The Hidden Chateau

An Unreal Place

My arrival in the village had been something of an accident. First of all because I had absolutely no idea why I’d chosen to load all my worldly goods — not much — into the carrying box between the rear wheels and set off with no real plan and no idea of what I was looking for except I’d flipped enough burgers for a lifetime. My electric trike had broken down just before the narrow and un-signposted track that led to it. It came as a surprise to find a rather lovely little town at the end of it.

The setting is beautiful. A wild stretch of coast and the inhabitants were welcoming seemed to have everything they want, and perfectly content. Being Gay, equipped with a penis that was slightly larger than usual and attracted attention, a rubber fetish and some very strange and decidedly kinky desires sexually had made life hell. Growing up as an orphan, especially one that needed to masturbate five or six times a day, had taught me caution. My libido was so high I had trouble hiding my almost perpetual erection. Yet here I couldn’t help notice that some of the townsfolk wore latex jeans quite openly, and all the males seemed to have very interesting bulges. I stopped at the only place that looked like a combined shop, garage and supermarket.

“Can I help?” The guy asking wore tight slacks, his crotch beautifully accommodated. He appeared about ten years older than my twenty-five, and smiled as he ran an appraising eye over my cycling leggings and loose jacket. “Welcome to Hevea, by the way.”

“Hevea?” I was surprised. My ‘family’ name is Hevea-Ffaluss, and yeah, I got so used to all the ‘jokes’ and puns … “Is that the name of this place?”

“It certainly is. Takes it from the Chateau on the other end of town.” He grinned. “You’ll have to go and explore it.” He nodded toward the trike. “What do you need?”

“Probably a replacement battery. Bloody thing just discharged and now won’t take a charge.”

He nodded. “Hmm. I don’t think we’ve anything like that, but let’s see. Come in. You can push the trike into the workshop, and I’ll send Rod to see if he knows what we can do with it.”

Rod turned out to be a cheerful guy my own age in a tight singlet and loose fitting dungaree trousers that didn’t completely disguise his evident arousal. 

“Hi.” He grinned as he caught my glance, adding mysteriously to the older guy, Sorry, Bruce, they were pretty hungry and a bit over enthusiastic …” He stopped as he caught a meaningful glance from his companion. “What’s the problem? I’m Rod by the way.” He glanced at ‘Bruce’. “Sometimes I think it’s a description …”

“I’m Jack,” I offered my hand. My full given name is actually Jacques, but I’ve shortened it to Jack, and I only use my surnames if I have to. I explained about the trike’s battery-accumulator.

“Damn. Sounds like a replacement job.” Opened up the covers and ran a test with his equipment. “Yup. I can try reconfiguring it, but …” He straightened up. “Best would be a complete replacement. “Where are you staying? It could be a while before I can get one.”

“I haven’t …” I shifted uncomfortably, thinking of how meagre the size of my wallet was. “I’ve sort of been living off the land, and I don’t have a lot of cash …”

“No problem.” Bruce was back. “Rod, take Jack to Doc Tom and then the Stallion.” He smiled. “Are you looking for a job?”

“I wasn’t — I was more escaping a dead end one flipping burgers.” I thought about it, and grinned. “But if I’m going to get this trike fixed, and pay my way … I guess I am.” 

“Go and see the Doc.” He waved at the trike. “You can leave that here. We need someone to help here and the jobs yours if you want it.” He smiled. “It doesn’t involve flipping burgers.” 

I settled in easily, but found that, while everyone was friendly, everyone was also very ‘private’, only socialising in the Pub, or the Cafe on the Harbourside — only used by a small number of fishing boats — and the ‘hotel’, little more than a restaurant with a few bedrooms above it, or in the park of the small and now unoccupied chateau on the edge of town. 

There are no schools, and perhaps the most curious aspect is the fact that there are no children of school age or anyone over five or under around twenty living here. I suppose, if I’d thought about it, I might also have noticed that the population was heavily male, with only a very few women, and all of them seemed to be rather ‘butch’. Many had a small boy or two living with them. In fact the ratio ran something like four to one! I’d been orphaned just at the time I needed to start school so it never struck me as strange to be sent away to a children’s home and then shunted around various families until I basically got chucked out of the system at sixteen. I knew very little about my family other than that we had supposedly been well off, but by the time I was born, any wealth was long gone and, as far as I knew, I now had no living relatives. 

After a few days living above the pub in a very small room, Dr Tom offered me the use a flat in a converted barn on the edge of the chateau park. I quickly discovered that Rod, lived in the other half flat, and an orchard stands between us and the farmhouse, occupied by Doc Tom who acts as a sort of ‘community leader’ and deals with all the sort of ‘civic’ affairs as well as doing the doctoring. Dr Tom is a friendly type, firm and fair in dealing with problems and good looking. Like everyone else he has no obvious partner, except for a strange mute and deformed live-in handyman cum housekeeper called Josh. 

I’d have to have been blind not to notice that the doctor’s deformed ‘handiman’ wore rubber outfits whenever he was in public and that he had a very odd mouth, and seemed devoted to Dr Tom. Many of the customers at the co-op often wore what could be described as ‘fetish’ wear and latex seemed to be most people’s taste in casual outfits. I kept my own fetish fantasies to myself, still not sure what the real score was in this community, especially as no one, like Tom or Rod, made any 'moves' on me or sounded me out about it! I did notice though that Rod, Bruce and others would disappear from work, sometimes for a couple of hours, and always returned displaying erections and looking decidedly sexually ‘high’. 

The weirdest part was that everywhere I went around the place I kept having feelings of deja vu — everything was familiar, and yet not. I had vague 'memories' of living here, or somewhere very similar, as a toddler — before my parents were allegedly killed in an accident.

“This is weird, Rod, but I keep feeling I lived here as a kid — before my parents died. Everything’s familiar.”

“Have you walked round the chateau? What’s that feel like?”

I frowned. “I don’t know. Like I should remember the place, but it’s all just on the edge of remembering something, and not quite …” I laughed. “And the stories you and the others tell about it … After living in foster homes and an orphanage, aliens and ghosts sound a whole lot more friendly.”

“You think so?” His look was full of mischief. “Okay, it’s time to test you then.” He grinned. “If you’re going to be one of us, you have to take on a little test. You have to spend from sundown to sun-up in the chateau, and you have to visit every room and the cellars.” Holding my eye, he asked, “You up for it?”

I thought about it. The stories about the chateau Rod told me were intriguing. Some of his the stories about the place are pretty way out. The stories included it being haunted, or ‘possessed’ by aliens. The stories didn’t bother me. Being an orphan and having experienced the whole range of experience in orphanages, foster homes, and survived it, spending a night wandering round an empty chateau was hardly something to be frightened about, though I did expect someone to try to scare me or pull some practical joke.

“You’re on,” I said. “How do I get in?”

“I’ll show you.” He smiled. “By the way. You have to wear only a pair of lycra joggers and a singlet — and running shoes, of course.”

The chateau wasn’t a ruin as I’d expected. In fact, apart from a bit of dust, and a general feeling of no longer being lived in, it was in good repair. It had once been beautiful, and retained at least the potential to be beautiful again, but no one had lived here for many years. The decor in many of the rooms was grand, but included quite a lot of Gay erotic art and sculpture. Very explicit Gay erotic art in fact, and the sculptures were astonishingly detailed and equally erotic almost all of them depicting bondage of some kind. I don’t think I’d ever seen so many erections or so many depictions of men having sex. 

The story went that the final Comte was always in a rubber outfit and had some deformity to his torso and face. Something had happened and the estate workers and towns people were now in some way tied to the place. When the last Comte died the estate was left to the community trust, which maintained the park, but the chateau itself was left unoccupied. Of the deformed Comte and a similarly deformed assistant no further trace could be found, though everyone made sure newcomers like me heard that he — or something like him — still lived in the chateau.

Like everything else about this town and community, it didn’t make any sense at all, but it fitted with the odd make-up of the inhabitants and the fact they all seemed to be Gay and loved to wear latex. Another aspect was that within hours of finding it, I didn’t want to leave. I’d a job, a flat, an income that provided everything I wanted — except a lover — and a beautiful place to be myself and put the miserable years of foster homes, orphanages and abuse behind me. This all had to be a set-up, with me as the intended ‘victim’. So what exactly were they planning? Something sexual? Bring it on, I’d been there, and enjoyed it …

 I gained entry through the unlocked door into what was a grand entrance and explored all the rooms on the upper floor and the ground floor with my lamp, all the while feeling strangely welcome, though with the sensation of being watched. Finally I descended to the undercroft and explored the kitchens, and beyond it, the ‘Butler’s Pantry and Parlour, and the Housekeeper’s rooms, the housekeeping books still in their racks. There were ‘still’ rooms, vast pantries, and linen rooms — all the many hidden areas a place like this needed to function. Strangely, at no time did I feel threatened by the place. As I said, it almost seemed welcoming, if a little sad at the neglect. Eventually I’d found the wine cellar, and that brought me to trip over something on the floor and find the tunnel … 

The tunnel was dimly lit, and completely empty. It was dry, and clean as well, and very ‘modern’, at odds with the old, neglected and once grand, but still beautiful building, above me. I looked at the door again and marvelled at the construction of it. I’d found it by accident. On the outer surface it was crumbling stonework, on the inner side thick steel plates mounted on a complex frame. It had opened when I’d stumbled over some debris and steadied myself against the ‘wall’ — which promptly swung away from me.

I noted the complex locking mechanism, all the locking tongues withdrawn. So someone had opened it, and maybe intended to return. I looked at the tunnel again, and stepped deeper. There was no indication of a mechanism to operate the door locks, and nothing at all to indicate the purpose of the tunnel. A whisper of sound startled me and I spun round to see the door locks engage on the now shut door. 

Running back to it, I searched quickly for some control to open it. Nothing. It was not just shut, it was sealed shut. 

“Shit,” I said aloud. “Now you’re in it over your fucking stupid head!”

Where every other room and passage was dusty and the furnishings covered, this tunnel was spotless. I leaned against the door and tried to figure out what I should do. Find a way out was the obvious thing, but the obvious exit was now firmly shut and sealed, and if there was some control mechanism I couldn’t see it, and certainly didn’t have it. I tried to recall the layout I’d come through to reach this point, and worked out that I must now be stood outside the outer wall at the north side of the building, by the feel of it probably under the edge of the artificial hill crowned by a ‘folly’ temple. So this tunnel must lead to something or somewhere in the grounds of the chateau, but where? Clearly I’d been set up — but by whom and for what?

“Okay, guys. You’ve got me here. Now what?” I asked the empty tunnel. “Okay, so I can’t go out the way I came.” I peered down the tunnel. It had a very artificial finish, a complete contrast to the brick and mortar of the chateau and the rough stone of the cellar, it appeared to take a right angled turn at the furthest end. This was obviously some sort of prank set up for newbies. At some point Rod or someone would jump out and give me a ‘Gotcha’ or something — and hopefully something enjoyable … “Guess I’ll just have to see where it leads.” I gripped my torch and switched it off. “At least someone’s paying the electricity bill,” I added, glancing at the soft lights at intervals along the ceiling as I started walking. At the end go the passage, it turned sharp right, then immediately left into a small chamber. Here I encountered the first surprise — a shiny black rubber suit hung on the wall, with a notice. I read …

Remove what you are wearing. 

When you are naked, don the suit provided.

You may not proceed until you are dressed.

“Wha ..?” I gasped as a sound behind me signalled that the door I’d entered by was now firmly shut. “Fuck it. What the fuck is going on here?” 

Someone was really having a laugh at my expense. Okay, if that was the game, I’d play along, after all I had fuck all to lose at this stage. I studied the suit. It was thick latex, the scent triggering arousal in my crotch. I know, and yes, I do have a rubber fetish — one I have kept very well hidden until now. I checked the door again, looking for any sort of latch mechanism.

There was no way to open it, and the chamber itself was small and appeared to have no alternative exit. Okay, so I seemed to have no alternative to putting on this rubber suit, but equally, no idea of what wearing it would trigger. So, choices; put the suit on and see what happens next, refuse to put it on and presumably remain here for the rest of my life — which might not be very long … Somehow the prospect of wearing what was obviously a bondage suit appealed. I’d certainly nothing to lose, and maybe something good to win. Bondage sex is my biggest fantasy …

“Okay, Rod — Guys — I’ll play. I hope you’re watching and enjoying this because I’m going to, I can tell you!” I stripped. 

The suit was internally lubricated, and a lot heavier than it looked. Attached ‘cuffs’ at ankles, thighs, wrists and elbows, were supplemented by a wide corset belt at the waist and a collar at the neck, all requiring to be buckled closed, but the buckles looked like locks. I worked myself into it carefully, It was tight, and very elastic, and included a full hood, a sheath for my now erect penis and a sack for my scrotum. Attached gloves covered my hands, and the attached boottees encased my feet. A zip ran between my butt cheeks and would give access to my anus, and a fastening at the front allowed me to tuck my sheathed erection and scrotal sack into a codpiece ‘pouch’. It fitted like a second skin in every sense of the word as I finally managed to get the shoulder zips to meet at the top of my head. The cuffs took no time to secure, the ‘buckles’ were  simple metal tongues that engaged in the ‘buckle’ like a cable tie. Once pushed in you needed some sort of tool to release them. The same applied to the collar and the five straps that secured the ‘slave belt’ around my waist. I fastened them feeling a rising sense of anticipation. 

There was no doubt at all this was a bondage suit, and I was now in it, a situation I had often fantasised about, but never experienced. I’ve always known I was Gay, and often fantasised about being dominated by some good looking guy — a fantasy that came close to landing me in trouble during my school years. I wondered if my new boss at the local Rural Co-operative, basically the only ‘shop’ in town, running the ‘clothing’ section which stocks everything from cheap business suits and underwear to wetsuits and diving gear and working gear for just about anything was in on this as well. I’m hardly worked off my feet, in fact I wondered how it made any money at all! I shrugged, enjoying the way the latex moved against my skin. If Bruce wasn't in on this, well, it probably didn't matter. I was dressed in my fantasy, apparently now trapped in an underground … what?

Yes, it did feel good. It felt exciting, it felt ‘right’ and above all, I found it stimulating in more than just a sexual context. For a moment I wondered what to do with my jogging kit, then folded it, rolled it tightly and waited. I sensed rather than heard a door, and turned. A door had appeared to the immediate left of the one I’d entered through, and it exposed yet another passage. Clutching my rolled up lycra, I stepped through and found myself in a tunnel identical to the first. With nothing to lose now, I started along it.