If he did say so himself, John Palmer was devilishly clever to be going to the big Halloween party as, you guessed it, John Palmer, Esq. of Rose Hall fame. He decked himself out as the mythically wealthy plantation owner of the nineteenth century and walked from his hotel room at the Ritz-Carlton across the street, passed a large bonfire, to the old Georgian Great House where the party was being held.
He climbed up the front steps and was pleased to see the throng of people at the event. True, he stood out amid the myriad of Red Riding Hoods, wolves, ghosts and eye-catching sexy witches. There was also a mummy, a Frankenstein, a scarecrow and several zombies and vampires, there were some Freddies, a few Jasons, three men with axes in their heads and simulated blood-splatter on their torn clothes, and two Michael Jackson Thriller wannabes. Other people seemed not to quite get into the spirit of the thing and came as Vikings, pirates, bar or milk maids, or dressed in togas, and there were one or two who John dismissed as being completely stuffy unfortunates who had come in standard party fare.
The event was an elaborate affair with the usual Halloween decorations of heavy black and orange drapery, carved jack-o’lantern pumpkins, spider webs, skeletons, devils, boiling and smoking cauldrons and decorations featuring several kinds of undead beings. The night was to culminate with a traditional fireworks display that John had heard was as spectatular as the one in Kingston on New Years Eve. John had hoped to find his Annie Palmer, his Halloween Cinderella at the ball; and he did not have to wait long, for then,to his delight, there she was.
She was a dainty, pretty little thing, not even five feet tall, with fair skin and dressed in a beautiful ball gown of the period. John saw her standing on the upstairs balcony where legend told him the Annie Palmer of old staked a claim as her favourite spot in the house and from there, directed her reign of terror on her three husbands and their slaves. John had joined a group of people on one of the tours of the haunted Great House that was to feature along with the activities of bobbing for apples, eating hanging syrup-covered scones, playing scary hide-and-seek, and the horror film festival being shown in the basement of the Great House; all entertainment being provided during the evening. In fact, he thought that she must have been an actress hired to pose there for effect; so perfect she was in the role as the White Witch of Rose Hall.
John wasn’t the only person who saw and was impressed by her. He heard several of the men who were part of his tour murmur their appreciation at the sight of the young woman. Indeed, Sir Avery Smythe-Lyon, a supposed industrialist from the Midlands in the UK, went over to introduce himself. John had seen the fat, old letch in action with the ladies who waited on them at the hotel. Clearly, Sir Avery had not read the hotel’s slogan of the staff being ladies and gentlemen serving ladies and gentlemen.
John grinned to himself when he saw Sir Avery re-join the tour, a miffed expression on his face. Apparently the lady in question on the balcony had protested more than did the chambermaids at the Ritz. She had clearly put Sir Avery in his place and warned him off.
“Good for you Lassie!” John saluted her, silently.
Despite the evidence that the woman did not wish to be distracted from her vigil John felt that he might have better luck with Annie than Sir Avery who looked more like a clown than the early-twentieth century English gentleman that he appeared to be at the party.
“Hello there,” he said when he doubled back to the room with the balcony, and the view of Annie, after the tour moved on. “I hope that that old fart hasn’t been bothering you too much.”
“Good evening, Sir,” the woman replied in a strange accent. “No, I am able to take care for myself. I’ve been doing it for many, many years.”
John, an Irishman himself, thought that he detected a hint of Irish there along with some English, but there was a strong West Indian accent overlaying her speech.
“Wow! The hotel has really gone the whole hog here,” John thought to himself. “Imagine, they’re even trying to simulate her being a creole!”
“I have to say that your costume is magnificent!” John said to her. “And you even have a whip! How kinky!” he added, laughing.
He was very happy for the dim moonlight on the balcony since he did not want the young woman to see his burgeoning erection at the implications of that whip. It was a secret that he had guarded closely for years. That he hired a dominatrix to come to his flat in London once per fortnight to flog his buttocks and back, and treat him like a naughty little boy, was something that he did not want his colleagues at the bank where he worked to discover. London had its fair share of scandal, but he did not wish to make the news in that way since, although progressing nicely, he had not yet reached the heady heights of power in The City and so would not be able to ride out a storm of controversy.
“Thank you very much, kind sir. May I ask your name?” The woman sounded faintly amused and John had an uneasy feeling that she had recognised his kink.
“W-when I came as John Palmer I did not expect to find an Annie Palmer, though I hoped to do so,” he stammered.
“John Palmer, you say?” the woman exclaimed.
“Yes, I’m John Palmer from Middlesex and London at your service, Ma’am,” he said a little more confidently.
He reached for her hand to genuflect as he imagined the men of the period would have done. He could not be sure if she had moved away from him on purpose, but he found himself bowed over his own shoes and feeling rather foolish.
“You look nothing like John Palmer,” she declared. “And he is dead! I have been blamed for that! I am innocent though! The tales of debauchery and cruelty at Rose Hall have been greatly exaggerated, until now.”
John was mortified. He wasn’t sure how to answer that. He wanted to argue that he had been meticulous in researching the period ever since he had discovered the similarity between his name and the legend of the White Witch of Rose Hall in Jamaica. His trip here was the culmination of three years of careful planning and scheming to win the cash prize of having the most ingenious costume at the annual ball.
He realised though that she may well have been correct. He was just relying on his name, his elaborate costume and the fact that he could find no etchings or portraits of the members of the Palmer family except for Annie. This woman looked remarkably like her, but perhaps being a local she knew more than he about the other members of the family.
He blushed and was about to make as dignified an exit as he could, when the woman smiled at him for the first time.
John was enchanted! It was a bewitching grin. He forgave her for the earlier slight, instantly. He felt, somehow that it was correct that she should chastise him since she obviously took the legend seriously herself.
“You are much more handsome than he was,” she said gently.
John was in no mood to argue. He was happy to still find himself in her good graces. He took another step toward her to try to hold her hand again when they were interrupted.
“Ahh, so I see I was rebuffed because you had your eye on another of the guests. Well, let me tell you young lady, I know that the hotel does not condone fraternizing between guests and staff. I am an old friend of the family, and the patron of tonight’s proceedings, so I did not consider myself to be a guest in the usual sense of the word. This young man has no such claim here!”
It was an apparently drunken Sir Avery Smythe-Lyon and two of his friends; obviously intoxicated with the strong Jamaican rum and Annie’s beauty. John tried to protect her honour, but he was knocked out cold by Sir Avery as his two accomplices held him firm. The last thing that he heard as he slipped into comforting darkness was a harsh hiss of the young woman warning Sir Avery and his friends to let her alone or they would regret it.
John awakened to find himself naked in the forested area some way behind the Great House. He was both startled and groggy, but not so befuddled as to miss the unmistakable sounds of a man being whipped, and groaning pitifully. John felt himself become painfully tumescent at the sound. It was the most erotic thing that he had ever heard. His nakedness no longer alarmed him unduly since he decided that he would just go back to his hotel after most people had gone to bed if he could not find his clothers before. His state of undress rather allowed him to feel a liberation that he had never felt before; being nude under the stars in this mythically decadent tropical paradise.
He opened his eyes a little after a few minutes but had to squint to be sure of what he saw. Sir Avery was tied, stomach forward to a tree. He was having his buttocks whipped while another larger, shirtless man called encouragement to Annie. A third man was kissing Annie’s feet, and John watched him move steadily upward along her shapely thigh before burying his face in her ass and chewing her there, with relish.
How she could concentrate on tormenting Sir Avery, John could not tell, but he knew that she would haunt his deams for many nights to come. He decided that he would have to explore the possibility of recreating this scenario with Mistress Nnenna and one of her other illustrious clients when he got home.
“Do you understand now, Sir Avery?” John heard Annie say in her low, sexy voice. “I have always been the one to make the first move and that will never change. I have never liked brutes and the man John Palmer is a million times more to my liking than you are.”
Sir Avery did not answer, but groaned in pain. Annie hit him again; hard.
“Come, come, Sir Avery! I don’t hear you admitting that you’re inferior!”
“Yes, Mistress!” John heard the older man croak.
“Yes, Mistress what?” she said hitting him again with the whip.
“Yes, Mistress Annie! I am inferior to your friend, John Palmer. I’m a pathetic loser!”
“Good boy!” she exclaimed, and rained blows on the man’s rump, in what John would have considered to be a reward for debasing himself for her. He was not so sure about Sir Avery though, since the man was now begging the woman to stop what she was doing.
“Do you like this, Sir Avery?” Annie’s voice caressed John’s ear as she rubbed the whip seductively on Sir Avery’s broad naked flanks after a prolonged flogging.
John struggled to his feet, not quite sure how he planned to rescue Sir Avery. He managed to get his bearings when he spied the grave where the legendary witch was said to have been buried by the slave who murdered her. Fortified with this knowledge John tried to help his fellow countryman. Whereas he would have dearly loved to be on the receiving end of Annie’s ministrations Sir Avery had given no indication that he wanted this, and John had a strict policy of not to enforcing his alternative lifestyle on others. He decided a little too late that it might be better for him to pretend to still be unconscious until he came up with a concrete plan to confront the woman and her companions.
“Look, he’s awake now!” he heard a male voice exclaim.
“Saul?” John heard Annie call in apparent warning to someone.
A well-muscled man rushed over to where John swayed, still a little unsteady on his feet. He did not manhandle him as John had expected, but instead stood there, smirking at him. John noticed that the man, tall and dark-skinned with finely chisled features, had to tear his eyes away from his erection. His unwanted attentions were so distracting that it took some minutes for John to realise that Annie had stopped flagellating Sir Avery and that she and the older man were staring curiously at him also.
John heard Sir Avery mutter a low curse at him and then a yelp as Annie obviously punished him for his rudeness by sinking her long nails into his back with her left hand and leaving four long welts there while twisting his balls gently with her right hand as a warning. She then cupped the man’s cock and began to pump him slowly while staring directly into John’s eyes; a come-hither smile on her lips.
Sir Avery cooed at being manhandled again. The man who was squatting in the grass gazing lovingly up at Annie resumed his worship of her body, and the one who had rushed to welcome John indicated that he should come closer and join the little party.
John realised, belatedly, that he was interrupting a session between three men and their Domme! Given Sir Avery’s lascvicious grinding against the tree, John was sure that the man was in no danger. He noticed also that the other two men, whom he had thought of as being on Sir Avery’s side earlier were not in any way perturbed by the spectacle of him being flagellated before their eyes. Indeed, Annie seemed to treat Sir Avery much worse if the man on the ground provided sufficient inspiration with his mouth.
His eyes opened wide and he blushed with embarrassment as he glimpsed the large bulge protruding from Sir Avery’s groin and being rubbed shamelessly against the tree. If John didn’t know better he would have said that Sir Avery was wearing a thong, but it was too dark for him to be sure without his glasses despite the fact that he subjected himself to the same thing during his visits to Mistress Nnenna every other Wednesday when in London, and so was fairly familiar with the phenomenon of a man being subject to petticoat discipline.
“Sorry to have had to take a swing at you earlier, old man, but you were about to give the game away, you see!” Sir Avery called to him dispelling any notion of being under duress. “I’ve paid a lot for the privilege of this young lady’s company and she said that if I did something naughty and played a mean trick on someone, I would get a special treat. All I could think of until you showed up was to get drunk; but you gave me an idea you see, and since I just couldn’t let her offer passssss…”
Sir Avery’s words were cut off into a pained hiss by the crack of Annie’s whip. The man issued a pained yelp when Annie hit him again and tugged at a chain attached to two clamps on his nipples.
“You speak altogether too much, Sir Avery,” she chided him, coldly. “Not another word out of you until I am done here tonight.”
John started toward him unconsciously, but found himself being held again by one of the men who had accompanied Sir Avery earlier. The woman rounded on John, her skirt billowing out behind her. He caught a tantalizing glimpse of her stocking-and-high-heeled-stiletto clad legs, her garter and navel-exposing bodice all of which framed a shaven and completely naked mons. His mouth watered and he could understand the look of joy on the face of the man whose name he still did not know.
“Stay and watch, John Palmer,” the woman called Annie commanded. “Sir Avery likes to be the centre of attention. After his flogging I will make him attend to us while I make love to you, though from the looks of things you may prefer it that I flog you as well.”
John took a step back, away from the woman, not entirely liking the prospect of doing this with total strangers but he bumped into the tall man called Saul whom he had forgotten was still standing behind him. The man reached over and restrained John by hugging his body against him. John could feel his unmistakeable hardness beneath the peasant dress costume, a crude attempt at depicting one of Annie’s slave lovers, John surmised.
“Come, come John, we’re all adults here, aren’t we?” Saul murmured seductively into John’s ear in an unmistakably polished British accent. “No one need know about this when we get back home. You’re among friends. We all saw how excited you got at the sight of Annie’s whip, and Avery pegged you as someone who enjoyed the lifestyle. As Annie said, he likes a bit of an audience. It adds a little spice,” he turned away slightly, “And black cock adds a bit more excitement on occasion, doesn’t it Avery?”
John struggled to get away from the man. Mistress Nnenna had never forced him to be with men at any time but somehow he did not believe that this lot would respect his wishes when it came to being entertaining.
“Come on John, be a sport,” the bigger man whispered and planted a light kiss behind John’s ear.
John was about to try to heave him over his shoulder in a desperate bid for escape when Annie saved them both the scuffle.
“Stop it Saul! You and Takoo come and finish off Sir Avery now.”
“Wait!” John croaked. “What do you mean finish him?”
Everyone, including Sir Avery laughed.
“John, you don’t mean what I think you do!” Annie exclaimed. “You’ve been watching far to much television! I am not the real Annie Palmer, surely you know that, don’t you? I am someone who offers some special services to a few select clients. The hotel would not approve of its guests making so merry, so we have to keep it quiet. You almost outed us all so we took you with us; and recognising you as a fellow… enthusiast, shall we say, we invited you to join us for a night of decadence reminiscent of the Rose Hall of legend, after a sense.”
“And we couldn’t ignore the fact that your name really is John Palmer!” Saul interjected.
“No we couldn’t,” Annie continued. “Saul is not going to kill Sir Avery; we don’t plan to go that far, but we’re all professionals who like a little something extra and we’re trying to get it away from the prying eyes at home in London. Sir Avery is not our only celebrity here. Saul recognised you from your pictures in the papers in London, but since he’s a Harley Street doctor he is hardly in a position to out you.” The woman grinned at him, “and, I’m a solicitor by day,” she added as an afterthought.
Then, without warning she turned toward John and flicking her whip she caught him once on his left buttock. John’s erection strained toward her, desperately. Saul’s hand strayed dangerously down John’s stomach toward his prize, but Annie stopped him again, sending him to Sir Avery’s side. She reached for John’s todger and pulled him, roughly, toward her.
“So, John Palmer, are you with us this night?”
“Yes,” John hissed, “and perhaps I can invite you all round to my flat for Guy Fawkes Night drinks next week?” He glanced at Saul a sly smile on his face, “if you all promise to behave.”