The anticipation is starting to get the better of me. To avoid pacing, which is a guaranteed way to get on my wife’s nerves, I’m testing and retesting the traps around the house: the killer clown, the haunted kitchen, the backyard maze, and my favorite, the coffin ride to hell.

Satisfied with the traps, I head down to the wine cellar for a pre-game drink. A sliver of light escapes through the crack of the cellar door and casts itself against the brick basement wall. Did I really leave the light on again? I’ve spent so much time and effort creating frightful illusions that I’m quick to scare if I find something out of place that wasn’t by my design.

I open the door slowly and peek into the wine cellar. “Who’s there?” I ask.

Nothing but an expansive collection of wine, of course. Quit being ridiculous. I grab a bottle and turn off the light on my way out, making a mental note of it this time.

With two wine glasses in hand, I return to the second floor. Approaching the master bedroom, I see Livia putting on her lipstick in front of the mirror. Her jet-black hair and icy hazel eyes make her an especially intimidating accomplice. Livia isn’t just dressing up as a Hungarian tonight, she really is one. When I met this gorgeous Eastern European model with a sadistic temperament that rivals mine, what choice did I have but to make her my wife?

“How do I look?” Livia asks. She never fails to excite me with that accent of hers.

“You are equal parts gorgeous and dangerous. Why don’t you give me a spin?”

Livia cracks a smile and does a spin, as requested. She is quite a sight: a crisscrossed ribbon laces up the front of the dress, her big bosoms bulging at the bust line, and silk gloves extend to her elbows. Livia is dressed up as Elizabeth Báthory, the legendary, bloodthirsty Countess and I couldn’t imagine a more suitable costume choice for her.

“Come test your fangs, Clive. You don’t want them falling out.”

Livia presents her neck to me and I take in the intoxicating scent of her perfume. I kiss her on the neck and press the plastic tips of my fangs against her skin. She moans with approval and cringes slightly, waiting for me to give her a hard bite. There will be time for that later.

I turn to check myself in the mirror. My costume is a classic Bela Lugosi Dracula with a black tuxedo and white bow tie. I look intense and downright handsome with my hair combed back and my dark eyebrows furrowed in anger. The Count and Countess are officially ready for a carefully orchestrated night of costumed debauchery.

“This isn’t going to be like last year?” Livia asks.

“Of course not. I double checked every single detail,” I reply, defensively. “You can’t let one bad year ruin almost a decade of tradition. It was a fluke. Now, let’s toast.”

I lift my glass and Livia does the same.

“To our new slave girl.”

“To our new slave girl. For one week,” Livia reminds me.

“Yes, just a week. We’ll be bored with her after that,” I say, picking up on a hint of jealousy. Livia was only twenty when I met her and here we are ten years later, still going strong on a steady diet of sadistic, sexual thrills. She likes the young women just as much as I do, perhaps even more.

We make our way to the balcony and notice two tiny headlights in the distance. One of our drivers has nearly completed his climb up the hilltop driveway with one of our special guests in tow. I’d like to see the looks on their faces when they pull up to this ominous looking estate. We have several homes, but I am partial to this hilltop mansion in western Massachusetts, which I refer to as Castle Atwood. With the unmatched foliage scenery and the eerie nearby cemeteries sporting old tombstones, jutting out from the hills in every which way, it is truly a Halloween lover’s paradise.

I remain at the top of the staircase and Livia carefully descends to answer the front door, filling the lofty foyer with the reverberation of clicking heels.

Rhea is the first to arrive. She is a nineteen-year-old Filipina cutie. Her tan breasts and bubble butt were on display in the pictures she sent us earlier this month, but nothing beats seeing her in person. Livia proceeds with a necessary frisk and phone check, as this troublesome teenybopper is a self-professed selfie and social media addict.

“Hi Mr. Atwood!” Rhea calls up to me with a wave. The schoolgirl costume is an excellent choice and made even better with the addition of nerdy glasses. Already I can see that her plaid skirt is probably not long enough to cover the bottoms of her butt cheeks.

“Good evening, Rhea. You can refer to me as Count from this point forward. Allow me to show you to your room.”

She climbs the stairs with her travel bag and stands before me. Her nipples are poking out of that tie-on white top of hers. I want to help myself to a feel, as is perfectly acceptable in our arrangement, but I resist. I like to at least put on the guise of being a gentleman, even if I am anything but. I lift my cape in a dramatic fashion and drape it around her shoulder.

“Right this way.”

“Count, is it okay that I didn’t wear any panties?” Rhea asks me upon entering her room. She lifts her skirt to show off her bare pussy and then turns to reveal to her butt, giving me an innocent smile over her shoulder. It is quite bold of her to think I will be so easily seduced.

“Panty free is perfectly fine for tonight. However, Livia will dress you as she sees fit, assuming you are offered the job.”

I overhear the second guest climbing the stairs and make an abrupt exit, catching a glimpse of Rhea’s frown as I slip away. I rush into the bedroom down the hall, pulling the door closed behind me, and I turn off the lights. Soon enough there are two small shadows at the bottom crack of the door and the knob begins to turn.

Our second guest opens the door and lets out a scream of surprise when she sees me standing a few feet in front of her with my cape extended. My wife is standing behind her and lets out a laugh at her expense. I can see from the blonde hair that it is Emilia.

“Sorry, sir. You scared me,” Emilia says, flustered and blushing. She is wearing a German beer maid costume and hiding her huge natural breasts behind a ruffled white top. It is an astute costume choice, considering how many drinks she will be serving me if she lands the job.

I step forward and take Emilia’s chin into my hand while my wife put her hands up the back of her skirt for a feel of her ass. Something about this girl looks familiar to me. I wonder if I spent too much time ogling her pictures during the recruiting stages.

Emilia is a bit paranoid and perhaps ashamed of this highly unusual arrangement which is—let’s face it—-tantamount to prostitution. Unlike the other girls, I get the feeling that innocent Emilia has never done anything close to what we have planned for her.

“I haven’t scared you yet, Emilia. Would you like me to scare you?”

“If it pleases you, sir,” she responds.

Livia raises her eyebrows with approval from over Emilia’s shoulder.

“That was a good answer,” I tell her, still scanning and trying to figure out how I know that face.

The sound of the doorbell interrupts us and Livia rushes off to go answer the door. I stay for a moment to take in Emilia’s big blue eyes and bleach blonde hair.

“Does anyone know that you are here tonight?”

“No, sir. I’m following your rules,” she assures me.

“I think you are going to fit right in. Do you like to do as you are told?”

“I do, sir.”

“Well you can start with this—I want you to call me Count. Understood?”

“Understood, Count.”

I let go of her chin and rush past her, my cape flowing behind me as I approach our final guest at the top of the stairway.

“And you must be Zoey.”

“Hello, Count,” she says, unenthusiastically, chewing her gum. “I already met the Countess. Nice place.”

Zoey is the brat of the bunch. She’s only eighteen and has plenty of attitude to go with her emo style. Her banged black hair outlines a pasty face which is highlighted in dark purple lipstick and eyeshadow.

“I’m a sexy witch,” Zoey explains. That is no lie. Her black gown is tiny and revealing and she does well to match it with fishnet stockings and a lace choker around her neck. Aside from the witch’s hat, I imagine this is her normal everyday attire.

“Your room is right around the corner, third door on the… fright.”

Zoey rolls her eyes and makes her way to the room. Livia and I stand in the hallway and look over the three occupied guest rooms with a sigh of relief. All three girls made it on time and are now officially ours for the evening.

“They are pretty much like we expected,” I comment.

“The slut, the saint, and the bitch,” Livia adds with a giggle.

“Any favorites?”

“I like Zoey. Punishment is always more enjoyable when they deserve it,” Livia quips. “And you?”

“Emilia scares easily, which is a plus in my book. Rhea will do anything that we want. Tough choice.”

I call the girls into the hallway and they quickly exit their respective guest rooms to line up in front of us.

“Ladies, I would like to officially welcome you to Castle Atwood on this fine Halloween Eve. We ask that you not refer to us as Clive and Livia, but instead Count and Countess from this point forward. By the end of the evening, only one of you will be chosen to spend the next seven nights with us for the sum of fifty thousand dollars. This is very serious money for a very serious job. No one will ever know about what takes place here. You have offered up your bodies to us this evening in exchange for this opportunity, and we will gladly indulge ourselves in due time. Are there any questions?”

“Have you done this before with other girls?” Emilia asks.

I share a glance with my wife and clear my throat. “We have hired college girls like yourselves in the past and sent them on their way safely and in a much better position to afford their costly tuition. However, it turned out that some were not ultimately up to the task. This why we are hosting our first ever competition. Tonight will be a trial run to see who, if any of you, would be a good fit for the job.”

“When are you going to pick a maid?” Zoey asks.

“Slave,” I say, correctively. “The girl that we select will have maid duties, but I don’t want to be misleading. We are looking for an obedient sex slave to serve my wife and me, nothing less.”

“When do you pick the slave?” Rhea chimes in with the change in terminology, cementing her status as teacher’s pet and highlighting her sharp instinct to undermine the other girls.

“At the stroke of midnight.”

I ponder my statement for a second, wondering if I won’t literally be stroking my cock at midnight and cumming all over their pretty faces.

“Count,” Livia says to me with a nudge, noticing that I’ve lost my train of thought.

“Ahem, now, the Countess and I are going to make some preparations. We’ll leave you to get settled in to your rooms, but don’t get too settled. You are all expected in the study at nine pm.”

“Where is the study?” Emilia asks.

Livia and I shared a wicked smile and she responds.

“Finding the study is part of the fun. Good luck!”



Our eyes are fixated on the monitors and hands ready at the controls. We watch from the surveillance room as the girls chat with each other in the hallway for several minutes, probably trying to figure out their strategy or alliances or some other nonsense that will not make a bit of difference in the end.

At eight forty-five they make their descent down the staircase. Once they are safely off the stairs, I kill the lights on them. Haunted houses are so much more effective when the guests don’t even know that they are in one.

Thanks to the infrared cameras, I can see their position clearly and I wait to spring my first trap. They walk into the hallway and with the click of a button on my control panel, a pop-out mannequin clown emerges from the closet wielding a knife and the hallway fills with a recording of maniacal laughter. I top the whole thing off with a strobe light that does a good job of creating instant panic.

“Wrong way, girls,” Livia announces into the microphone. Rhea and Emilia are nearly tripping over each other as they run towards the other end of the hall and Zoey follows behind, looking irritated.

Livia and I share a satisfied laugh and I turn my attention back to the monitor to see that the girls are headed for the kitchen. Once they are all through the door, I activate controls for haunting mode. The kitchen doors slam shut, trapping them inside. A single flickering bulb kicks in to give them a view of the kitchen cabinets, which are swinging open and shut to a guttural sound from hell playing on the speakers. The girls huddle together near the kitchen island, looking around for an escape.

After a full minute, Livia steps in to help. “Use the back door,” she announces into the microphone, holding back her laughter.

“You’re so merciful. Why not just let them panic for a while?”

“I want to get them into the dungeon already,” Livia explains. She puts her hand in my lap and looks me in the eyes to assure me that she is primed with lust for our newly frightened playmates.

“Very well.” I press a button and the back door opens up invitingly for the girls. They run through the backyard maze, a short but effectively disorienting route that will ultimately lead them back though the house and face to face with the study door.

Livia and I exit the control room and head down to the first floor to meet up with the girls. We hold hands and hurry down the staircase together with giddy smiles. There is one last stop on this haunted house ride before the real fun can begin.

Zoey pushes open the study door and yelps when she sees Livia and I waiting patiently behind it.

“Very funny,” she says, breathing heavily and looking quite annoyed with our antics. Emilia and Rhea are at her back, clinging to each other.

“Congratulations, you found the study!” I say to them.

“This isn’t what we signed up for,” Zoey fires back.

“Our agreement was very clear. Your bodies are ours for the evening. We will not cause you any harm. Your safe words will be honored and a driver is waiting at the ready for anyone who would like to go home.”

“I’m having a great time,” Rhea interjects. “I love haunted houses!”

“I’m so happy to hear that. Would you like to be the lead in our next activity?”

“Hell yes!” Rhea steps forward, shoving Zoey out of her way.

Livia takes Rhea by the hand and guides her to the center of the room, towards a precariously placed coffin. The girls are eyeing the candle-lit study at this point and who can blame them? It is filled with occult oddities, books, and paintings, not to mention a large wooden lever next to the coffin that has yet to be explained.

Livia helps Rhea climb into the coffin and secures the coffin lid in place. It is slotted for air, not to mention, a view of the poor victim’s facial expression when the time comes.

“Ready,” Livia announces.

I approach the coffin and peek in at Rhea. She is nervously peering up at me through the lenses of her glasses.

“This coffin once belonged to Mr. Thaddeus Cornish. Perhaps you have heard of him?”

Rhea shakes her head.

“Well then, I will tell you the story. There was a time when the laws weren’t quite as strict as they are today, with regards to the pronouncement of the deceased by highly trained medical professionals. Mr. Cornish, for example, was pronounced dead in the middle of the night by an incompetent and most likely drunk, town coroner only a few miles away from where we are standing. He was rushed to burial, as there was no family or friends to claim him. They say that Mr. Cornish suddenly awoke from his coma from within the coffin. Perhaps it was his body’s final push to fight for survival as the oxygen depleted around him. It would have been a miraculous recovery, were the circumstances different. It wasn’t until the gravedigger was halfway done with his work that he heard the pounding and the screams of this poor old man from under the dirt. Mr. Cornish died of a heart attack minutes before the coffin was finally uncovered. Rhea, I want you to press your hands against the top of the lid. Can you feel the scratch marks?”

“Yes,” she replies. I can tell she is reaching up to feel the splintered wood from the cringe on her face.

“He didn’t have any fingernails left when they uncovered him. In fact, there are still a few fragments in the wood if you feel closely enough.”

“Oh gross,” Emilia whispers in the background.

“Now, close your eyes,” I command Rhea. She does as she is told and takes a deep breath.

“Are you curious as to how I ended up with this coffin?”

“Yes,” Rhea says with a crack in her voice.

“I dug it up, scooped him out of it, and put him in the basement where he is waiting for you! Huuuahahahaha!” I pull the lever to open the bottom of the coffin and send Rhea flying down a stainless steel slide. She screams the entire way in complete darkness. The other girls gasp in shock and Livia is standing at their side, smiling proudly at my performance.

“Don’t worry. It’s just a slide,” Livia explains.

I pull the the lever and lock the bottom of the coffin back into place. Livia climbs into the coffin and I send her sliding into the basement after Rhea. After a few moments she calls up. “Clear!”

I look up to see Emilia and Zoey looking back at me with jaws still dropped. Their reactions are priceless. God, I love this toy.

“Who’s next?”

“What about Rhea? Is she okay?” Emilia asks.

“I’m fine!” Rhea calls up from the basement. “That was fucking awesome!”

Zoey shrugs and steps forward. “I’ll do it.”

“Can I ride with you?” Emilia begs, clutching Zoey by the shoulder.

“Sure,” Zoey says with an eye roll.

With that, I help the girls into the coffin and put the lid in place.

“Is that story true? About Mr. Cornish?” Emilia asks me through the slot in the coffin lid.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” I pull the lever and send the girls soaring down the slide. The giddy screams echo through the study and I chuckle to myself with satisfaction. Their hearts are racing, their blood is pumping, and the main event has not even begun.

I put out the candles in the study and make my way down to the basement the old fashioned way—using the stairs. How convenient it is to pass by the wine cellar, since I feel like having a drink. I approach to see the light is again glowing from under the door. Livia has been down here with the girls for a few minutes. It was probably Livia. It must have been. I shake of my momentary unease and draw my attention back to my original purpose.

I grab a bottle of 1997 Domaine Ramonet and nearly trip over a bump in floor on my way out. I really should have done a better job with pouring the concrete. I’m a hopeless do-it-your-selfer, which is important if you want your secret lair to remain a secret. I rush into the dungeon room to meet up with the women.

Just behind the coffin slide I can see our fine young ladies of the evening, standing at attention in front of my wife. The flickering glow of the candle wall-lanterns provides ample visibility.

“Did everyone enjoy their ride?”

“Yes, Count,” they reply in unison.

“Well done girls,” Livia says, proud of the discipline that she has already managed to impart them with. “Did you have something else that you wanted to say to the Count?”