The House of Blood -
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“Chris Hall is living a charmed life. He’s one of the top horror writers in America, and has a beautiful wife, Katherine, who knows exactly how to keep him in line and under her control. It’s the perfect life until the day he sees the house on Palomino Lane and decides that he has to have it, no matter what the cost. From that point on, his world is turned upside down and he suddenly finds himself living in a nightmare of sexual perversion and mesmerizing evil. The sadistic spirit of the former owner of the house, Lady Anne, wants his wife’s mind and body so that she can once again live in all of her glory and wickedness. Chris is the only person who stands in her way, but not for long as she takes him on a journey filled with unbelievable agony and suffering. Chris Hill soon discovers what true horror is as he fights for his life and soul against an entity that was once known as the Whip Lady of Las Vegas.”
Review #1 of The House of Blood, a femdom horror novel
I finished reading this novel in 5 hours... because I could not stop myself... The plot of the novel is extremely well thought... for a person with fantasies of submissive man serving dominant woman, this novel is a must read.
The novel involves scenes of cuckold... and female cruelty to males... I
especially like that part in which Lady Anne seduced Chris downstairs to join a
party, only to result in Chris' trapping in the hands of his torturers.
Freebie for People who want to know more about the House of Blood, a Femdom Horror Novel
LADY ANNE’S JOURNAL
Wayne C. Rogers
November 1, 1962
The Halloween party last night turned out to be a great success. Over seventy-five guests came, some of them from as far as Los Angeles and San Francisco. That’s one good thing about living in Las Vegas—friends can come to visit you and see the city at the same time, while staying at a Strip hotel. Mistress Sylvia from West Hollywood was here with Daniel, her submissive husband. She wanted me to plan something very special for him because he was starting to resist her training and was demanding more rights as a husband. What he couldn’t seem to grasp is that he no longer had any rights as a husband. He’d given those up when he married Sylvia. The man had to be taught a firm lesson in obedience. So, I had him strapped down to the whipping horse in my playroom with about twenty people watching in anticipation. I told Daniel that I was going to whip him with Terror, my wicked, pain-inducing cat-of-nine-tails. I then explained to him that the safe word was “obedience,” and if the whipping became too hard, he could always utter it and I’d stop. The catch, however, was that if he said the safe word, he would then be agreeing to sexually submit to the other men at the party. He could either submit to a painful whipping, or be sodomized by a dozen or more male slaves. Naturally, Daniel complained about the two choices. I simply laughed as I began to whip him, really laying into his back and buttocks, making the cat sing its beautiful music. It took less than fifteen minutes to break him and to hear the safe word shouted. I was somewhat disappointed. I was just getting into the “swing” of things when he started shouting the word “obedience” over and over again. Actually, it pissed me off. The man was just a whiner, and not a true slave at all. To get my revenge, I picked the men with the largest cocks and told them to make him suffer. If he got too noisy during the punishment, I suggested that they shove a nice, big cock into his mouth to shut him up. That wasn’t what the poor man had expected at my hands, but it was exactly what he needed in order to learn his place in the general scheme of things. While he was being repeatedly sodomized, his wife and I quietly slipped away to my husband’s upstairs bedroom. There was no one up there, which gave us the privacy we desired. We kissed and fondled each other, and then made long passionate love for over two hours. As good as my husband is with his tongue, Sylvia knew exactly how to please me and to make me cum. She had me wrapped around her little finger by the end, and I was begging her not to stop. When we were finally satiated and our lovemaking was finished, we returned downstairs and discovered that Daniel had gone into what appeared to be a state of shock. There was semen dripping to the floor from his opened mouth and his torn anus. He was no longer moving as the men continued to take turns, using his battered rectum as a receptacle for their cum. Sylvia and I immediately knew something was wrong. We had the men stop what they were doing and then had Daniel released from his bonds. I had two men assist in dressing Daniel and then take him out to Sylvia’s car. She thought it better for him if they returned to their room at the Flamingo. Just before she was about to leave, I whispered into his ear that what he’d experienced was only the tip of the iceberg of what would happen if he ever disobeyed Mistress Sylvia again. He may have been in a state of shock, but he understood what I was saying because I saw the sudden fear in his eyes. Men are just like dogs. All they want to do is fuck and eat and lie around, doing nothing. Sometimes you can reward them for good behavior with a special treat, while at other times you need to give them a good jolt of electricity right on the balls. That usually gets their attention. I knew by the expression on Daniel’s face that he would spend the rest of his life serving his Mistress with love and obedience. He wouldn’t want to risk experiencing my wrath ever again. After Mistress Sylvia and her husband left, I went in search of my husband, David. It was then I realized that I hadn’t seen him in hours. I searched through the house, but he wasn’t to be found. Going outside to the pool, I asked a couple of guests if they’d seen my husband and they silently pointed to the servant quarters above the garage. Though furnished, no one was presently living up there. It made me wonder what David was doing. I got a deep, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as I walked over to the garage. I made my way silently up the steps alongside the building and stood in front of the door, debating whether or not to knock, or to just barge in. I could see through the curtain in the door’s window that the light was on inside, and I could hear the sound of my husband’s voice as he talked to someone. Turning the doorknob as quietly as I could, I opened the door and saw David sitting on one end of the couch and Greta, my personal maid, sitting on the other end. He was reading a poem by Edgar Allen Poe to her. I recognized it as “Annabel Lee.” They were both startled when I unexpectedly entered the living room area. I glanced at David and asked what he was doing. He told me that Greta, being a fan of Poe, and had been excited to hear about his work on the movie, The Premature Burial. They started discussing Poe and his short stories and poetry, and had ended up in the servant’s quarters, reading poetry out loud to each other. I believed David, but my instincts told me that something else was amiss here. I didn’t want my husband reading love poetry to another woman. I was his wife and Mistress. If he was going to read poetry to anybody, it should’ve been to me. The fact that I generally dislike poetry makes no difference in my mind. David belongs to me. He’s my property, and I don’t like another woman coaching in on my territory for any reason. I told Greta to return to the party and to help with the clean up. I ordered my husband to his living quarters on the second floor and told him to wait for me. It was two hours later when the last of the guests departed, and I was able to devote my full attention to David’s punishment. He acted confused, as if he couldn’t understand why I was so upset. I hung him up by his ankles and left him that way until Greta had the entire house cleaned and everything put back into its place. I explained to her that the longer it took her to complete her task, the longer my husband would suffer for their misconduct. I found that Greta can move extremely fast when her heart is into it. I don’t know if anything is going on between them, but I now intend to keep my eyes open. God help my husband and Greta if they’re secretly having an affair. I’ll make them suffer until they’re literally begging me for death. David knows what I’m capable of doing when angry. I pray that he doesn’t test me.
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