the cool air hitting his bare skin.“So eager,” the voice murmured, a hint of amusement in its tone. “But we’re just getting started.”He felt something brush against his thigh—soft, supple leather—and then a sharp sting as a crop landed against his skin. Alan gasped, the pain mingling with a strange, intoxicating pleasure.“Count,” the voice commanded.“One,” Alan rasped, his voice trembling.The crop landed again, harder this time. “Two,” he managed, his body tensing.The third strike was followed by a low, approving hum. “Good boy. Now, let’s see how much you can take.”The crop trailed down his back, each strike methodical, precise, building a fire within him that he didn’t know he could feel. He lost himself in the rhythm, the pain and pleasure blurring together until he could no longer tell where one ended and the other began.And then, without warning, the strikes stopped. Alan knelt there, blind and vulnerable, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The presence moved closer, the cold air wrapping around him like a lover’s embrace.“You’re mine now,” the voice whispered, its tone both possessive and triumphant. “And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”Alan’s heart raced as he felt hands on his shoulders, pushing him forward until his face was pressed against something soft yet firm. The scent of leather and something ancient, like dust and decay, filled his nostrils.“Kiss them,” the voice commanded.He hesitated for a moment before pressing his lips against the smooth, cool surface. It took him a moment to realize what he was kissing—boots. High-heeled, polished leather boots. The realization sent a jolt of excitement through him, and he kissed them again, more fervently this time.“Good boy,” the voice purred, a note of satisfaction in its tone. “You’re learning quickly.”The hands on his shoulders tightened, and Alan felt himself being lifted off the ground, his body trembling with anticipation. He was guided forward, his knees sinking into something plush—the bed, he realized. The presence loomed over him, the air thick with a primal energy.“Tonight, you belong to me,” the voice said, its tone low and commanding. “And I’m going to take everything you have to give.”Alan’s breath caught in his throat as he felt the weight of the presence settling over him, the cold air giving way to a heat that set his skin on fire. He felt hands on his hips, guiding him into position, and then—“Wait,” the voice interrupted, a note of curiosity in its tone. “Someone’s here.”Alan froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He heard footsteps, faint but unmistakable, approaching the door. The presence above him shifted, the air growing colder, more menacing.“Stay quiet,” the voice hissed. “And don’t move.”The door creaked open, and Alan’s blood ran cold as he heard a voice—a voice he recognized. Beryl.“Alan?” she called, her tone laced with concern. “Are you in here?”

Alan, accompanied by Beryl, arrived at the Black Thorn Hotel, where he was immediately overwhelmed by the debauchery of a femdom fetish party. He was left to explore the hotel and found a boudoir where he was instructed to put on a hood, cuff his wrists, and kneel. He was then subjected to a series of strikes from a crop by an unknown Mistress, and Beryl's voice interrupted them.

The limousine glided to a halt in front of the crumbling, yet oddly majestic façade of the **Black Thorn Hotel**, its wrought-iron gates creaking open with a groan that sent a shiver down Alan’s spine. Beryl, the vivacious older widow beside him, patted his knee with a gloved hand, her ruby-red lips curling into a mischievous grin. 

“*Don’t look so nervous, darling,*” she purred, her voice dripping with amusement. “*This is going to be the night of your life. Just remember—no hanky panky with me. I’m far too old for that nonsense.*”

Alan swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. He had heard whispers of the **femdom fetish parties** that took place at the Black Thorn, wild nights where taboos were shattered and desires ran rampant. But as a broke college student, he’d resigned himself to living vicariously through others’ stories—until Beryl had swooped in and offered him a golden ticket. Now, here he was, dressed in his best suit, about to step into a world that both terrified and exhilarated him.

The driver opened the door, and Alan stepped out, the cool night air wrapping around him like a shroud. The hotel loomed above, its windows dark and foreboding, yet flickering shadows danced behind the curtains, hinting at the debauchery within. Beryl linked her arm through his, her perfume—a heady mix of jasmine and something darker, muskier—filling his senses.

“*Come along, dear,*” she said, leading him up the grand staircase. “*The fun’s already begun.*”

Inside, the hotel was a labyrinth of velvet and mahogany, the air thick with the scent of leather and sweat. Guests mingled in the opulent ballroom, their laughter mingling with the sharp crack of a whip and the low hum of conversation. Alan’s eyes darted around, taking in the surreal scene—a woman in a latex catsuit leading a man on a leash, another couple writhing on the floor, a dominatrix in a feathered mask towering over her submissive.

Beryl gave him a gentle nudge. “*Go on, explore. I’ll be in the parlor with the other ladies. Don’t be shy, darling—this is your chance to let loose.*”

Alan hesitated, his feet rooted to the spot. He watched Beryl disappear into the crowd, her laughter trailing behind her like a faint echo. For a moment, he considered following her, but the pull of the unknown was too strong. He wandered through the ballroom, his pulse quickening with every step. 

And then he heard it—a faint, almost imperceptible sound, like a whisper carried on the wind. He stopped, straining his ears. There it was again, more distinct this time—a soft, melodic hum coming from the hallway to his left.

Curiosity got the better of him, and he followed the sound, the noise growing louder as he ventured deeper into the hotel. The hallway was dimly lit, the wallpaper peeling away to reveal the crumbling plaster beneath. He reached a door at the end of the corridor, the hum now a haunting melody that seemed to emanate from within.

Alan pushed the door open, his breath catching in his throat. The room was unlike anything he had ever seen—a lavish boudoir draped in crimson silk, with an ornate four-poster bed at its center. On the bedside table lay a note, the handwriting elegant and precise:

_*Put on the hood. Cuff your wrists. Kneel. And await your Mistress.*_

Beside the note was a vintage-looking dark rubber hood and a pair of steel cuffs. Alan’s hands trembled as he picked up the hood, the material cool and smooth against his skin. He hesitated, his mind racing. *Was this part of the party? Was this some elaborate game Beryl had arranged?*

The hum grew louder, more insistent, and before he could second-guess himself, Alan pulled the hood over his head, the world plunging into darkness. He fumbled with the cuffs, securing his wrists behind his back, and knelt on the plush carpet, his heart pounding in his chest.

For a moment, there was silence—deep, impenetrable silence. And then he felt it—a presence, cold and commanding, moving closer. The air grew thick, charged with an electric energy that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

A hand—soft yet unyielding—brushed against his cheek, sending a shiver down his spine. “*Good boy,*” a voice purred, low and sultry, yet with an otherworldly edge that sent a thrill through him. “*You’ve followed my instructions perfectly. Now, let’s see how well you can obey.*”

Alan’s breath hitched as the hand trailed down his neck, the touch both gentle and possessive. He felt a tug at his tie, the fabric sliding away with a whisper, followed by the sharp sound of a zipper. His shirt was peeled from his shoulders, the cool air hitting his bare skin.

“*So eager,*” the voice murmured, a hint of amusement in its tone. “*But we’re just getting started.*”

He felt something brush against his thigh—soft, supple leather—and then a sharp sting as a crop landed against his skin. Alan gasped, the pain mingling with a strange, intoxicating pleasure.

“*Count,*” the voice commanded.

“One,” Alan rasped, his voice trembling.

The crop landed again, harder this time. “*Two,*” he managed, his body tensing.

The third strike was followed by a low, approving hum. “*Good boy. Now, let’s see how much you can take.*”

The crop trailed down his back, each strike methodical, precise, building a fire within him that he didn’t know he could feel. He lost himself in the rhythm, the pain and pleasure blurring together until he could no longer tell where one ended and the other began.

And then, without warning, the strikes stopped. Alan knelt there, blind and vulnerable, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The presence moved closer, the cold air wrapping around him like a lover’s embrace.

“*You’re mine now,*” the voice whispered, its tone both possessive and triumphant. “*And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.*”

Alan’s heart raced as he felt hands on his shoulders, pushing him forward until his face was pressed against something soft yet firm. The scent of leather and something ancient, like dust and decay, filled his nostrils.

“*Kiss them,*” the voice commanded.

He hesitated for a moment before pressing his lips against the smooth, cool surface. It took him a moment to realize what he was kissing—boots. High-heeled, polished leather boots. The realization sent a jolt of excitement through him, and he kissed them again, more fervently this time.

“*Good boy,*” the voice purred, a note of satisfaction in its tone. “*You’re learning quickly.*”

The hands on his shoulders tightened, and Alan felt himself being lifted off the ground, his body trembling with anticipation. He was guided forward, his knees sinking into something plush—the bed, he realized. The presence loomed over him, the air thick with a primal energy.

“*Tonight, you belong to me,*” the voice said, its tone low and commanding. “*And I’m going to take everything you have to give.*”

Alan’s breath caught in his throat as he felt the weight of the presence settling over him, the cold air giving way to a heat that set his skin on fire. He felt hands on his hips, guiding him into position, and then—

“*Wait,*” the voice interrupted, a note of curiosity in its tone. “*Someone’s here.*”

Alan froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He heard footsteps, faint but unmistakable, approaching the door. The presence above him shifted, the air growing colder, more menacing.

“*Stay quiet,*” the voice hissed. “*And don’t move.*”

The door creaked open, and Alan’s blood ran cold as he heard a voice—a voice he recognized. Beryl.

“*Alan?*” she called, her tone laced with concern. “*Are you in here?*”

A desperate college student attends a wild femdom fetish party at a haunted hotel as the arm candy of an older widow, only to find himself dominated by a ghostly presence who leads him through a night of intense BDSM, including bondage, impact play, and foot worship.

The encounter takes a dark turn as Alan discovers his lover has gone missing, and a guest’s apparent suicide hints at a murderous plot.

Haunted by the Ghost of Domination

0 words