1 comments/ 16592 views/ 3 favorites Haunted By: alex_d The Cleary house hid alone in the hills outside the town, untouched by the regeneration project which had seen the oldest cottages in the area restored to picture postcard beauty with their newly whitewashed walls and thatched roofs. The aging tarmac that ran through the square was dug up and cobblestones were put down. Tourists were starting to trickle into the area to see the "real Ireland". Gil Gray, the owner of the local pub, had used the fund money to turn his establishment into an old fashioned inn complete with stables and horses out the back, which could be hired for the day at a reasonable price. It had been a good summer for visitors and the people were looking forward to better times, already discussing over pints of locally-made beer how they could fleece next year's nostalgic Americans for more cash. Sean was obsessed with the Cleary house. He would sometimes take the dog for a walk just as an excuse to go up there. The whitewash had long since faded from its walls, which had crumbled over the years so that only three were left standing, their mossy stones beaten by harsh winters and rain, the warmth of life within long gone. The ruin was surrounded by trees, but only one looked as if it might have seen the house's inhabitants. An ancient, gnarled oak, half dead after being stuck by lightning, its few living branches clawing at the sky. There had once been a garden, but the grass was waist high now, the rusty iron gate bent and flaking. People called it the Cleary house, but no one either knew or was willing to explain who the Clearys had been, if they had ever existed. They said the house was haunted, but Sean never saw any evidence of ghosts. It was just a sad, shattered shell. But he was drawn to it all the same. Maybe it was because of the nightmare that visited him every now and then. He had never told anyone else about it. No need to give them another reason to think of him as creepy, the guy who hung around the town square at night with his ghoulish friends, hair dyed black as shoe polish to match his eyes and nails. And it was almost worth the terror at the end, just to get the pleasure at the beginning. When he tried to remember the details, he would first see the glass in the window, slashed with drying trickles of rain and mud from the recent storm. And his own reflection, just swimming out of focus. Then there was something cooking on the stove, a smell of herbs and peat smoke filling his head. His stomach felt warm after the ale. Someone was humming behind him, a tune he didn't recognise. The rocking chair stopped creaking, and the person got up. He kept looking out of the window, glad to be inside during such a storm. The tree in the garden was skeletal. It looked as if it had caught the full moon in its branches and was playing a game as the clouds began to shroud the light from his view. The hands were warm as they crept underneath his nightgown, fingertips scratching and caressing his legs with the touch of love. Warm breath on his buttocks, the kisses light like whispers against his flesh. He was getting hard, his breath clouding against the window as the fingers stroked his balls, tickled against his pubic hair, feeling their way onto his prick. Then the massage began, up and down. He gripped the window sill, pressing his forehead against the glass, closing his eyes as he felt the hand move, the thumb sliding over the tip, wetting his shaft with his own juices. The person stood up behind him. He felt a warm body press against him as his cock was released, and the nightgown pulled over his head. The material was itchy against his skin, dragging over his erect nipples, the sensation making him draw a sharp breath. The locket, newly-given and precious, still cool against his bare skin. "I love you." The voice was a whisper against his neck, that made his skin break out in goosebumps. The hands, on the move once more, tweaking his nipples as he felt hot lips settle on his neck, biting gently, sucking hard. The mark of a lover left behind on his pale skin. He tried to respond with all the love in his heart but his breath was taken away when he felt the finger slide into his crack and pausing, just for a minute, to circle his most secret spot with some kind of oil, before slipping inside. It felt slightly uncomfortable for a second then suddenly it was as if a burst of fire travelled up his spine into his brain, and he gasped aloud. He had never known such a sensation could exist, and he could only press back against the hand, desperate for more. His body was opening up like a flower in spring. And then he was breached, impaled, filled with his lover's prick, crying out as the fingers caressed his nipples again. His lover began to move, slowly and gently, stoking up the fire inside him until he was sweating and gasping and the hands on his shoulders were gripping tighter and tighter. He felt the hot breath against his back come faster and faster. The juices from his cock were flowing almost continuously as that exquisite spot inside him was pounded and pounded until the tingling pleasure all over his body began to concentrate in his stomach, his balls. Suddenly he cried out in release, feeling his seed explode out of him, splashing the wall, the floor, as he felt his insides bathed in warmth, his lover's grip tightening painfully for a second then relaxing. "And I love you," he said, when he could speak again, feeling himself wrapped in strong arms. Almost drifting off to sleep when he saw the lights in the distance. Fear crept into his stomach. No one ever came out this way, not unless there was some trouble. "You'd better go!" he whispered. He couldn't turn around, just stood there frozen, watching out of the window as he heard the chanting. Foul, angry voices on the wind. He felt a gust of air, heard the door close as his lover left. The mob approached, torches battling against the wind. They were all hunched in shades of grey, faces hidden by hoods. "Kill the witch. Kill the witch. Kill the witch." The voices, louder now. What witch? He hadn't heard anything about any witch. Then again he rarely went into the village these days. Knowing they weren't coming for him should have made him relax. But it was a nightmare, it wasn't logical. The terror was paralyzing, and suddenly he'd wake up with a shout, finding himself tangled in his sheets, gasping, soaked with sweat and spunk. Then he would have to creep downstairs with his sheets in a bundle, avoiding his mother's eyes as he pushed them into the washing machine, wondering all the time, am I gay? He didn't think so. Maybe it was inside him, waiting to spring out. He wasn't too bothered about the thought. Still, the dream was at odds with his actual feelings and that was weird. He thought about Declan, his best friend. The idea of doing anything sexual with him was ridiculous. Anyway what did it matter, if he was gay or not? He was already considered to be the village freak. No one else wanted to be a pathologist, or travel to places like Mongolia or Kyrgyzstan. And no one else fancied Siobhan, Declan's cousin. She was a skinny girl with plain brown hair that she scraped back in a severe ponytail. Her brown eyes were massive behind her glasses. But no one else saw the way her hair shone when she took it down, the kindness in her eyes when she took her glasses off. Sean thought she was beautiful. It was a sunny day, despite the time of year. Halloween night, the time when the dead walked the earth. Sean figured it would be more fun hanging around with them than the old gits at the pub. There was no chance of getting into the city to any of the Halloween parties he'd heard about. He was nineteen, living with his mum, working part time at the post office while he re-sat his A-levels. University seemed like a distant dream. He had just splashed out on a motorbike, but couldn't afford to insure it. Maybe his dad would stump up the cash, if he ever came back from the USA. His mother said it was just a short contract, but he'd heard their quiet arguments just before his father had left, the vicious things they said to each other behind closed doors. Declan had texted him that morning saying that his Halloween plans consisted of going to the pub quiz with his dad, who had just got out of prison. It was better than hanging around the square, freezing. Siobhan hadn't replied to his text, and wasn't answering her phone, so it looked as if Sean was going to spend the time partying with himself in his bedroom, and not for the first time. He finished polishing his bike, looking at it longingly. It would be a few months before he could afford the insurance. The bike gleamed invitingly in the sunlight and he sighed. "Are you coming in for your dinner?" His mother leaned out of the kitchen, tapping a cigarette against the window sill. "I've made colcannon for Halloween." Sean forced a smile. "Sure," he said. More mushy cabbage. He wondered why she even bothered cooking when there was a perfectly good chip shop next door, even now looking tempting despite the cardboard ghosts and witches that decorated its windows. A turnip lantern hung outside, the candle long since blown out by the wind. As he went inside and washed his hands, his thoughts wandered to the Cleary house again, and he tried to superimpose it onto the room in the dream. But it was so far gone into decay, the idea that it ever had windows at all seemed far fetched. He sat down at the table and started shoveling the hot cabbage into his mouth, tasting very little. "So you haven't heard anything more about the Cleary house?" he said, making conversation, not hopeful of any new information. His mother was a relative newcomer to the village, having moved there twenty years ago. She was still known as "that new woman." Given that she had produced the village's first emo, she was even less likely to be accepted into the fold. "Well actually," she said, her chair creaking as she settled into it, "Gil was saying the other day that they're talking about pulling it down." Sean felt his heart stop for a moment. "They can't do that," he said. Pull it down? It was part of the history of the area. The idea sent shivers down his back. Something inside him was screaming NO! Then there was no hope. No hope for what? But the thought, so close, faded away, leaving him with a sensation of loss that made his heart ache. "Of course they can," she said, oblivious to her son's discomfort. "It belongs to Gil and May, you know that. They can do whatever they want with it. No sense letting the land just sit there going to waste when they could farm it, or whatever." That was new information at least. Gil and May weren't Clearys. Maybe May had been, before she had married. He resolved to find out. But his stomach was full, and he started to yawn. The sun was setting outside. It was too early to go to bed. Strange weariness started to seep into his bones, so he went upstairs, just for a nap, of course. He'd get up again in an hour or so. He still had three seasons of Buffy to watch, and she was more than worth getting up for. But then the dream came again, only this time the fucking was harder, more aggressive; his nipples were twisted until he shrieked with mingled pleasure and pain. When he came, he thought his eardrums were going to blow out. It seemed to go on and on, the excruciating pleasure. And all the time, the feeling of being loved. He wasn't afraid any more. Then he saw the lights. But it was different this time. They weren't chanting about the witch. His lover wasn't leaving. There was a whisper in his ear, come to me. Come to me, my love. I'm waiting for you. You know where I am. With a shout, he woke up, the words ringing in his ears, the familiar stickiness in his pants. The dream had seemed short, but the sky was black outside. It was already ten o'clock. He got up and showered quickly, balling the sheets into the washing basket and vowing to empty it in the morning before his mother got up. He grabbed a small backpack, a torch, sleeping bag and some other supplies. The night was freezing but clear and dry. If it rained…well, he was going to take the chance. He could always come back again. He knew where he had to go. The Cleary house was waiting for him. ===== Under the new moon, the road was so dark Sean could hardly see anything at all. There was almost complete silence, no bird song, no wind in the trees. His torch barely illuminated the path. Every time a nocturnal creature rustled the bushes, his hair almost stood on end. The small fields that stretched over the hills looked were a dark patchwork of greys. Finally he saw it, the rickety style that led to the path he was looking for. There was a sharp pain in his finger as he climbed over, the wood groaning under his weight. A splinter of wood was lodged under his skin, and he cursed, rubbing at it. As he crept forward, he looked up at the old oak, and started. Someone was hanging from the branch. The head twisted, the rope swinging in the wind. The body was starting to turn around towards him and his chest was tight as his shaking hands flashed the beam of light upwards. There was no one there. His imagination was running rampant on the black canvas of night. Exhaling, he pressed forward, through the high grass. The windows had long since broken and rotted away, giving the house a blind look. This was a stupid idea. All his hair was standing on end. His mouth was dry, adrenalin was pumping through his body. He realised he was terrified. It felt good somehow, like he was truly alive at last. He had to be inside the house. At least it would provide some shelter if the weather turned, or if the bitter autumn wind started up again. The gap where the door had once been was a black yawn, and he stepped through it, feeling the moss under his fingers as they groped over the stone wall. His eyes were wide but he could see nothing. A twig snapped under his foot and he jumped. Suddenly a light shone in his face from the corner. Voices were screaming, and he realised as his heart almost stopped in his chest that his voice was one of them. He pointed his torch blindly at the source of the noise, the glare dancing in his eyes as he stumbled backwards thinking oh my god, you stupid shit, what the hell am I doing … "Sean?" The glaring beam dropped to the floor. "OH MY HOLY FUCK, you scared the shite out of me! What are you doing here?" Two dark shapes were huddled together against the back wall like giant slugs. Siobhan shone her torch up under her chin, and flashed it at Declan, who was in a sleeping bag beside her. He gave Sean a thumbs-up sign then the hand retreated under the covers again. His teeth were chattering. Siobhan dragged a wayward blanket back up to her chin. She was wearing pink wool mittens and a matching hat and her dark eyes were so huge under the glasses that she looked like an anime character. "Don't be afraid," she said. "It's only us." Sean's legs were suddenly weak and he sat down, feeling the grass damp beneath him. "What the hell are you doing here?" he said. "I thought you were going to the pub, or something." "Here, I brought a tarp. Sit down, cuddle up." She patted the ground beside her. "We must be mad," Declan moaned, squeezing his eyes tight shut and pulling the blanket over his head. Sean dragged out his sleeping bag and wriggled into it, snuggling against Siobhan. She smelt of apple shampoo. He was so relieved to see them that he could hardly speak. "Did you bring any supplies?" Declan said. "We've only got crisps and shit." Sean grinned and reached into his backpack. "It just so happens that my mother's whiskey fell into my bag on the way out the door. Don't know how that happened." He twisted off the lid and took a gulp. It burned its way down his throat, and he felt the warmth spread through his body. "Didn't bring any cups so we'll have to share slobbers." "Oh thank Christ," Declan grabbed the bottle and took several large gulps, his face twisting as he tried to keep it from coming straight up again. Sean smiled. Declan was rubbish on anything other than beer. Siobhan took a small sip and handed it back to Sean. "So," she said. "Here we are then." "Yes, here we are," said Declan. "Sleeping over at the Cleary house on Halloween night. We are now officially insane." Feeling slightly light headed, Sean asked, "So why are you here?" Siobhan looked solemn. " Same reason as you, probably. We've been… brought here," she said. "Declan and me, we didn't come together. I found him here about half an hour ago. Then…here you are. I wonder if there'll be any more." The wind had started up again, and the trees moved behind them, hush, hush, hush. It carried a faint tune from a distant fiddle. The party must have spilled out of the pub into the square. Sean could hear the laughs and shouts which almost drowned in the trickling of the nearby stream. His heart started to pound again. Siobhan was right. The compulsion to come to the Cleary house couldn't have been a coincidence. He remembered the words in his dream, come to me, my love and wondered if Declan and Siobhan had been having similar dreams to his own. However, he felt reluctant to share the dream. Not because of the content, but because it felt like it wasn't his to share. The whiskey was passed around again, and they began to relax. It wasn't so bad, the Cleary house, as long as you were sitting out of the biting wind. Sean's eyes started to close. If you concentrated hard enough, you could almost see the yellow paint on the walls. The smell of rabbit stew made his stomach grumble. Someone was cutting wood outside. Then… The scene changed. A young woman, cheeks pink from the biting cold, was hurrying along the muddy path that led back to the village. Her hair glowed auburn in the fading light, her eyes green and wide with panic. Blackberries fell from her basket as she began to trot, clutching her skirts, failing to keep the hems from trailing in the mud. Father would be so angry. She had promised to be home before sunset but then Tom Cleary had come and distracted her, again. The first time she'd seen Tom, he'd been in the inn her father owned, drinking with his twin brother Michael. They were both so tall, almost like giants. She and her sister had sat on the stairs peeking through a hole in the wall. Tom was gregarious and liked a bit of craic, Michael was quiet and smiled occasionally, but kept himself to himself. Tom's hands moved expressively as he talked, and his grin was wide and open. He cut a fine figure in his suit, and Kathy pressed her legs together, watching those long fingers mimic a man walking down a path and falling into a river. The old regulars watched the display, sucking their pipes and cackling at the joke. Little bird, he'd called her the first time they'd spoken. He'd found her out wandering around the beech trees that lined the river near the cottage he shared with his brother. Little bird, you've flown far from home. She'd blushed and giggled, scuffing her boots on the ground. But she didn't move away as he pushed her gently back against the tree, stroking her flushed cheek with a fingertip, tracing the outline of her mouth as she stared into his brown eyes, breathless. He was so tall, he had to stoop to kiss her, and as his lips touched hers, she felt a warmth and an ache between her legs that she had never felt under her fiancé's chaste kisses. Guiltily she remembered Robert and made an effort to push Tom away but her arms were like water. I've been watching you for such a long time, he muttered, his breath hot against her neck as his long fingers expertly untied the laces behind her back that held her gown together, pushing the shawl apart to expose her breasts. Haunted Kathy felt her nipples harden as the cold wind blew through the beeches, suddenly shy under his gaze. You are so beautiful, he said, and fell to his knees before her. Even on his knees, she felt his hair tickling against her chest and she pushed her fingers through it. It was soft and thick, and she picked a leaf from it tenderly, letting it blow from her fingers. He pulled her shawl off her shoulders and spread it on the soft grass. She knelt down in front of him as he pulled off his jacket and made it into a pillow for her head. They kissed again, and the itch between her legs grew to an almost unbearable point, and just when she thought she couldn't stand it anymore, he took her breasts in his huge hands, pushing them together and groaning as he thrust his tongue between them, then fastened on her nipple, one then the other. She felt an explosion of sensation which seemed to travel all over her body, making her skin tingle at his every touch. All she could do was sigh and twist in his arms as he maneuvered between her legs, pulling at her underwear. "What are you doing?" she gasped, suddenly fearful. But then his fingertips dipped into her moisture and began to massage her swollen clitoris, slowly and gently, and she relaxed, closing her eyes. Suddenly her hips arched away from the ground, and she shuddered to her first climax, bathing in his intense gaze. When she came back to her senses, he'd kissed her again. "You asked what I was doing? I was loving you, Kathy," he said. "And I'll do it again and again, if you'll let me. You're the most beautiful girl in the village. I'd give anything to be wed to you." The light was beginning to fade, and his eyes were dark and sincere. As Kathy fixed her clothes, Tom pulled bits of grass and twigs from her shawl, laced up her bodice until she winced. "Will you walk me to the square?" she asked, unwilling to leave him. He smiled. "Better you aren't seen with me, my love." His eyes were sad. "You're soon to be wed. I'm surprised your father lets you out here all alone. The square isn't far away." So she found herself trotting, as she was now, back to her father's home, with an ache between her legs. Their lovemaking had progressed swiftly through the pain of her virginity to exquisite, mutual pleasure. She hadn't a clue what Tom meant when he asked her if she was taking care of herself. All she knew was that the closer her wedding came, the more violent her urges to be with Tom were becoming. She felt as if she was losing her mind. He talked about throwing her over the back of his horse and riding off with her, but she knew he wasn't serious. Where could they go? She was trapped, betrothed to marry a man of over forty years old, which seemed an impossible age to her. Robert was landed and wealthy. He bought her pretty dresses but she didn't want to wear them., just for Tom. He loved her the way she was, red hair flowing down her back, full of twigs and leaves from her explorations. Not dressed up, painted and stiff, like one of those women who sometimes came in from the city, the woman Robert wanted her to be. She burst into the inn just as the sun went sank below the horizon. "Father, look!" She held up her basket. " I've picked blackberries!" She smiled, hoping his thick grey whiskers were hiding a smile rather than a frown. "I'll make jam in the morning." The old man nodded. "Go on and get cleaned up," he said. "You look like you've been pulled through a hedge backwards, young lady. Dinner's almost ready, I hear. It's your favourite too, rabbit stew." Relief flooded through her. He wasn't angry, he suspected nothing. It wasn't written all over her face as she feared. Just as she went through to the staircase, there was a quiet knock at the side door. Opening it, she gasped. Tom had followed her? Then she noticed the coolness of his gaze, the dull colour of his clothes. Not Tom, but Michael. He pressed a pouch into her hand. "Herbs," he said. "Your mother was complaining about a cough. If you make this into a tea, it should help her." She was surprised. "Thank you," she said, but he was already walking away. How could two men be so alike, and yet so different? Shrugging, she went upstairs to wash, her body still remembering Tom's touch. She would be clean for Robert's visit, another evening of polite conversation with her fiancé that she would endure with a smile on her face, remembering the face of the man she truly loved. ===== When he strode into the inn, red faced and reeking of ale, her father was leaning against the bar, chewing his pipe. He was surprised to see Robert so soon after his last visit. Robert pushed past him and stomped upstairs. "You can't go up there!" her father wheezed, following him. But the enraged man paid no attention, bursting into Kathy's room, bringing the cold night air in his wake. "You filthy whore," he hissed, slapping her cheek. Shocked, Kathy stood back, clutching a hand to the red mark his hand had left. "Robert?" she said, her voice weak. "What have I done?" "You know fine well!" he shouted, stepping closer. "You've disgraced me, you've disgraced yourself! I saw you this afternoon with that Tom Cleary, out there in the fields, rutting like a pair of farm animals! If you think I'm going to marry you after that display…" She felt faint. Sitting down on the bed, her eyes found her father's face. And what she saw there broke her heart. Not anger, but sadness. Disappointment in her, his favourite daughter. Her mind reeled. "Kathy wouldn't…" her father said, interrupting Robert's rant. "Surely you saw another girl." "I know what I saw!" Robert bawled. "How dare you question my word! By God, I'll ruin you for this, Francis Gray, and your whore of a daughter!" Kathy glanced outside to the square, where the bonfire was already piled high. People dressed in costumes, laughing and partying for Halloween, unaware of the seismic shift in lives just yards away. Their costumes had failed to protect the town from evil that night. Thinking about it gave her an idea so terrible she quailed at speaking it. But she had to save herself somehow, even if it meant turning against Tom. She put the thought from her mind. Anything to see her father look upon her again, the way he usually did. "I don't remember that," she said desperately. "I was out picking blackberries in the fields. Then I came over faint, like…and then I heard it." She shivered and folded her arms across her breasts. "Father you have to believe me!" Her voice gained strength as the lie became clearer in her head. "It was a voice, an evil voice! He told me that I should be still and say nothing!" Robert's face went white. She knew he would be desperate to believe her, to save his reputation. And also because he loved her, she knew that despite the stiffness of his demeanor. He sat down, and took her hands in his. "Are you saying you were…bewitched?" he said. She stared at him. "I don't know," she said. " But I didn't do as you say, I swear it!" Oh Tom, I'm so sorry for what I'm bringing to you. Robert's eyes fell on the pouch of herbs on her dressing table. "What's this?" he said. "I've seen these before." Kathy stared at him as his mind worked, jumping to conclusions beyond her wildest dreams. "It's that Michael," he said finally, standing up. "He's the one … he's put a spell on her, Francis!" He grabbed the bag and crushed it in his fist. "Michael Cleary is the witch who's done this to Kathy! He was the one you were with, not Tom!" Her father looked stunned. "Michael? But he's harmless," he said. "Are you sure about this, Kathy? Michael gave you this pouch?" She nodded, tears starting to gather in her eyes. It was too late to take it back. When she saw the murderous look on Robert's face, she felt faint again, sick to her stomach. He strode from the room without another word, and she hurried after him. "Robert, what are you going to do?" she cried, but he slammed the door in her face. Her father started to pull on a coat. "Where are you going?" He didn't answer, and again the door was shut in her face. Slowly, she went upstairs, feeling empty. Afraid for herself and for Tom. And Michael, whom she barely knew. Staring out of her bedroom window, she felt that disaster had been averted. Somehow things would return to normal. She heard shouts outside, and lay down, pressing her head into the pillow, dreaming that she would wake and life would be good again. ===== Sean awoke suddenly, breathing hard. Beside him, Siobhan and Declan were also stirring and rubbing their eyes. There was an unnatural stillness in the darkness. It seemed as if a fog had settled around the ruined house, and the chill pierced their sleeping bags right through to the bone. He was more afraid than he had ever been in his life. Silently, they digested the dream they had just shared. Sean felt an overwhelming sadness for Michael Cleary. He didn't need to dream more to know what had happened. Robert had gathered a mob, all drunk and spooked from telling ghost stories all day, and marched to the Cleary house. Michael was there with the man he loved, his secret happiness all too brief. Ears closed to his protests, they had dragged him from the house and hung him from the oak tree, leaving his body to swing in the wind. Then Siobhan's voice pierced the stillness. "I see the ghost, look, I SEE THE GHOST…" Then her head slumped to one side, and Sean realised that she had fainted. Declan was staring ahead, his mouth frozen in a dark O. Breathing hard, he forced his head to turn and look. There was a man coming towards the house, a tall man. Despite the darkness, Sean could see that his features were lined with sorrow, the shoulders slumped and hopeless. His feet made no noise on the stones as he came through the door of the house, casting a look in their direction before continuing out the back, into what was once the garden where he had grown his herbs. "Michael," Sean breathed, scrambling up. He followed him outside, Declan close behind, clutching at his hand like a child. He could feel Declan's body shaking against him and pressed against it, glad of the warmth. Michael Cleary went through the undergrowth as if it wasn't there. Thorns scratched their skin as they pushed after him, branches whipped their faces. He stopped beside a small indent in the earth, covered in moss and leaves. There was a small pile of stones there, where he knelt. Looking into Sean's eyes, he touched the ground and sighed. His mouth formed some words that they couldn't hear, and then he was gone, as if the wind had simply blown him away. For a moment they stood there, stunned by what they had seen. The light he had seemed to bring was still there, illuminating the area. But then Sean realised the sun was coming up, and sighed with relief. The fog had gone and warmth was creeping back into the air. Then Declan said, "He wants us to look there." They knelt down, scrabbling at the damp earth until Sean's fingers brushed against something hard. Not far down into the hole they had made, they found themselves staring at Michael Cleary's skull. Declan moaned and sat back, wringing his hands, his freckles standing out against the paleness of his skin. Gritting his teeth, Sean ignored the relentless stare from the eye sockets and continued pulling the soil out of the shallow grave until he saw the glint of metal. It was the locket, the one that hung around his neck in his dreams. "What is it?" Declan gasped. "His locket," Sean murmured, spitting on his thumb and rubbing it over the cold surface, cleaning the earth off it until the silver shone through. There was a small clasp at the side and he fumbled at it. It was stiff, but eventually cracked open. A folded up piece of paper was inside, and some faded photographs. He snapped it shut again and stood up. "Let's go back to town," he said. "We can clean it up better there." Declan was staring at the locket. "That's the one I- he- gave to him," he said, and Sean knew who Declan had seen in his dreams. The man who had run out the door, fearful that their forbidden love would be discovered, not knowing that Michael had been condemned for something far more ordinary. ===== Later that day, they sat in the pub. Gil had been reluctant to let Sean back in after the last time when he'd vomited all over the bar, but then they told him what they had found. They sat together around a table, staring at the locket as May cleared their plates away. Siobhan had recovered from her fainting fit, annoyed that she had missed the discovery of the grave. Her hand was fragile in Sean's grasp, and she looked at him shyly and smiled. There were two pictures inside the locket, two charcoal drawings. One of Michael Cleary, and the other one of his lover. Two serious faces, staring out through the fog of the years, young and unsuspecting. There was an inscription on the back of the locket that read When you see this remember me, though many myles we distant be. The letter inside was short. "My love," it read, in a slanting, spidery script. "Think not ill of me after I depart. I cannot find the words to say goodbye. But know that I shall return soon. How brief our time has been! But in it, I lived a lifetime of happiness. Until the spring comes. Yours always, James." Gil sat back in his seat. "Francis Gray was a relative of mine," he said. "He started this pub back in 1821, just after he got married. They had three girls, Kathy, Anna and Agnes." "So you've known all along, what happened out there at the Cleary house?" Siobhan said. The old man shook his head. "Not all of it," he said. "I know that no one was ever prosecuted for Michael's murder. Everyone knew that witchcraft stuff was rubbish, just some sort of hysteria that went away as soon as it started. I don't know who this James was, or what happened to Kathy. Tom Cleary disappeared around the same time she did. She never did marry Robert Brown, like she was supposed to." "So how come you own the house now?" "We've always owned it." Gil stood up, stiff. His joints were swollen with arthritis, his eyes strangely wet. "Tom Cleary did odd jobs for Francis, as far as I know. They were tenants, him and his brother. Francis kept meticulous records of all his finances. You can see his ledgers, in the Folk Museum. I suppose that's how Tom got to know Kathy." "And what happened to Robert Brown in the end?" Sean asked. Gil shrugged. "He got married a few months later, to some rich girl from a neighbouring village. Lived a full and happy life, by all accounts." He gathered their empty pint glasses onto a tray. "He was wealthy and powerful and owned most of the land, including the people on it. There's different rules for people like that." Sean felt a surge of anger. "That's so not fair," he said. So Tom and Kathy had escaped the village, probably starting a new life together somewhere new. Had Tom known the fate that had befallen his twin? No doubt Kathy had lied her way out of that one too. Everyone had lived happily ever after, all except for Michael. While Gil was at the bar, Declan lit up a cigarette and inhaled deeply. "James was the one who found him the next day," he said. "He cut the body down and buried it in the garden. He lay there on top of it for days, in the rain, hoping to die. But in the end, he got up and left." Sean folded the letter back into the locket almost reverently. Snapping it shut, he hung it around his neck, making a silent promise to its owner that he would take good care of it. Maybe now Michael's body was to be buried in a proper graveyard, his story told, he would be able to rest. The metal was cold against his heart, for a second. Haunted A brisk autumn night. Leaves rustle in the wind. The jagged edges of tree limbs are illuminated in the bright moonlight. The curtain sways from the open window. She lays there, on her back. Missing her love. Wishing he was there. To hold her, to feel her, to take her. Trapped in mid sleep, she's in between worlds. Sensing her love nearby, she cracks an eye open. Nothing there. She utters a sigh and tries to allow sleep to claim her, hopeful that she at least gets taken in her dreams. Her nipples stand at attention. There's that feeling again. Someone's there, but not. The dark room is empty, except for her personal effects adorning her chamber, lit a glow in dim blue moonlight. But this time she cannot shake that feeling. Scanning the shadows, she still sees nothing. But she knows, her lover is near. She relaxes in her bed. Brushing restricting clothing aside. Allowing for easier access. Temptation too great, claiming her. She brushes her hand over her breasts. Her nipples catching her attention. She so requires plenty of attention. She massages them, playfully. Taking each to her lips. Her other hand rushes down in between her legs, slipping beneath leopard panties. Fingering clit, getting wet, producing sweat. Her hot breathing echoes in her cold room. Tightening her grip on her tit, her fingers increase their violation of her cunt. Her body arches and her hand is drenched just like that. Her body falls limp, sweaty and now cold from the autumn breeze invading her room. She licks the lovely juices from her fingers. Too lazy; tired rather; to shut the window, she just pulls the covers up to her neck, hoping that she gets taken by lustful dreams before the sun rises. She's in so dire need of it. So in dire need of her love. She slinks away into dream. The wind blows more furious. A mist enters her chamber. Fog, unreal. Collects at the foot of her bed. Then her covers are slowly slipped away. An ethereal breath is heard, in dream. She moans. Cold claiming her. Her nipples beneath her white top once again standing erect. The sheet passes her tummy, cold air making her squirm. Now sliding over her animal skinned sex, still wet from earlier. Down her bare white legs building speed and finally off her plump toes. Her bare feet suddenly shifting searching for warmth. They don't search for long. A warm breath glides across her feet, relaxing her toes. Making love to each. She could swear she could feel lips and tongue blessing each little piggy. Along the balls of her feet, up her arch, around her ankles. The last makes her shudder, but she still does not wake. She doesn't want to. Heat rising up her bare legs, along her knees, fingers tickling her calves, caressing her thighs. Her sex becoming wetter. Drenched, drowning. Feeling a warmth that could only be one thing. There's a stillness in the air. Her breathing quickens. A cold fog forming over her from her breath. Then her breath is held. Waiting. Her legs are suddenly spread open with an incredible force, unexpectedly shocking her from her sleep. There her legs remain, open, primed and ready. Her arms are to her side above her head. Unable to move. Feeling such an incredible warmth. She feels her womanhood being probed, rubbed, a familiar hot breath caressing her. She begins to leak more lust. She feels something enter her, slithering, deep. Her panties are not even moved. She's being penetrated through them. She can barely hear an ghostly ethereal breath. Her pulse quickens. Her pelvis is suddenly lifted off the bed. Something enters with vigor. All to real, it threatens to split her in two. Her legs flail in the air. She's being violated by something very strong. No, seduced. And she loves it. She has never felt anything so pure. What lust really is, what lust should be. She cries out with each trust. The entity burrowing deeper still. Slight discomfort giving in to further pleasure. "...take me..." she utters. Her breasts are being fondled. They've been fondled enough times; by herself in the very least; to know what it feels like. Her hands remain prone, her pelvis continues to be thrusted, her nipples are now being sucked. She sways her head to and fro enjoying this moment of forbidden ecstasy. Moaning, louder and louder and louder still. Her climax peaks. Singing her carnal song, she jumps right into the next verse. She's being taken, ravaged, lusted. Her multi D breasts dance to her lyrics. Her body bounces. She's totally out of control. Her body quivering, climaxing, twitching with each and every orgasm. Writhing with passion, like being possessed. Taken by another. Being filled like never before. Her clit vibrating, her cunt barraged, her spot being hit every single time. Her entire womanhood being consumed by this... force. She screams. She feels just about to explode, literally. Being completely filled to capacity, and beyond. Her internal organs shifting, realigning. Her cervix being punished, her pussy curving to his dick. His seed setting her insides ablaze. Empty screams now escape her horse throat. No saliva left. Being taken over. Lifted and twisted. Turned on her stomach and taken from behind. Unbelievable, filling her even more than before. Her eyes roll in her head. Her dark hair is pulled back, forcing her to utter a breathless yelp. Her massive mounds swaying beneath. Pounding, thrusting, her body quivers and collapses. Back on on her back, her legs reach the stratosphere, almost folded in two. Being crushed under her own weight, and that of another. Piledriven into her battered mattress. Her own breasts beating her own face. Now a forceful hand on her throat, squeezing. Automatically, she strains out a breathless response. "...I'm yours...all yours..." Grip tightens even more. "...this pussy is yours!" she exclaims "...this is your pussy!" As if satisfied with her answer, the ghostly grip eases, if just a bit. She fires a load with such a force that it escapes her panties and shoots heaven bound. She could feel several droplets rain back down on her from above. So fucking hot, she thinks. Totally the property of another, to be done with as he pleases. Totally under his mercy. She cums again. Her body completely engulfed by such a warmth. His seed implanted deep inside of her. Her body lies still. Catching life giving breath. Feeling that same hot breath on her neck. Caressing, loving. Then a pressure on her lips. A tear inexplicably falls from her eye. "...ssssshhhhh..." she could barely make out originating out of thin air. Then. The mist dissipates. She's alone. A dream? She can move again. All just a dream? Moving makes her realize just how soaked her bed is. It wasn't a dream. Body aching, head spinning, sun rising. She takes her place back on the soiled bed. She smiles, knowing that was her ghostly lover, paying her a visit. She bathes in her thoughts; fingering the tip of her pillow; hand resting over the life now in her womb; with only one thing left to say to her nightly visitor. ".....again..." Haunted Dismal and gloomy. The day matched her mood and as she sat at the table by the window she was content to let the world pass her by. The sun was setting over the buildings; another day of her life was coming to an end. She welcomed its passing; she loved the night. Her shrink said she was an anomaly; most depressives craved the light and its healing affect on their brain. To her darkness was a warm, safe cocoon where she could withdraw to her small apartment and create new worlds. Her writing was her only solace in a world that had no meaning; a world that had passed her by over and over. The waitress came over and refilled her coffee cup but she barely acknowledged her. How many cups had she had today? How long had she been here? She was drowning in a sea of coffee but the caffeine fueled her fires and her keyboard sang. The small bell on the door jingled and she smiled to herself; her inspiration had arrived. He sat at the counter and she watched as the waitress served him. His affect on women was tangible; the waitress was acting like a simpering idiot. His smile was polite but disinterested and she melted away to lick her wounds. It was always the same; the woman made an advance but quickly retreated. His aloof manner seemed to complement his dark, good looks and women were drawn to him. Time and again she watched as he shot them down. He was her muse and in the last two months he had figured heavily in her writings. His whole bearing; the way he carried himself had intrigued her. She knew he was as dark as her inside and she used his anonymity to weave a tale of passionate but obsessive love. Can you fall in love with a total stranger? Can you fall in love with someone who only lives on the outskirts of your life? She wasn't sure; she only knew that each night he drank his coffee and left. As he walked past her table he would nod; a simple politeness maybe but her heart beat faster for that moment. As she finished her coffee she noticed it had started raining and she cursed herself for not bringing an umbrella. Tossing a few bills on the table she buttoned her coat and gave a mental sigh before braving the storm. Thankfully her apartment was only a few blocks away but in this weather it seemed miles. The streets were empty now and she moved quickly through the night as the rain whipped her skirt around her legs. Flashes of lightning illuminated the sidewalk and she sped up. She had no idea if her mind was playing tricks on her but she couldn't shake the feeling she was being followed. She saw the door of her building and her hand combed through her purse as she searched wildly for her keys. She fumbled with the key and started to scream as she heard someone come up behind her. Her fingers searched aimlessly for the keyhole as a hand covered her mouth. The voice was gruff and she recognized it immediately ... it was him. He took his hand away and stepped back and her body relaxed. Taking the key from her he opened the door and she stepped inside; turning to see if he followed. As they climbed the stairs she could feel his presence and she shivered; a mixture of him and her chilled body. Her fingers shook as she opened her door and for a brief moment she questioned her sanity. He was a stranger in every sense of the word and what she was doing was reckless and stupid. She shoved the thoughts away; for too long she had lived in her safe existence. Tonight was her night to live; if only briefly through another person. Turning the light on she stepped inside and turned to watch as he locked the door. In the diner she had observed him from afar but now she searched his face. His hair was wet and he brushed the drops away as they trickled down his face. His face was interesting; that was the only way she could explain it. Nothing was in proportion but on him it worked; it made him unique. He wasn't another pretty face but a man; a real man who had a distinct power over her. Her heart was pounding; fear fighting a battle with excitement. She took off her jacket and stepped past him to hang it up. The heat from his body was tangible and she trembled as she felt his hands on her shoulders. She turned into his embrace and all her fear dissolved; this was what she had dreamed of. He had played a central role in so many of her stories and now he was here. To back away now was unthinkable; tomorrow was for regrets. His hands pushed her hair back out of her face and then his mouth was on hers. Their first kiss was fire; hot, fierce and all consuming. She tasted blood as his tongue searched her mouth and she moaned as her nails dug into his shoulders. His hand twisted in her hair and he pulled her head back to bury his mouth in her throat. She felt the sharp nip of his teeth and she started but his lips soothed the pain. He lifted his head to stare into her eyes and she saw raw desire. Pushing her against the wall he kissed her once more; a long draining kiss that left her limp and breathless. Her hands moved to his chest in a feeble attempt to gain some control but instead they moved over his chest. He wore a thin jacket and she worked the zipper down and helped him shrug out of it. Words were forgotten; their hands did the talking as they roamed each others bodies. The buttons on her blouse gave way easily. She never wore a bra as her breasts were small and she gasped as his teeth pulled on her nipple. His hand trailed up her leg and she heard her panties rip as he tore them from her body. She started to whimper as she heard the rasp of his zipper. He lifted her up and she felt him guide himself into her. They used no protection but at this point she didn't care. Her life was disposable as far as she cared; there was only this moment and him. Their coupling was fast and hard; her body would carry the bruises for days but she didn't complain. As he carried her to bed she felt like she was in a scene from one of her books but if this was a fantasy she never wanted to wake up. She awoke with a start; he had left her while she slept as dark and mysterious as ever. She realized they didn't even know each others' names but that would be remedied soon enough. Her world suddenly had new meaning and through the morning her mind drifted back to last night's lovemaking. The soreness in her body attested to their frenzied coupling and she gloried in the fact that she could affect him this way. Her excitement was almost palpable as she walked in the small diner. At any moment he would walk through that door and this time she would be ready. Yes the sex had been wonderful; but she wanted more. For the first time in her life she felt a purpose to life. He was her knight in shining armor; her Sir Galahad. She watched the door in breathless anticipation; her hands trembled and her heart pounded. Her new life was just beginning. *** She put down the coffee cup; her hands were trembling so much she had trouble holding it. Three months; that was how long it had been since that night. That was how long it had been since she had seen him. The first few days she had waited at the small diner; hoping against hope he would appear. As each day went by she found herself making excuses for him. Maybe he was sick or he was called out of town on business but as the days turned into weeks; then into months she had to face the facts. She had been a one night stand; a cheap night's entertainment for him. The knowledge hurt and for a short time she shoved it to the back of her mind. The problem was it was like a sore tooth; she couldn't resist poking and prodding at it. Gradually tears and sorrow turned into anger and bitterness. He had used her; he had taken her heart and stomped on it. Did he realize what he had done to her? She tried to rationalize; she tried to think of it as a special night and move on. It didn't work; her heart was in pieces; he had betrayed her and somehow she had to let him know. She looked up to see the waitress watching her. Was it her imagination or did she know what had happened? The smug smile on the waitress' face was more than she could bear and she threw a few bills on the table and left. On the street she scanned faces; it was her new obsession. Any tall dark haired man was singled out but what were the chances of finding anyone that way? She cursed herself for not getting his name but at the time it was part of his mystique. In fiction the handsome stranger swept the girl off her feet and they lived happily ever after. Well this wasn't a book or a movie; this was real life. She had built a wall to protect herself and in one fell swoop it had been demolished. The encounter had changed more than just her life but her work. Her writing had always been romantic bodice rippers; the boy meets girl type genre. Over the course of the last few months her writing had grown darker; more introspective. The new words were obsession and revenge and gradually the written words invaded her mind. She began to realize she wanted revenge; she wanted to hurt him the way he hurt her. Her fingers flew on the keys as she put down her thoughts. The story went quickly and as she re-read it she knew it was the best thing she had ever written. How ironic! It took the depths of despair for her to find her true niche. She should have been ecstatic but all she felt was a deep sorrow; a need to end it all. Her searching took on a new urgency; if he was here she would find him. It became her goal in life; a reason to get out of bed everyday. Gone was the small diner; now she walked the streets searching faces. In her coat pocket was the flick knife she had bought. She had snapped; her fragile psyche had been stretched to its limits. Her life became an endless routine; search all day and write all night. Eating and sleeping were secondary; she became a shell of her former self. Weeks went by and she was at a breaking point. She hadn't taken her medicine in months; her depression deepened and she merely existed. There had been a moment on the streets one day when she thought she had seen him. She was oblivious to everyone as she pushed past people; her heart was in her throat as she touched his shoulder. The man looked nothing like him; he was a pale imitation and she turned away in disappointment. That night she sat at her window and stared at the moon. She knew her obsession was killing her but she was powerless to stop it. If she was smart she would end it all now; her medicine cabinet was loaded with drugs. Maybe she was a coward or just maybe she wanted to see him once more. She wanted an explanation; he owed her that much. The summer was here now and the heat was oppressive but she prowled the streets in the heavy winter coat. People stared as she passed them; she made an incongruous image. The heat was the least of her worries as she wandered aimlessly. Today she decided to try the park but it was mostly mothers and little children. She smiled wistfully; she had always wanted children but that was a pipe dream now. Her eyes filled with tears and she had turned to leave when she saw the man out of the corner of her eye. It was him! It was really him this time and she stood quietly and studied his face. The same irregular features; the same dark eyes and her feelings overwhelmed her. He was on his cell phone and moving slowly she sat by him on the bench just soaking in his image. Her hand was on the flick knife and she let go of it quickly. How could she have even entertained a notion of hurting him? Love fought with hate and love had won out. He must have felt her staring because he looked at her as he shut the phone and stowed it in his pocket. His nod was slight; almost imperceptible like one you gave a stranger. Then it hit her - he didn't recognize her! Had she changed that much? She had lost weight and she wasn't the girl he had taken that night but she hadn't changed that radically. His total indifference infuriated her and reason was left behind. She fumbled in her pocket for the knife and its comfortable weight in her hand reassured her. As she looked up she realized he had left the bench and was striding quickly towards the corner. She stood up but the combination of the heat and lack of sleep and food made her weak. The world started to go black and she fought it with deep breaths until she felt stronger. By now he was at the curb and preparing to cross the street and she started to run. Her weakened state left her panting but she made it to the curb in time to see him on the other side of the street. With her last burst of energy she ran across the street even as the light changed. She never even heard the squeal of the brakes or saw the gathering of the crowd around her. He leaned over her; concern in his eyes even as the light died from hers. Haunted It was 19.00 by the time Britney waved off the last of the moving company men. They'd all been so eager to stay back and help her unpack, she was more or less done but for all couple of boxes in the kitchen. She knew why of course. Why would any man want to put in a few extra unpaid hours after work when he should be getting home to his wife and family? It was all thanks to her perfectly formed, creamy set of DD's, packed tightly away behind a skin tight, white t-shirt. She did not often encourage this behaviour but... well, like she said – she was practically finished but for a few boxes in the kitchen. Besides, she hadn't done anything. She'd just "accidentally" packed all of her bras away in a box, and she couldn't wear a dirty one, now could she? And the top she was wearing was tight enough to minimise the bouncing. Or so she'd thought. Although, she thought looking down at her huge chest, it has been pretty cold today. Feeling a little slutty she pulled the t-shirt over her head and went into the bathroom to have a shower, bouncing all the way. That night she woke with a start. For a moment she forgot where she was. The light switch was not where she thought it was. Starting to panic, she looked up and screamed. A black shadow of a figure stood at the foot of her bed. Where was the light!? Click. Nothing. It was nothing. She was being stupid. Her breathing slowed, as she surveyed the room anyway. There was nobody there. It was probably just the lamp one of the boys had decided to put as far away from her bed as possible. Now how was that helpful? She laughed to herself, running her fingers through her vibrant ginger hair. She reached out, blindly to the right and found the glass on her bedside table. 'Whoops!' SMASH! Crap, she thought, assessing the damage. Glass everywhere. Not to mention water all over the floor, the table and... yes. Her tits. It had rendered her nightdress absolutely see-through. Oh well, she thought. No one was around to see it. She'd deal with the mess in the morning. Removing her night clothes she went back to sleep in just her panties and did not wake until the next day. She began the day off with her usual routine. An hour run on the treadmill, followed by a long hot shower. Then she dressed for work; a pinstriped power-suit with a pencil skirt and black stockings. Now if she could only find that box with her bras in... She started in the kitchen, because she remembered there being boxes in there. Nope. Nothing. Mugs, plates, a breadboard... no bras. She cast her mind back and tried to remember if there were any other untouched boxes in the house, but she knew there wasn't. Well that does it, she thought, she deserved this one. She had gone too far, teasing those guys. It wouldn't surprise her if one of them had helped himself. Sighing, she resigned herself to the fact that she was going to have to buy some on her way to work. At 8.30 she rushed out the door to her car, already running late. Not only did the bra hunt cost her time out of her usual routine, but to her horror the relatively new silk shirts she'd bought for work no longer fitted properly. She tried on shirt after shirt and eventually went back to her original choice. She buttoned it up as best she could but found that her breasts were practically spilling out of it. As she reached her 4x4, the keys slipped out of her hand and landed on the gravel of the driveway with a delicate jingle. She stopped. Took a deep breath, praying for patience, and bent over to pick them up. As she reached for them she heard the unmistakable bang of her new neighbour's door closing. She glanced up, still bent over, and found that the 40-50 year old man in a suit, clearly also on his way to work, was staring right down her top. Great, she thought, straightening up and waving to the guy, way to make a good impression on the neighbours. As quickly as she could, without looking as though she were rushing, she got into her car and drove to work. The commute was far quicker from her new place. She felt she deserved it. To live in a nice neighbourhood for once. Especially after getting such a big promotion. It wouldn't do to turn up late on the first day either, she thought as she pulled in to the parking lot. She'd have to do a quick mall run on her lunch break. As she walked in everyone was especially smiley that morning. She said hello to Joe, the 20-something parking attendant, and he offered to make her coffee. She declined explaining it was the first day in her new job and she wanted to make a good impression. "I have no doubt you'll do that Ms. Engel," he smiled so sweetly Britney did not realise what he meant until she was in the elevator, half way up the building. Little shit. Still, she held her head up high as she walked into the office and pretended not to notice how much cleavage she was showing. She waved hello to the receptionist and knocked on the last door on the left. Her new office would be the one right next door to her boss. "Come in!" she heard from the other side. She turned the handle and stuck her head through. Her boss, Mr. Wendell, was not much older than the parking attendant, which annoyed a lot of people who'd worked for the company a long time. It didn't matter what people thought if you're the CEO's son however. Britney put up with it because she knew, no matter how much of an asshole he was, he was the one holding all the free passes. He was wearing a suit no man his age should be able to afford, with his feet up his huge desk, not doing very much at all. "Bunny! Good to see you. Please, come in. Make yourself comfortable," he said, grinning widely. 'Bunny' was his pet name for her. It made her feel a little queasy. She entered the room, opening her mouth to speak when he said, "Close the door behind you." She turned around and shut the door. "Good girl," he said. She shuddered. He always said that – as though she were a dog. "Sit down." "Thank you Mr. Wendell," she forced herself to smile as she lowered into one of his uncomfortable chairs. Mr. Wendell stared at her for a few moments and grinned. Then he made an obvious gesture to look at his watch and sighed. "A few minutes late, Bunny. On your first day as my assistant? It doesn't make much of an impression..." "Mr. Wendell," she gritted her teeth, "I'm sorry for my lateness. I just moved into a new place – it was a bit of a late start. I apologise. But I would like to mention that I am not your assistant; I am the assistant manager of this department." Mr. Wendell laughed, leaning back in his large, leather desk chair. "And did you read the job description? It has changed quite a bit over the past week. Assistant manager of the department is now simply assistant to me. Do you have any issue with that?" "Well," said Britney, thinking hard about how to go about it, "What's wrong with your assistant now... Julia?" "Ah, Julia," he seemed as though he was thinking fondly of a old friend long forgotten. "No I got bored of her, you're far more interesting." He smiled as though she should be flattered by this. "Anyway it's the same pay grade for less work, how does that sound?" Britney paused to think. Putting it that way didn't sound like a bad deal at all. But, she shuddered internally, she'd rather take on a greater work load than have to work for this prick. It didn't seem as though she had much choice. Before she could answer him, he said, "I knew you'd come around to it. And you are making a fantastic first impression – I was only kidding. Your attire this morning more than makes up for your lateness. Continue with this performance and I see bright things in your future." He winked sickeningly, "I've had your office set up how I like it so try not to make a mess. I let you get settled in. Dismissed." She stood before she said something she'd regret and left the room, closing the door behind her. She took a deep breath and turned to the door next to her. 'BRITNEY ENGEL – ASSISTANT MANAGER'. It would have made her feel proud if she didn't know what the job would now be entailing. Uncertain of what to expect she opened the door and stepped inside. At first glance it seemed like a normal office. Tiny. The size of a broom cupboard. But still an office of her very own. A desk. A chair. Somewhere to hang her coat. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously and looked around for anything out of place, but found nothing. She relaxed and took a seat at her desk. The computer was already set up for her. Brand new. She was pleased with that. BUZZ!! Britney jumped half way across the room – which wasn't saying much. "Bunny!" came Mr. Wendell's voice from a small white intercom, sitting on her desk . "Bunny log into your computer!" She did so quickly and found that she was staring back at herself. There was a webcam somewhere... but she couldn't see where. "Smiiiiile! I can see you! Isn't this great? Now I'll be able to look at who I'm talking to. Just minimize it off the screen whilst you're working – I want it on at all times, understand?" Oh shit, she thought. That's all she needed. God, were her boobs really that big? "Bunny?" She leaned over nervously, her breasts literally out of her shirt and pressed the button to speak. "Yes Mr. Wendell," she said. By the time Britney was making her way home she'd gotten out of her seat no less than fifty times to attend to one of Mr. Wendell's needs. She'd been making his coffee, shining his shoes, writing up his paperwork and more or less doing his job for him. And she was sure he kept talking to her just so she'd have to lean over and press the button to reply. She had managed to go to the mall during her break, but only because Mr. Wendell needed his dry cleaning picked up. She got measured at the lingerie store she got all of her underwear in. "I don't know how you've done it," said the store assistant, "you've gone up almost 2 cup sizes since your last visit. Believe me – I never forget a rack." Mr. Wendell seemed disappointed when she returned with her breasts well and truly covered up by the new sweater she'd bought, but did not say anything to her. She was glad to be home. She'd beaten her neighbour so she'd escaped that awkward conversation for the evening. She kicked her shoes off at the door, ran herself a hot bath and went to bed. That night she was woken up again. Although this time she wasn't sure whether she was awake or not. It was dark, but she didn't think to turn on the light. Her eyes were well enough adjusted to the environment. Besides there was a light coming from the computer screen... She moved to get out of bed but immediately fell to her knees. Whoops, she thought. She tried to get up again but found that she couldn't. Like there was a weight, holding her down. The dark figure was back. She laughed, tiredly and yawned. Silly moving boys, putting her lamp so far away... A wind started up out of no where. At first a light breeze swept across her face gently, coming from the window which was slightly ajar. Then it got stronger until a few bits of loose paper were flying around the room. Then her arms were forced upwards and her nightdress was torn from her body, leaving her knelt in the centre of her bedroom in just her panties. The cold wind was making her nipples hard, and her hands were now forced round the back of her head, her fingers locked. Impossible to move them. She tried to move and found that she could, but she could not stand up or remove her hands from the back of her head. The dark figure was standing directly in front of her. Looking down on her. She started to shake from the cold. From the... anticipation? She seemed to know what was going to happen next. A warmth came over her breasts. The warmth of a pair of enormous hands stroking them. She squirmed at first, but then came to accept it. It was kind of nice actually. She liked to be touched. To be groped. Soon the stroking became flicking. Something was flicking her nipples. The dark figure knew how to make her wet. How to make her moan out loud. She looked down at herself and saw that it was not just in her mind. Her breasts were moving. As though some invisible force were kneading them like bread. The next thing she felt was on her face. Her right cheek. It was warmer than the figure's hands. Burning hot. And hard. It caressed her face and moved across her lips. She knew what to do. She opened her mouth wide and all at once it was filled. She gagged but something held her in place. She was frozen in that position, unable to move at all as whatever hot, hard instrument that was in her mouth pulled itself in and out, in and out. The warmth of the figure's hands were now on the back of her head, forcing her back and forth. She knew it was skull-fucking her, and she loved it. When it was good and covered in her salvia it's attention went back to her breasts. They were bigger. Definitely bigger than they were. She had no time to examine closely because now it was slapping them with it's cock. It's hot, hard cock flicked past her nipples and she moaned like a whore. Then, with a sudden ferocity, her tits were grabbed, roughly and forced together as she felt it's cock slide between them, fucking them hard. They were wobbling like crazy. She'd never seen them shake so much. And they were growing. Fast. The harder it fucked them, the bigger they got. She was going to cum just watching it pound them. Then... it came. Not just on her tits. But her face. Her whole body dripped in pure white cum. It was in her hair, her mouth – everywhere. And just like that it was gone. The wind stopped. But she was still sat in the middle of the floor. Covered head-to-toe in the sticky mess. She wasn't waking up. She crawled to the bathroom, got under the spray and eventually made it back to bed, not bothering to put her clothes back on. The next day she woke in that exact position.