9 comments/ 40791 views/ 5 favorites Home by the Sea By: Darkniciad AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story is erotic horror, set in a fantasy world of magic and monsters. While this story takes place in the same world as all my other tales, it is completely disconnected from the characters and areas in those stories. In fact, I'm not even sure where in the world this location is just yet, other than by the sea in a sub tropical zone similar to Southern Florida in climate. Likewise, the timing in relation to all my other stories is unknown and largely irrelevant unless I decide to incorporate the elements of this story into something again later. Because the story is set in my world, it does occasionally make use of "modern" measures. This is a product of my world, in which these are the common measures of the times. I hope it doesn't detract too much from the story for the readers. My world is just long established, and it refuses to change its stripes. This story was borne of pure inspiration at work. I was contemplating the storyline for another erotic horror tale that I'm converting from an older story I wrote, and this suddenly came to me and demanded to be written. The characters are extremely foul-mouthed, and they are meant to be. The courser language of the narrative than I usually use is likewise intentional. I'm sure some will recognize the root of the inspiration fairly quickly. This is my first venture outside of Sci-Fi/Fantasy on Lit, and I hope it meets with approval from a different audience. Thanks to DanielleKitten for taking the time to read this over before I put it out to public scrutiny, 'twas most appreciated and helpful. This is a newly edited version of the tale, cleaning up my older work now that I'm working with Roust Writer as my tireless editor. ~^~~^~~^~ ~~^~~^~~^~ ~^~~^~~^~ Two figures, dark cloaked and masked, diligently scanned their surroundings as they guided a boat toward the sandy strip of beach ahead. The tang of the sea hung heavily around them in the humid air, leaving the approaching boat shrouded in mists. The sea was calm and glassy in the faint light of the crescent moon, only the surge of the waves against the shore and the faint sloshes of water against the bow of the boat breaking the silence. The keel of the boat barely scrunched into the sand when the figure in the front of the boat, the leaner of the two, swung over the edge and leapt to dry land. The person moved with a quick, silent efficiency to pull the stern closer to the beach, allowing the other cloaked passenger to disembark without stepping into the water. Both figures then pulled the boat through the sand toward the hill rising above the beach, aiming for a tangle of driftwood and assorted flotsam pushed up against the hill by the relentless and frequent storms that pounded the region. Upon reaching the tangle, the lean figure pulled away a section of nailed boards, which likely came from a boat wreck, revealing a carefully excavated hollow in both the tangle and the hill. The void was conveniently of a perfect size to house the boat that the pair now pushed inside. After concealing the boat in the hollow, the stockiest of the pair replaced the boards while the leaner took up a branch and moved back along the path gouged in the sand by the keel of the boat and the feet of those dragging it. The one figure moved up the hill, leaving the sand and loose dirt behind in favor of the grass-covered rise, while the other expertly erased all evidence of both boat and passengers from the sand. Their tracks covered, both now lay at the crest of the hill, watching and listening for any evidence that they had been observed. With patience born from years of practice, both lay silent and motionless for a quarter of an hour, until they were sure the way was clear and they were unobserved. Their eyes roved over the building, an old design that looked more like a fortress than a manor home. Constructed entirely of stone, it was flat roofed and sported gargoyles on each corner of both floors. No word or signal passed between them, but they rose to a crouch simultaneously to creep amidst the swirling fog toward their objective. They moved directly toward the corner of the manor, knowing that the blind spot created by a lack of windows with a direct view of their approach would help mask their movement toward the structure, should anyone glance outside. Once again, they crouched in silence upon reaching the stone wall of the building, waiting for sounds of alarm or movement. The leaner of the two knelt to remove a pair of dark boots, before climbing the wall. The stones were closely fit, and well mortared, but it proved to be little obstacle to the climber. The figure ascended quickly, as if able to stick to the wall like a spider. Reaching a landing upon the roof where the second story sat back from the first, the climber stopped. Once more, they waited. A rope dropped to the climber's cloaked partner, who shinnied up the wall and then pulled the rope up after. The pair carefully crept along the roof toward a nearby window, listening for any sounds before moving to peer inside. Seeing nothing, the more muscular of the two stepped aside while the other worked a tool through the crack between the windowpanes and disengaged the latch holding the portal closed. Once the tool was secreted back inside its owner's dark cloak, both figures climbed in through the window and stepped into the floor of the hallway. Each checked to the left and to right. They carefully picked up the tiny slivers of wood that dislodged during the break-in, closing and re-latching the window. The evidence of their entry now concealed, they began stealthily exploring the manor house. Every door they passed was wide open, the rooms curiously windowless. The numerous windows of the manor only opened into hallways and sitting rooms on the seaward corners of the each floor. Every room was dark, revealing no evidence of anyone within. Upon reaching the entrance foyer of the place, Victor Kaoten pulled back the cowl of his cloak and whipped off his mask, stuffing it into a pocket of the cloak. He scratched at his cheek where the mask had irritated five days worth of unshaven beard, and then ran his fingers through his dark brown hair. "Not a fucking soul." His partner, Catherine Vata pulled off her mask as well. The face that the action revealed belied her nature. She had a face you could trust, seemingly innocent, naive – and beautiful by any standard. Only a spark of mischief in her emerald eyes betrayed the truth of her. "Something doesn't feel quite right." Victor shrugged his broad shoulders. "Just makes things easier. We don't have to tie up anybody while we take what we want." Catherine pulled her long, blonde ponytail out of her cloak, letting it fall to swing at her waist. "Vic, we've been watching this damn place for three weeks. Nobody has come in or left the whole time, until the freaks left this morning. There's no way those two could keep up with this place. We should have had to knock out or kill a half a dozen people who keep up this place." He furrowed his brow. "Forget it, Cat. You're just upset you didn't get to earn another bloody tear for your tattoo. They're fucking freaks. They probably spend all their lives cleaning up the place and do nothing else. Let's just pick the place clean and get out of here." He walked over to toward the door, avoiding passing directly in front of the windows, and picked up a candelabra near the front door. Walking toward a beam of moonlight, he examined it. "This is pure silver – I'd bet my left nut on it. This is going to be a good haul." He pulled a large sack from his concealing cloak and stuffed the candelabra in, "Let's split up and start checking all the rooms. We'll save that one with the double doors near where we came in for last. Looks like the Master Bedroom, and there's a good chance the crazy bitch's jewelry is there. Small, light, and valuable. We want to get as much shit out of here in as little space as possible." Catherine nodded, pulling out a lantern as Victor did the same. The burglar's lanterns would let them shutter or direct the light emitted wherever they wished, helping to avoid detection as they rifled the dwelling for valuables. ~^~~^~~^~ ~~^~~^~~^~ ~^~~^~~^~ Every room seemed rife with treasure, and the two practiced thieves quickly filled their bags. Whenever they would find a smaller item of greater value, something large would come out of the bag and be deposited on the floor. Nevertheless, both bags were extremely heavy by the time the pair met at the door of the master bedroom. Victor had a bright smile on his face, knowing he had a fortune in precious metal, jewels, ivory, and art in his sack, picked up and pried from everywhere in the house. He had no doubt that Cat's bag was the same. By his guess, they could live well off what they carried now for three or four years. Catherine's smile was a reflection of his, as she understood the same. They would have no need to spend long nights of boredom out in the elements casing targets for quite some time. "Now, the real prize – I hope. If we can stuff our pockets full of jewelry in here, we'll be set for a decade," Victor said, sitting his bag down in the hall. Catherine did the same, and then blew out a long whistle of surprise as they opened the shutters on their lanterns and beheld the room. Everywhere there was the glint of silver and gold. It trimmed the dressing tables, chests of drawers, and even the bed. In addition to the precious metals, the woodwork was of the highest quality. Each piece of furniture was a work of art, shaped to look like animal heads and plants, and every flat surface had scenes carved into it. Expensive carpets covered nearly the entire floor. Tapestries that incorporated gold and silver threads obscured the stone walls as the carpets did the floor. The bed dominated the room – huge and canopied. It could have easily let four people lie upon it comfortably. The curtains and bedclothes were obviously of high quality, as was everything else in the room. The entire place was opulent, but this one room put all the rest to shame. "Nice fucking bed," Victor declared with a snort. Catherine walked up and pushed on the mattress. She then sat down her lantern on a bedside table and flopped onto the bed with a sigh. She sat back up and said, "Nice bed for fucking," licking her lips and twitching her eyebrows. "We've got work to do, Cat," he argued, but didn't take his eyes off her. This was something that often came up whenever they felt they had plenty of time to pilfer a place. It excited them both – especially Catherine. She pouted for a second, and then her crooked smile returned. She shrugged off her cloak, revealing a blouse and tight pants that clung to her every curve. The blouse was nearly transparent from the sweat that had dampened it, and her nipples pressed hard against the material. "There's nobody here. They were packed up like they'll be gone for a month. I want to fuck in their bed until the wet spot covers half of it and let them smell our sex every night. It's such a wonderful bed. It's a shame to waste it. Come fuck me, Vic. Fuck me and make me leak pussy juice all over." Victor walked over and grabbed her by the ponytail, jerking her head to look up at him as he stood over her. "You are one sexy fucking bitch – you know that?" He growled in arousal and then ground his lips into hers. As he pulled his lips from hers, still holding her in a tight grip, Cat said, "Stop talking and fuck me." "What if somebody comes in? What are we going to do then?" Victor asked while staring down into her eyes. "Tie them up. Kill them. I don't give a damn. Actually, I'd rather kill them. I just want that dick inside me. We haven't fucked in three days and I feel like I'm going to burst." He shoved her to the bed and chuckled. "Just a little while ago, you were worried. Now nothing?" "Are you going to fuck me, or stand there?" He pulled off his cloak. "You'd better get that shit off, or I'll cut it off you." Catherine quickly tore off her clothes, jerking off her blouse to make her firm breasts jiggle. She then peeled off her tight pants with her heart-shaped ass turned toward him. Facing away from him also revealed the aforementioned tattoo between her shoulder blades – an eye weeping bloody tears, which currently numbered twenty. She turned over and kicked away her pants, spreading her legs and running her finger over the short strip of hair above her sex. Victor jerked down his pants, his thick cock already quite erect. He walked over to the bed, his rippling muscles glittering in the lantern light from the sheen of sweat coating his body, and pulled her up by her ponytail again. "We've got work to do first. I don't want to have to leave without getting the jewelry I know is here. But since you're such a teasing little bitch, you can suck my dick first. That won't take too long." With that, he pulled her head toward his cock. She opened her mouth wide and sucked him into its warm embrace as soon as her lips touched it. "That's it, suck that dick. I'll give you a nice hot squirt right down your throat, and then we'll load up everything here. Then I'll fuck that tight little cunt of yours." Cat moaned around his cock as she sucked him, her cheeks concave and her head bobbing rapidly up and down on his shaft. She reached back to touch her aching sex, but Victor used his free hand to roughly jerk hers away. "Not yet. Nothing for you until we've cleaned this place out, Cat." Catherine groaned in protest around him, but made no further effort to touch her throbbing pussy. Victor groaned and growled as she stroked his hard flesh with her hot mouth. Feeling the cum bubbling up in his balls, he gripped her ponytail tighter and fucked her mouth. Catherine opened her mouth when the tip hit her throat on the first thrust, letting out a croaking cough as it threatened to gag her. His grip tightened, pulling painfully at the roots of her hair, and she quickly closed her lips around him once again. He fucked her face mercilessly, forcing her to cough and fight off her gag reflex several times. His shaft was thickly coated in her saliva, which strung out into tendrils from her lips every time he pulled his cock back to thrust again. He loosed a loud, gasping growl and shoved his cock hard into her mouth, the tip going into her throat. His balls tightened and in hard spurts, he spewed his seed directly down her throat. Catherine gagged, and then coughed the first spurt out of her throat and back into her mouth. She managed to pull back far enough to keep his cock from choking her, and continued to suck his throbbing member as he filled her mouth with cream. She swallowed it greedily until he ceased to squirt, and then let him slide slowly from her mouth. She leaned back with amusement in her eyes and her mouth wide open. Sticky threads of his semen and her saliva trailed from his twitching prick to her mouth, breaking to dangle from his cock or fall against her body. She licked her lips as he gasped and a final drop of cum welled up from the slit of his prick. She darted forward and licked it off, prompting him to growl and then to hurl her roughly to the bed. He gathered up his pants and pulled them on, gasping again as the cloth slid over his still twitching cock. Catherine rose from the bed and moved toward a dressing table with a large mirror, the obvious place for a lady to leave things of value. Victor likewise began rifling a chest of drawers nearby. Catherine made a constant show of bending over to check the lower drawers, displaying her ass and soaked pussy to him with good effect. He looked every time she did so, once taking a moment to step over and smack her hard on the ass, leaving an obvious handprint. A nice pile of jewelry and ivory toiletry items rested upon the bed when the pair finished digging through every nook and cranny. Victor had even found a bag of gold coins hidden in a false bottom of one drawer, and the bag was just large enough to contain the entire haul from the room. Victor hefted the bag and smiled. What was inside was probably worth twice what they had already found – perhaps more. He was no expert in gems, and they might be more valuable than he guessed. Thoughts of gorging himself in some fine inn on steak and ale set off a rumbling in his stomach. "There's a bunch of stuff down in the kitchen – meat and apples and shit. Bring us up something to eat. You know, I think we should load up some of that junk we've tossed aside and wrap it up in sheets and take it too. We can probably live the good life forever off this place." "I want you, Victor. My pussy feels like it's on fire," she argued, pressing her naked body up against him and stroking his cock through his pants. He pushed her away. "And I'm starving. We eat, then we'll get all this shit together and get it down to the boat. We'll crash out here until nightfall, and then head out. It'll take too fucking long to get all the shit down to the boat and be too close to sunup by the time we're done." "I just finished bleeding yesterday. I want your cum up in me," Catherine teased, rubbing her fingers over her nether lips and parting them to let him see the wetness gathered inside her. He let out an excited growl. "We do it quick, then. Then I'll fill that twat full of cum and leave their bed smelling like your pussy. Go get us something to eat." Catherine half-scowled and half-pouted, but picked up her cloak and pulled it on, going to do as Victor had instructed. ~^~~^~~^~ ~~^~~^~~^~ ~^~~^~~^~ As they pushed the concealing planks back into place over their boat, Victor's prediction proved true. The time was indeed dangerously close to dawn. While the area around the manor was more or less deserted, out to sea they would pass areas frequented by fisherman, and they had no desire to be spotted in the vicinity. The fog was beginning to dissipate, but a look at the clouds told the pair that the day would be overcast, and that it was likely to storm. Victor hoped it wouldn't be much of a storm, because the boat was loaded to capacity and they would have to be careful to avoid capsizing it even on moderate seas. Creeping back into the manor, the larcenous pair stopped at the kitchen to take more food. Victor was pleased to find three bottles of wine and a bottle of brandy. The brandy and one bottle of wine rested in the crook of Victor's arm as the pair returned to the master bedroom, where they planned to sleep for the day. The room was large enough to offer plenty of room to fight – if it came to that – had two exits that were both double doors opening inward, which could be easily blocked. The room provided the best defensive location in the place with quick escape routes. They sat down to eat, dousing the lanterns when the rising sun offered enough light to see through the open door from the windows in the hall. Victor broke open the brandy and wine, and the two thieves drank enough to make them feel good, without impairing them. Victor stared hard at Catherine, obviously becoming aroused. She made no move to acknowledge it, even though she was soaked and aching once again as well. Victor heavily sat the brandy down on a dresser and stood up, pulling down his pants to reveal his hairy cock. "Now I'll fuck that pussy for you," he rumbled, shrugging off his shirt and walking toward where Catherine sat on the bed. "What if I don't want you to any more?" Catherine replied, crinkling up her nose and snorting to punctuate the statement. The hunger in her eyes betrayed her real thoughts, however, and it was far from lost on Victor who knew this game all too well. Home by the Sea This is an official entry in the 2007 Literotica Halloween Contest. © Copyright LesLumens ~^~~^~~^~ ~~^~~^~~^~ ~^~~^~~^~ The reek of refuse mingled with the tang of the sea air once more assailed Morgan Reinhardt's senses. He thought he'd grown used to it twice already, but the pungent stench caused him to wrinkle his nose and hold his breath again. Too fucking hot for October, he thought as he tried to ignore the stink caused by the trash floating all along the shoreline, the result of a garbage barge sinking for reasons unknown a few weeks earlier. The breeze shifted, bringing welcome relief from both the heat and the odor. Brushing a strand of coal-black hair out of his brown eyes, he glanced down at his watch. Seeing that the time was after midnight, he stroked his goatee and tried to decide whether to move now, or wait a little longer. As a few clouds passed in front of the moon, Morgan determined that he would have no better opportunity to approach. After more than a month of observation and careful planning, he truly doubted that his caution was even necessary. Morgan left his place of concealment, creeping up on the blind side of the wall surrounding the mansion. The gentle slope behind the wall served to conceal everything on the seaward side. A quick peek through the gate revealed darkened windows and no sign of life, as usual. With no alarm and no dogs, he expected this would be easy. The house was huge, and he'd observed only one resident who never appeared to leave. A lone woman wasn't much of a threat, even if she did discover him in the house when he wasn't ready. The light posts on either side of the gate provided a ridiculously easy means of gaining the top of the wall. With strength and practiced skill, Morgan shinnied up the pole, grasping the top of the wall and carefully eyeing the house one final time. His well-defined muscles bunching, he rolled over the top of the wall and dropped into a crouch at the base. With nothing to conceal him in the open courtyard beyond the wall, Morgan jogged in a crouch toward the house, his carefully placed footfalls making almost no sound. Glancing through a nearby dingy window, he saw furniture covered in plastic. The disrepair of the home's exterior and the disuse within the room encouraged Morgan rather than discouraging him, however. He'd seen the opulence of the inhabited portion of the house through his binoculars often enough. Snapping open a knife, he pressed the tip against the aged wood of the window, angling the razor-sharp blade upward and toward the latch. With measured pressure, he pushed the blade through the wood. The latch resisted his blade for a few seconds, but broke free with a quiet pop. The warped wood protested his attempts to raise the window after years of disuse, but also relented with a slight groan. Morgan climbed in through the window and stuck his head back out to check left and right for any signs of someone having noticed him. Confident that he'd entered without detection, he closed the window and knelt down to pick up the slivers of wood dislodged during the break-in. He dropped them in his pocket out of habit to hide the obvious evidence of his entrance. Creeping across the hardwood floor, he silently grunted in approval when the boards didn't creak alarmingly beneath his feet. Either the interior was far better maintained than the exterior, or the floors had been exceedingly well crafted. Still, he refused to commit his full weight to any step without care. Kneeling in front of a dresser, he lifted the plastic covering and blew out a breath of surprise that would have whistled, had he allowed it. Pulling a tiny flashlight from a sheathe on his belt, he examined the delicate handles on the revealed drawers. Looks like fucking gold to me, he thought. If I ever see the guy that tipped me off to this place again, I'll have to buy him a beer. Crazy fucking drunk. The door opened with only a minuscule creak, granting Morgan access to the remainder of the house. He crept down the hall toward the inhabited portion of the mansion, wishing he could carry away the paintings along the walls. People paid through the nose for artwork, and a lot of them would stay quiet about nearly anything to attain something truly unique. The silence of the house was almost disconcerting. A building as old as this one should creak and groan almost constantly, especially in a breeze, but this place was as silent as a tomb. A smile spread across Morgan's lips as he stepped into the rear entrance foyer of the house, seeing the glint of precious metals everywhere in the moonlight filtering through the huge windows flanking the door. The doors in this portion of the house were open, revealing magnificently carved furniture, obviously antique and expensive. Morgan felt like a kid in a candy store, unsure what to select when everything looked so good. A look in the dining room revealed flatware that he was sure was pure silver, and real bone china. The dining room would easily seat twenty, and the various cabinets around the room housed enough settings to fill that room a dozen times without washing a single fork. A vanity within one of the guest rooms had scrimshawed, ivory-handled brushes and combs sitting atop it, alongside ivory boxes trimmed in silver and gold. More of the same resided within the drawers of the vanity. Morgan felt as though he were creeping through a museum at night, rather than a home. There's definitely something not right about this place, he thought. Only one set of double doors was closed, which Morgan guessed opened into the master bedroom. Now here's the real prize, he thought with a mental chuckle. Behind that door was what had originally attracted him to the old place, and his main goal for the evening. Whatever he could steal was just a bonus. His cock twitched in anticipation as he approached the doors, remembering how hot the woman had looked through his binoculars. He couldn't believe that such a sweet treat was out here all alone, where nobody would ever hear her scream, surrounded by wealth that he would soon take his share of as well. The door was unlocked, and easily swung open on well-oiled hinges. The room was just as opulent and archaic as the rest of the house, and he had no doubt that it actually held far greater treasures than anywhere else. If the jewels he'd seen adorning the woman were any indication, she had a treasure trove hidden in jewelry boxes somewhere in this room. She lay on the bed in a nearly transparent nightgown, only her lower legs covered by a sheet. The material left little to the imagination, her nipples and the hair between her legs plainly visible even in the moonlight, which shone in on her through a window like a spotlight in a store window. An evil grin of anticipation spread across his angular face as he approached the bed. Somehow, she sensed his presence. She sat up with a slight start, but then relaxed and said, "Oh, have you come to tell me your story? Do you want to relive your life with me? I know it hurts, but I'll help you. I just knew that one of you would come for All Hallows, so I wore something pretty to bed." What the fuck? Bitch is fucking crazy. "You just stay nice and quiet and don't fight me. Maybe you'll even have a little fun, too." "I won't fight you, unless you need me to," she responded. "You're different from the others. My name is Denise. What's yours?" "Peter Longcockings," he sarcastically lied and reached down to unbutton his pants, jerking down the zipper. His eyes were filled with her body -- young, tight, and begging for a good fuck. He caught a hint of musk in the air, the distinctive scent of womanly arousal. He jerked down his boxers, freeing his cock from confinement. "Oh, such a nice cock." Her eyes widened then as he moved into the moonlight, climbing onto the bed. "You're a real man," she whispered with surprise in her voice. "You got that right. Never had a real man before? You will now," Morgan chuckled as he moved over her, the scent of her need now filling his lungs. Damn. Almost takes all the fun out of it. This bitch wants it. She arched her back and gasped as he grabbed her legs to roughly jerk them apart. "You're so hot -- oh, so hot." Looking down for a second to guide the flared tip of his cock inside her, he saw wetness glistening in the moonlight. When he made contact, the wet warmth he felt confirmed what he saw. He groaned as he pushed forward, his cock sinking into her with a moist crackle. "Hell yeah. You've got a tight little cunt." "So big. So hot. Fuck me," she gasped as he violated her. Tightly gripping her thighs, Morgan shoved the last of his shaft into her, his balls settling against her ass. "You've got a dirty little mouth, too. I like that." Her lips clung to him as he withdrew, seemingly seeking to keep him buried inside her. Her juices coated his shaft in a sheathe of milky wetness, indicating just how turned on she was. Morgan thrust back inside her, slamming his cock home. Her teeth clenched, and her eyes locked on his cock stroking her, she gasped, "Fuck me hard." Morgan pounded her pussy mercilessly, his flesh colliding with hers in a fast chorus of loud smacks. Her almost pained expression and the sight of her firm tits bouncing in a jerky rhythm spurred him on to even greater efforts. "I ain't pulling out. You're getting a load of cum up in that pussy," he grunted as he continued to thrust. "Oh," she moaned, "I want it. I want your hot cum inside me." "Filthy little whore," he half growled, half grunted. Little squeals and yelps erupted from her lips amongst a constant stream of the words: yes, fuck me, harder, faster. Morgan obliged her, the tight squeeze of her pussy building the itch in the tip of his shaft that foreshadowed his impending eruption. Her scream as she came was almost ear-splitting in volume and pitch. She flushed rosy red from her face down to her taut stomach, her eyes tightly closed and her face pinched in an expression of agonized ecstasy. A fresh flood joined her already abundant wetness, her juices squirting out around his fast thrusting cock. Morgan shook his head to dislodge a bead of sweat hanging from the tip of his nose, and dug his fingers into her thighs. Her head lashed back and forth on the pillow as he neared his own explosion. With a loud cry of release, he jammed his cock inside her a final time, spewing his seed against the entrance of her womb. "Fuck yeah," he growled before a second pulse of his organ within her further filled her clenched canal with cum. She laid a hand over her mound and tummy, softly moaning, "It feels so good. It's so hot inside me." The rhythmic clenching of her walls around him from her aftershocks proved too much for his over-sensitive cock, and Morgan jerked from her with a hiss. He had every intention of rising immediately to tie her up and leave with a bag of ill-gotten gains, but the lethargy of his climax caught him unawares. ~^~~^~~^~ ~~^~~^~~^~ ~^~~^~~^~ Morgan awoke to his strained bladder demanding attention. He winced as he rolled out of her arms, and then the bed, the zipper and button of his still-dropped pants having left stinging impressions on his skin. He shook his head in disbelief at the hot little blonde curled up in the bed with a smile on her face. Crazy fucking bitch. Good fuck, though. The temptation to take her one more time was strong, but his sense of self-preservation and greed overwhelmed simple desire. He jerked up his trousers, leaving them undone, and headed for the bathroom. Morgan looked around as he drained his bladder, almost in disbelief of the bathroom. The tub would easily allow two people to stretch out in it. Gold and silver trimmed fixtures and decoration met his eyes throughout the room. The room was almost as big as his apartment. After a sigh of relief and a final shake, he zipped up his pants and stretched. Fuck it. She's dead asleep. May as well take my time finding what I want, and then tear that pussy up one more time. Hell -- crazy bitch might be good for another night some time, if she doesn't report anything. A pillowcase stitched with what he suspected was gold thread served him well as he emptied jewelry boxes. Even at fence prices, this shit's gotta be worth a hundred thou. Fuck me -- I'm rich, he thought with a chuckle. Now curious about what else he might find in the house, Morgan decided to go exploring. He noticed bar latches on the outside of the double doors to the bedroom and thought. That's pretty fucked up. With the phone lines cut, that should keep her where I can find her. Closing the doors and latching them, he moved down the hall into the inhabited portions of the house that he hadn't checked out yet. Now completely without worry, he kept his flashlight on, shining it on anything that looked interesting in the rooms along the hallway. "What have we here," he muttered, stepping into a huge room at the end of the hall. The walls were lined with trophy heads. Everything from a deer to a black bear adorned the walls, a stuffed zoo of senseless violence and greed. Smaller animals stood on shelves around the room. "Somebody was out to kill one of everything," he chuckled. As he crossed the room, he felt as if the eyes of the animals were following him. Never liked these goddamn things. A large group of small paintings adorned the wall between two massive fireplaces, the focus of the room. Morgan examined them and wondered what kind of weird taste had selected them. One showed a funeral, titled Images of Sorrow according to the gold plate on the frame. Another showed a woman's face, her mouth open in a wide, insane looking grin. Pictures of Delight, the plaque named the painting. Endless Days of Summer, Longer Nights of Gloom, Waiting for the Morning Light, Morgan read from the plaques as he looked at the paintings, each a little more disturbing than the last. No fucking wonder she's ape-shit, he thought, shaking his head and walking away. As he turned, he noticed a bar just beyond the macabre art gallery with several crystal decanters arranged upon it. After examining one in the light, he removed the stopper and sniffed. Eyes lighting up, he took a sip. Oh, fuck yeah -- scotch. Good shit too. He took a long pull, just enough to warm him and give him a little buzz when it kicked in. After a few seconds of experimentation, he found that the decanter fit within the deep pocket of his jacket. Seeing a wooden cigar box, he opened it and examined one of the cigars within. Cubans. I'd bet my left nut on it. Crazy bitch has somebody smuggling for her. Three cigars went into each of the two breast pockets of his jacket. A glitter at the end of the room caught his eye, drawing him toward it. Oh, hell yeah -- jackpot, he thought as he beheld the display case full of coins. These will sell just as well as any of those paintings. A pirate's booty to go with my blonde booty for the evening. Finding that the case wasn't even locked, he swung open the doors and let his makeshift bag fall open. He plucked the coins from their places, depositing them within the pillowcase one-by-one, whistling a song he'd heard in a pirate movie once. Help me, someone. Let me out of here. Morgan whirled toward the faint voice, drawing a gun and aiming. Though the words might very well match the plight of the woman down the hall, the voice sounded masculine. Though he saw nothing, he didn't think he could have imagined the voice. Dropping into a crouch, hoping to utilize the furniture as cover, he moved back through the room, his gun held before him at the ready. Sit down. As before, the voice was quiet and had a quality like wind howling through trees. As best as he could determine, the voice had emerged from somewhere near the doorway through which he had entered the room. Training his weapon on the doorway, he moved more carefully, his eyes and ears straining against the gloom. Sit down. The voice sounded like that of an old man this time, croaking and more insistent. Three more times Morgan heard the words, always coming from the doorway toward which he slowly moved. Sit down! This time, the voice had the timbre of a shouted command, but the volume of a whisper -- inches away from his ear. Morgan whirled, backing away from the voice and nearly firing his weapon at nothing, for that is all he saw as he stumbled, falling into a chair. Breathing heavily and unsure whether to be pissed off beyond words or scared shitless, Morgan looked and listened. Only silence greeted him, the unnatural silence of the old house. Goddamn, what was in that fucking scotch -- LSD? Fucking spooky old shithole has me imagining ghosts. Levering up from the chair, he waited for the voice to protest again. After a minute or so, he shook his head with a snort and defiantly crossed the room back to the display case. Despite his adamant refusal to accept anything supernatural, he couldn't help but glance up at the huge boar head above the case frequently as he deposited coins in his bag. The disembodied head appeared to be staring down at him in accusation. He kept his gun in hand. Giving the bag a twist to secure it, he extended his middle finger to the leering boar and spun on his heel. Tucking the gun back in its holster, he defied the weird hallucination with another pull from the decanter of scotch. "Here's to you, spooks. Fuck you and the headless horseman you rode in on," he sneered under his breath. The satisfying jingle of the bag in his hand chased away any thoughts of ghosts and disembodied voices. He stepped back out into the hall, his manhood twitching with the first signs of awakening as he thought about riding the blonde one more time before leaving with his haul. Bend her over and grudge fuck that cunt this time, he thought as his cock stiffened. He threw open the bolts, and had just pulled the doors open when something moved in his peripheral vision. Morgan turned and froze in terror. Rising up through the floor, he saw a man-shaped shadow. The apparition drifted slowly toward the ceiling, and then leveled out to move toward him. A second shadow seeped through the wall, and then a third. Yet another emerged from the ceiling. He raised his gun in an unsteady hand, tracking the spirits for a few seconds, until the hallways were so filled with shadows that it was difficult for him to distinguish individual specters. The apparitions drifted aimlessly, accompanied by a whispered cacophony of unintelligible words. Morgan jerked and fell against the doorjamb when one of the shadows brushed his hand in passing. The touch chilled him to the bone, and for a fraction of a second, reality vanished. The shadow-filled hallway became a swing set in a back yard with two children whooshing down the slide. He felt a swell of happiness rush through him, and then the vision was gone. Almost as soon as the vision vanished, another of the shadows passed through his chest. Again, he saw somewhere else, as though he was peering down from the top of a skyscraper at the traffic below. Sadness and bitterness flooded through him, actually bringing a tear to his eye as the darkened hallways snapped back into focus. Morgan cried out and fired his weapon as a specter moved toward him. Though the shadow image of a beautiful nude woman, her eyes were filled with despair, and her mouth was open in a silent, terrifying scream. Home by the Sea The shadow passed through him, and he was lying on a bed, staring up at a face he somehow knew and had somewhat trusted until this moment. His hands and feet were bound, and his breasts bared through a torn blouse obscured his vision. He felt panic -- and then pain as a large cock mercilessly violated his ass. Morgan doubled over and screamed as the vision vanished. He stumbled backwards into the bedroom, his feet tangling and his knees weak. As one, the shadows outside ceased their chaotic dance, emitting a tremendous sigh, and then a terrible moan. Morgan heard the beginning of the moan, and then nothing more. He managed to throw his hands behind him to arrest his fall, but solidly cracked his head on some stout piece of furniture. Blackness descended upon him. ~^~~^~~^~ ~~^~~^~~^~ ~^~~^~~^~ Morgan regained consciousness with agonizing slowness. His head felt stuffed with cotton, as though he was awakening from an all-night bender. His eyes were gummy, and his mouth was dry. When he managed to open his eyes, he realized he was in the bed, and it was still night. Oddly enough, it was the slurping sounds that registered in his foggy brain first, only then followed by the sight of a blonde-haired head bobbing over his lap. Finally, he felt a hot mouth sucking his cock. The feeling of her mouth around him pushed away both the odd numb sensation he felt, and the fragmented memories of the nightmare he'd experienced. She sucked him hard and fast, her cheeks concave around him. She noticed that his eyes were open, and smiled around his tip as she reached the top of a stroke. After a tickle of her tongue over his helmet, her mouth plunged downward again. "Goddamn," Morgan grunted in surprised fascination. She took the whole of him in her mouth, her nose nestled in his pubic hair and the head of his cock lodged in her throat. Denise wiggled her head back and forth, as she slurped her way back up his shaft. She smiled and swirled her tongue over the purple head of his manhood before swallowing him again. Morgan fisted her soft blonde tresses, pushing and pulling her head as she sucked his cock. No matter how hard or fast he forced her lips down around him, she didn't protest or gag. Soon enough, his tip slipped into the tight ring of her throat with every downward stroke. His hips twitched upward each time as he felt her swallowing around him. As his semen surged upward for release, his other hand grasped her hair as well, pulling her tightly against him. With a loud growl, he erupted straight down her throat. She swallowed, her throat closing around his still spurting tip, and a deep, vibrating moan added to the sensation of his orgasm. As his strength faded with a final spurt of cum, Denise let him slip from her throat to suck him at a slow, leisurely pace -- continually moaning. Finally, he could take no more and lurched his hips to the side, even as he jerked her away by the hair still clenched in his fist. Denise licked her lips, gathering up a little stream of his cum dribbling from the corner of her mouth. "You taste good." Morgan let his arms fall to his side, weak and twitching. Almost before he knew what was happening, blonde curls and pink folds filled his vision. The smell of aroused female flesh filled his lungs. The power of her scent caused his lips to part, and as she settled her pussy against his lips, his tongue snaked out of its own volition. Drunk on the sheer sexuality of her, he devoured her, his tongue lapping for her tangy juices and his lips suckling her folds. He barely registered the muffled sounds of her crying out in bliss, too intent upon attaining more of the fragrant nectar flowing to him, filling his mouth. She rubbed her cunt against his face, nearly stealing his breath numerous times. He plainly heard her scream of release, and then choked as she unleashed a torrential geyser of bittersweet girl-cum into his mouth and over his face. A surge of strength allowed him to pull her off his face to cough and sputter, her juices stinging his eyes and running in streams down his face to the pillow below. She twitched and yelped, rubbing her pussy against his chest and leaving a slick trail wherever her nether lips contacted his skin. As he sat up to wipe his face clean, still coughing up her juices, she lay down on the soaked bed with a languid moan. "I can't wait until you're hard again so I can have you deep inside me." His head cleared by the sudden gushing orgasm, Morgan looked around for his gun, which he didn't feel in the holster at his side. He also realized that he was no longer wearing his jacket. Roughly pushing her away, he looked into the floor to find both, as well as the pillowcase full of jewelry and coins. "You don't need those. You have me. Any way you want me. Any time you want me. My body is yours. You're so hot inside me, and they're so cold. They take away the loneliness, but their memories hurt so much. Stay with me. Talk to me. Hold me. Eat me. Fuck me." "Holy fuck, that wasn't a dream." His hair standing on end, Morgan lurched from the bed and jerked up his pants. He snatched up his things from the floor as soon as he managed to button his trousers. "You can't go," she pleaded as she sat up and reached for him. "I can protect you, but you have to be with me. It's All Hallows -- they're too strong. I can only protect you if you stay with me." "You're fucking crazy, bitch," Morgan snarled, his hand snapping out to backhand her hard across the mouth. She cried out as her head snapped to the side and she fell to the bed. Morgan shoved his arms into the sleeves of his jacket, keeping a close eye on Denise as she struggled to rise. "You can't go," she screeched as he walked away from the bed, checking his gun and finding it still loaded. "You have to stay here and love me." Morgan turned on her and aimed his gun. His finger trembled on the trigger, and he nearly fired off the shot. With a snarl, he let his arm fall to his side, and repeated, "You're fucking crazy," as he kicked open the doors to the bedroom. "You can't get away!" She screeched as Morgan briskly walked down the hall toward the rear entrance of the house. No -- with us you will stay! For the rest of your days! The voices were not whispers this time, sounding clear and loud from everywhere. When the man-shaped shadows once more drifted into view, Morgan ran. Hurtling down the hallway as fast as his legs could carry him, he saw the salvation of the huge double doors that opened to the outside world. More shadows appeared in the entrance foyer, no longer drifting, but darting in a frantic and dizzying dance before him. The shadow of a man -- his face twisted in rage -- passed through Morgan before he could deviate from his course. As before, the world vanished, and he relived a moment from the specter's life. His partner turned. He saw the gun. He saw the flash. He felt the bullet tearing into his brain and exploding out the back of his head. The foyer was gone. Morgan ran headlong into a couch, slamming his crotch into the antique wood. His eyes snapped shut in pain as he slumped over the couch. He tasted bile, and could barely breathe. Snorts and roars erupted from all around him. He opened his eyes and looked around, finding all the animal heads along the walls desperately wrenching as though attempting to pull free from their moorings. Every set of dead eyes was focused on him. With a grating of wood on wood, the couch shot across the floor to crash into another, sending Morgan tumbling to the floor. He dropped his gun in the fall, and it slid several feet away. Doing his best to ignore the stabbing pain from his crushed testicles, Morgan scrambled toward his gun, abandoning the bag of loot in his hand. Just as he reached for the weapon, it scooted away several more feet, accompanied by the sound of mocking laughter. An invisible foot crunched between his legs, causing his stomach to revolt. Choking and scrambling away from the contents of his emptied stomach, he reached for the gun again. Once more, it hurtled away to crash against the wall several steps away. The shadows erupted from everywhere, the volume of their unintelligible gibbering ear-piercing. Morgan managed to regain his feet, covering his ears and screaming to counter the maddening sounds assaulting him. Half-blinded by tears of pain, he spun and tripped over a chair before he could take a second step. He crawled on his hands and knees, managing to get his feet under him to run once more. With no shadows in front of him, he ran for his life in abject terror. When he reached the intersection of the hall in front of the master bedroom, he just caught sight of Denise standing in the doorway, and barely heard her voice. Angling his flight, he slammed into the wall to change his direction, his heart pounding and his legs pumping toward the freedom of the outside. He slammed into the double doors at full speed, but the wood refused to yield. He rebounded from the stout portal, and immediately grabbed the door handle. The knob refused to turn. Desperately, he grabbed both knobs and slammed his shoulder into the seam between the doors. "It wasn't supposed to be this way," he heard Denise say as he slammed the door again. Morgan turned, continuing to slam his back against the door. "Get away from me!" "You were supposed to stay with me and love me and fuck me and keep me warm." She emerged into the moonlight from the hall, revealing her split lip and twin trails of blood trickling from her nose down her nude body. The shadows surged into the foyer, flowing around Denise as if she was a rock in a stream of nightmares. Seizing upon her apparent immunity to the horrors of the house, Morgan blurted out, "I'll stay with you and fuck you until you can't walk straight. Just make them go away!" Her lips pursed and her brow furrowed. "You hit me. You hit me because you were angry, not because you like it." Morgan darted to the side, grabbing an ornately carved hatrack standing next to the door. He stabbed the top toward the woman, who stood staring at him with her brow furrowed in anger. As she took a step back, he thrust the hatrack like a battering ram to smash the huge window next to the door, but something snatched the heavy weapon out of his hands with unnatural strength. He screamed as one of the posts shattered bones in his wrist before the hatrack hurtled across the room to skid across the tiled floor. The foyer darkened, the moon's light obscured by a black cloud outside. The shadows darting only a few feet away outside her protected circle melded with the natural darkness, becoming a single undulating mass of terrible night. Invisible hands grasped Morgan's wrists, jerking them above his head and out wide. Another fisted in his hair, pulling his head against the door with a painful thud. His ankles were likewise held in any icy, unbreakable grip. Morgan struggled as Denise approached, her face twisting into a terrible visage of bitter hatred. She bared her shining white teeth, her countenance all the more terrible in the low light, surrounded by the living night. "Nobody hits me," she hissed from between her clenched teeth. "I'll never do it again. I'll fuck you until you can't come any more. Just make them go away!" A gleam of light revealed the blade in her hand. "It wasn't supposed to be this way," she snarled. Morgan screamed in terror, lurching and jerking against the chill digits digging into his flesh. "No!" The shadowy mass filling the room broke out into a chorus of mocking laughter. Morgan screamed, trying to drown out the sound stabbing into his brain as he continued to struggle with all his considerable strength. One specter separated from the rest, moving closer. As it drifted into the faint remnants of moonlight, Morgan recognized it, and knew the truth. The apparition was the crazy old drunk who'd told him of this place. The shadow-spirit's face twisted into a smug, hate-filled grin. Denise raised the knife over her head, her features softening. She pouted prettily, the image marred by the blood still trickling from her lip and nose. "I'm sorry." Then, from out of the dark, he suddenly heard, Welcome to the home by the sea! The knife plunged down, and the shadows engulfed him. ~^~~^~~^~ ~~^~~^~~^~ ~^~~^~~^~ I hope you've enjoyed this black tale, my take upon the song of the same name by Genesis. I've already tackled this one once under my other pen name ( also in horror ) but I felt like visiting it again in a different world setting. Big thanks to Roust and my first readers ( I'd name names, but I'm too pressed for time to get this in the queue to ask permission in time *laugh* ) for giving this the once over. Stories in the contest need 25 votes to qualify, so read and vote on as many as you can! ( A comment or three would be nice, too! ) Home by the Sea He shoved her down hard to the bed, then quickly rolled her over and jerked down her pants. "Nobody asked you what you wanted. I was telling you what I'm going to do." "Fine, do whatever you want. I don't care," She responded, but her quickly pulling off her blouse and the wetness between her legs betrayed the truth of how badly she wanted it. He grabbed her hips, jerked her up onto her knees, and then pushed the head of his cock inside her. He groaned, and she moaned, as he buried his rod inside her. She was hardly a virgin, but she still squeezed his thick cock tight in her velvety, wet depths. After anticipating this all night, he was in no mood to waste time. Victor pounded her pussy, digging his fingers into her hips. Cat yelped with every thrust of his prick inside her. Her tits bounced painfully under the strength of his thrusts, and her hands kept sliding forward every time his flesh collided with hers and pushed his rod into her cervix. She felt heat building in her loins as her juices ran down her thighs, his relentless pounding never easing up in the slightest. She reached back with one hand to rub her clit, the next thrust shoving her hand forward and causing her to fall face first on the bed. He held her hips tight and never lost his rhythm. The hot sensation in her depths was now intensified by a growing pressure – an orgasm building toward explosion. She rubbed her clit in fast circles, screaming as each thrust pushed her closer to the edge. Victor grunted in pleasure, enjoying seeing her face down on the bed while he jammed his dick into her depths. He could tell by the way she bit off her yelps and started to groan between clenched teeth that she was close. Releasing his grip on her hip with one hand, revealing ruddy imprints left by his fingers, he pulled his cock free from her for a moment and shoved his thumb inside her. She loudly moaned in protest, but he remedied the reason for that protest by removing his thumb and replacing it with his cock once more. He then roughly shoved his pussy-slick thumb into the puckered ring of her ass. She let out a loud scream when his thumb violated her ass, and pulled her hand away from her clit to raise her upper body off the bed again. She was so close to the point of no return now that she didn't need to rub her bud anyway. He pierced her flesh half a dozen times more, and then the bubble of pressure in her depths ruptured. She screamed, the sound loud and staccato, as he continued to assault her spasming pussy. Her orgasm just kept spiking, never really stopping and making her body feel like it was on fire. Her skin flushed crimson as the heat within her manifested itself outwardly. Her fingers tangled into the bed sheets below her, and his thrusting cock made loud squishing sounds as her juices flowed in a torrent. He pulled his thumb from her ass with a pop, and then grabbed her hip again to take two more thrusts, before slamming home with all his strength, pushing her down face first into the bed again. His seed spewed into her in hot bursts, his hips spastically rocking beyond his control as he emptied his balls into her clenching depths. She moaned deep in her throat as she felt his cream filling her, clenching her muscles tight around him and shuddering. He pulled from her with a gasp, trailing thick ropes of cum, and collapsed onto the bed. Catherine let her hips fall to the bed, though she ground her crotch against the bed every so often as aftershocks passed through her body. The couple moved to the head of the bed, away from the sticky wet spot at the foot, and lay down to sleep for the day. They set no watch, doubtful there was a reason to do so, and confident in their well-trained senses to awaken them if a reason did arise. They did this all the time, and the few times they had miscalculated, those responsible for the interruption had spent a long time tied up in their own home, or lying in pools of blood. ~^~~^~~^~ ~~^~~^~~^~ ~^~~^~~^~ Some hours later, Victor awoke with an urgent need to piss. He grunted and rose from the bed, causing Cat to growl and pull the sheet over her head. His head throbbed painfully and his thoughts were fuzzy, as if he had awakened from a drunken stupor, even though he had not consumed enough liquor to cause more than slight intoxication. He walked over to where the chamber pot had stood and found it missing. He grumbled, "What the fuck?" He then looked around, failing to find the missing pot anywhere. He growled, pulled on his pants, and then opened the door, wincing from the sunlight in the hall. The windowless room was nearly as dark as night, and the sudden light was painful. He let his eyes adjust for a few seconds, closed the door, and moved in a crouch to avoid detection through the windows, proceeding down the hall to another bedroom. Entering the room, he found the chamber pot here missing as well, even though each of the bedrooms had contained one before. Grunting, "Fine!" he aimed his dick at the bed. He pissed all over the mattress, chuckling as he did so. He turned to head back to the master bedroom, but a growl from his stomach prompted him to return to the kitchen for something to eat instead. He crept carefully through the halls and then down the stairs toward his destination. ~^~~^~~^~ ~~^~~^~~^~ ~^~~^~~^~ Cat felt a hand rub against her thigh through the sheet over her. "Fuck off, I'm sleeping," She mumbled from beneath the covers pulled over her head. The hand continued its journey, creeping upward toward her pussy. She growled and kicked out behind her, surprised that the kick connected with nothing. The sheet over her suddenly pulled off her body, and then completely off the bed, in a single swift jerk. Cat rolled over with a growl, planning to kick Victor square in his family jewels, but gasped when she saw nobody in the room. She shook her head and rubbed her eyes, staring into the gloom. She remembered then that Victor had left the room. Getting up, she saw the sheet that had covered her was indeed lying on the floor at the foot of the bed. She put her head in her hands as a throbbing headache assaulted her. Standing caused the cum inside her to seek escape. She moved to the chamber pot and squatted, emptying her bladder as the sticky mixture dripped from her. When she ceased dripping, she pulled some article of clothing from the nearest drawer and wiped her pussy clean, tossing the soiled cloth over near the chamber pot. Rubbing her eyes again and groaning, Catherine grabbed the wine bottle and took a long draw. She sighed, took another drink, and then carried the bottle back over to the bed. She sat it down on the end table next to the doused lantern and picked up the sheet from the floor to pull it back onto the bed. ~^~~^~~^~ ~~^~~^~~^~ ~^~~^~~^~ Victor walked up to the kitchen door, wrinkling his nose when he smelled something foul. The stench only grew worse as he walked into the kitchen, and when he opened the first storage barrel, he discovered why. The salted pork in the barrel was covered in slime and crawling with maggots. The reek from the opened barrel made him heave. He slammed the lid back down and stepped away quickly. "What in the fuck?" Looking at the basket of apples they had eaten from earlier, he saw the fruit was brown and shriveled, with gnats buzzing in a great cloud around the basket. Help me. The voice was faint, almost inaudible, but he heard it. Victor spun in the direction from which the voice had emerged, but saw nothing. The voice had sounded like a little girl – the tone pitiful and frightened. Help me, someone. Get me out of here. The voice was different this time, obviously masculine, but with the same tinge of fear and barely audible. Victor turned in the direction from which the voice had arisen and once again saw nobody there. What he did see was a large butcher knife, which he quickly grabbed. The knife felt good in his hands. It was a far cry from his well-balanced daggers, but it would serve well enough when he found whoever was fucking around with him. He stood in a defensive crouch, ready to spring into action. For several minutes, he stood and growled silently at the pounding in his head. He heard nothing and saw nothing as he scanned the room with his eyes, body tensed for battle. Eventually, Victor noticed that the stench of befouled food had disappeared from the room. Turning to look, he saw the apples were still fresh. A peek into the barrel showed that the salt pork was likewise uncorrupted. Victor muttered, "What the fuck was in that brandy?" ~^~~^~~^~ ~~^~~^~~^~ ~^~~^~~^~ Catherine took a final pull of wine, staring at the empty bottle in irritation as she sat it back down. She wondered where in the hell Victor had gotten off to, and why he hadn't come back yet. She also wondered what had caused the weird dream that had made her kick the sheet off the bed. Maybe the wine wasn’t such a good idea after all. Shaking her head, she lay back down and pulled the covers over her. If there were a problem, he would let her know. He probably had just gotten up to get more food. The man ate constantly, and complained constantly if he couldn't. She soon drifted back off to sleep. ~^~~^~~^~ ~~^~~^~~^~ ~^~~^~~^~ Victor walked out of the kitchen, munching on a hunk of jerked beef. Three more slabs stuck out of his back pocket, and he carried the butcher knife still. He had decided that he must just be half-asleep and half-drunk, and had imagined the voices and other weirdness. The knife in his hand still made him feel better, though. There were curtains over the windows in this part of the house, so he paid them no mind as he walked back toward the stairs. After a while, he looked around in confusion. He should have reached the stairs by now, and there was an intersecting hall ahead that he knew shouldn't be there. "Walked past the stairs, asshole," Victor muttered and turned back around, pulling another chunk of beef from his pocket. Again, he knew he had walked too far, and had not yet found the stairs. He should have reached the kitchen again by now, but it was nowhere to be found either. "No more fucking brandy," he grumbled, stopping to concentrate, to try to get his bearings. He saw a sitting room up ahead, and he walked toward it, thinking he remembered how to get back to the stairs from it. Walking into the room, he hissed, "Shit," when he saw a woman in the room. She turned toward him, and his eyes widened. The woman had the biggest tits he had ever seen. They stood out proud and firm, the upper half of the globes well displayed in the low-cut neck of her servant's dress. He knew there was no way that tits so big could defy gravity like hers did, but there they were right in front of his eyes. The rest of the woman's body was just as shapely, with long legs that were also well displayed by her uniform. Her full, bee-stung lips curled into a smile and she flipped her blonde hair teasingly. "Are you new? My, you're a sexy one. It's my lucky day." She walked toward him, and he moved out into the room to avoid the confining space in the doorway if she was not alone and he had to fight. He also wanted to be closer to her so that he could knock her out and tie her up with something. He didn't want to kill her unless he had to, because she looked like a damn fun ride. He moved in front of a couch, holding the knife out in front of him in plain sight. The woman continued to saunter toward him. "Oh, poo. Put that thing away. I want you to stick me, but not with that. Sit down." A voice arose from somewhere near the ceiling, Sit down. "Sit down," the approaching woman repeated, echoed by another voice behind him. Victor turned his head to look where the voice had come from but saw nothing. "SIT DOWN," the woman screamed, and suddenly shot forward, pushing him to the couch before he could react, as he turned back to look at her. Victor's hand hit the arm of the couch and went numb. The knife dropped from his hand, and he quickly scrambled to pick it up. Impossibly, since it had simply fallen from his hand, the knife was nowhere to be found. "Forget that silly thing," the serving woman said. She gripped the neckline of her dress and pulled hard, popping the buttons in the back and freeing her impossible breasts. Her pinky-sized nipples pointed straight at him, at least a full inch in length, as she shrugged her dress down past her hips. The thick hair surrounding her sex was soaked with wetness, and it dripped down her thighs as well. Her scent of arousal was overpowering, slamming into Victor like a hammer. His cock swelled to hardness, and a drifting, drunken feeling flooded through him. She gently pushed against his chest, guiding him to lie down and moving over top of him. She jerked down his pants and purred when she saw his rapidly rising cock, immediately dropping down to engulf it in her mouth. He could have sworn she was trying to suck his balls out through the slit in his dick. Every stroke downward nestled her nose in his pubic hair, and she didn't choke in the slightest when his prick slid into her throat, even when he rose to his full, erect length. As soon as his cock was fully engorged, she let it slip from her lips and climbed onto the couch above him. She reached down and pointed his throbbing member straight up, poising her hips over him. A drop of her juices spattered on his cock, mixing with a drop of pre-cum that was oozing from him. With a moan, she lowered her hips until her nether lips made contact with his hard flesh, and then she slammed down to envelope him inside her. She was impossibly tight, squeezing him like a vice in her saturated canal. He groaned as she started bouncing up and down off him, stroking him into her tight twat. Her juices squirted from her around his cock every time she slammed down on him. Her head lashed back and forth, while her enormous tits bounced hypnotically before his eyes. She screamed in ecstasy, never slowing or pausing in her relentless bouncing dance on top of him. Victor felt his sack draw tight and the unmistakable itch that told him he was going to come. Just before he exploded, she slammed down on him one last time and let out an ear-piercing scream. A torrent of sticky juices washed over him. It felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of pussy juice over him, soaking his legs to the knees and washing up into his navel. Her walls contracted around him in a rhythmic pulse, from tip to root, and he spewed his seed inside her with an animalistic scream of release. His head swam, his eyes closed, and all sound save the loud, rapid beat of his heart thudding in his ears vanished. Images then assaulted Victor’s mind. People he had never seen. Places he had never been. Sorrow. Delight. Endless summer days. Long gloomy nights. He felt as if he was reliving the lives of a hundred people at once. The jumble of images only stopped when Victor lost consciousness. ~^~~^~~^~ ~~^~~^~~^~ ~^~~^~~^~ A hand inching its way between her legs once again awakened Catherine. She sat up with a snarl, and then looked around in confusion when she found nobody in the room. She watched in wide-eyed terror as the sheet was jerked from her hands and off her nude body. A scream tried to emerge from her, but an icy cold, invisible hand tightly pressing against her mouth muffled it. Other invisible hands – cold and clammy as a corpse's – grabbed her wrists. The one on her mouth shoved Cat down to the bed. She struggled against the invisible assailants, but couldn't dislodge the hands. When other frigid digits wrapped around her ankles, she bit the invisible hand over her mouth. She could feel the cold flesh between her teeth, but the hand didn't even twitch. Shadows began to move into the room. They passed through the walls, the door, the ceiling, and the floor – unaffected by the furniture in the room. They even passed through the bed and her body, causing gooseflesh to break out on her skin from the chill, incorporeal touch. Each shadow was vaguely man-shaped, but the things moved so fast that they appeared as little more than a blur. The frightening apparitions whirled around the room while Catherine lay pinned to the bed – helpless. The specters drifted without direction all around the room, dancing before her and at the edges of her vision. One flew over the bed directly toward her and she saw its eyes – filled with longing and despair, but tinged with anger and hatred as well. As one, the shadows suddenly stopped, hovering wherever their chaotic dance had placed them. A great sigh and a moan erupted from every corner of the room. Help us. Free us. So long. Dreaming. Undisturbed. The words came from a hundred voices, repeated over and over again in a maddening chorus of unsynchronized cacophony. Catherine closed her eyes and screamed into the hand covering her mouth. As suddenly as they had begun, the voices stopped. The hands that had restrained Cat released her. She opened her eyes and darted them back and forth in mute terror, the sound of her heart deafening in her ears, her breathing ragged and doing little to bring air into her lungs. Cat shook her head and felt her wrist. She could still feel the hand there, but there was no evidence that it had happened. A grip that tight upon her as she struggled should have left marks. Gods knew that Victor's hands did, when she made him take her roughly. "What a stupid dream," she said under her breath, but she was hardly convinced. Her stomach churned. The fear she was denying and trying to suppress manifested as a case of the flux threatening to incapacitate her. She sat on the bed, slowly mastering her emotions as nothing odd happened. Her brow furrowed as she wondered what in the hells was taking Victor so long to get back to the room. ~^~~^~~^~ ~~^~~^~~^~ ~^~~^~~^~ Victor came to with a powerful, throbbing headache. He groaned and opened his eyes, wincing and screaming as the faint ruddy light streaming through the windows made his head hurt worse. He opened his eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the light, groaning from the pounding in his head that felt as if a sadistic boson was beating out a rower's cadence on his skull. He was lying on the couch, his flaccid cock in his hand, with trails of cum splattered all over his chest and pooled in his pubic hair. "Dammit," he growled and sat up, screaming when the action intensified the throbbing of his head. He jerked a throw from where it was draped over the back of the couch and closed his eyes. He then wiped his seed off him as best he could. When he opened his eyes again, the throbbing in his head had died down to a dull echo of its former intensity. It was nearly dark, he realized as his senses returned to him. Looking around, he found his pants on the floor beside the couch and picked them up. The butcher knife fell to the floor with a clatter. Pulling on his pants and picking up the knife, he grabbed another hunk of beef from his pocket to gnaw on it unconsciously, swearing silently that he would never touch another drop of brandy again in his life. Victor walked in the direction he expected to find the stairs, and was relieved to discover that they were exactly where they should be. His head felt a little clearer now, and he shook it in confusion, remembering the servant girl. He assumed that it must have been a drunken dream of some kind, because he had awakened with his dick in his own hand and cum splattered all over him, not up in the twat of some huge-tittied slut. Home by the Sea He ascended the stairs, determined to go get Cat and get the fuck out of this place – now. Despite the logic in his head, his stomach was churning from suppressed fear. The light coming through the windows upstairs was almost gone when he stepped onto the landing. He quickly walked toward the master bedroom, mindless of stealth, just trying to reach Catherine as quickly as possible. So many years ago. The voice emerged from one of the bedrooms as he passed, only a door or two away from his goal. The voice was distinctive, and unmistakably real. Victor's mind whirled, torn between his natural instinct to flee and his carefully trained patterns of never leaving a potential danger behind him. His training won out, and he put his hand on the doorknob, preparing to burst into the room with surprise on his side. ~^~~^~~^~ ~~^~~^~~^~ ~^~~^~~^~ Catherine had sat for a long time, looking into every corner of the room. She didn't know how long she had done so, as her head still felt like it was in a fog. Her eyes were drooping, and she decided she was going to lie back down. Victor would drag her roughly out of the bed soon enough to go down to the boat and escape with their haul. A crooked grin crossed her face, erasing all memories of the weird dreams she had experienced. She knew she could entice Victor to fuck her again before they left. Now that her fear was calming, the thought of Victor taking her hard – ravaging her body – was making her hot. It wouldn't take much teasing and then resisting him to cause him to violently take her, perhaps even to fuck her ass. Shivering and purring from the thought, Catherine lay back down. She received unexpected help when the invisible hands suddenly gripped her again amidst a peal of mocking laughter. The invisible assailants hurled her to the bed and spread her arms and legs wide as the laughter continuing to echo through the room. Catherine struggled against the clammy hands, but had no more success this time than she had before. From around her, she heard voices coming from where her invisible captors’ mouths should be. You can't get away. With us you will stay. Then, mocking laughter erupted from everywhere again. Catherine's stomach lurched with fear, and a scream welled up in her throat. Once again, the hand over her mouth made it impossible to do more than emit a high-pitched moan. Catherine felt cold hands slide under her knees. The hands pulled upward, and then pushed her knees out wide. The hands holding her ankles pushed forward until her legs were splayed out painfully on the bed. The room filled with a strange scent – spicy and somewhat musky. As she breathed, the smell spread from her lungs throughout her body. Her terror drained away, replaced by arousal once again. Her transparent assailants propped up her upper body, and the hand over her mouth released her. She felt mouths on her nipples. Cold lips and tongues swirled over her. Icy hands pawed at her breasts. Her nipples hardened to stiff points, and though there was nothing visible of whatever suckled her, she could see her breasts moving, the nipples pulling outward by unseen mouths. She felt fingers part her nether lips. Looking down, she saw her labia slide apart, and saw the wetness gathering between them. Despite the chill touch, she was growing more aroused by the second. Her breathing quickened, and her pulse started to race. Somewhere inside her, she screamed, but that part was buried deep and the rest of her mind was ignoring it. A cold tongue touched her, and she saw her labia wiggle as it teased between them. She felt it slide into her depths and swirl over her walls, and then her lips were sucked hard. Catherine watched with disconnected fascination as her lips pulled outward in the unseen lips and rolled beneath an invisible tongue. Her mind was adrift, lost in ever-increasing arousal. Her hood was pulled upward, exposing her throbbing bud. Lips wrapped around it and she could see it moving back and forth as a tongue pushed it. A tingling deep inside her was growing with incredible speed, turning into an electric jolt that shot between her depths and her dripping sex. The jolt suddenly shot up her spine, and then spread to every inch of her body as she came. She gasped for breath as the chill mouths on her continued to tease. Her orgasm refused to let her go, contractions shaking her again and again, causing her body to try to curl up into a ball. Her muscles burned where the restraining hands prevented the involuntary actions. The mouths on her pussy and nipples pulled away, and Catherine slowly came down from her peak. She closed her eyes, still held down, and shivered through the aftershocks of her climax. She then felt something press against her nether lips, and opened her eyes to look down. Unseen fingers parted her lips, and then she felt something pass between them. The head of the invisible cock sliding into her had to be as big around as her wrist. She screamed as she was held in place – forced to watch her lips stretched painfully wide by the gargantuan prick stabbing into her. She plainly saw her lips split, and blood trickling from the tears as the massive violator continued to push inside her. She screamed in pain, her voice cracking and going hoarse. The intense arousal she had felt vanished in an instant, slamming Cat back into reality once more. The cock pushed deeper inside her. The pain intensified to the point where her mind shut down, and she knew no more. ~^~~^~~^~ ~~^~~^~~^~ ~^~~^~~^~ Victor burst through the door and saw the same servant girl he had seen earlier, nude and dripping cum onto her legs and the floor, where she stood in a puddle. She licked her lips and patted the urine soaked bed. "Come give me more," she said and laughed, walking toward him. She pursed her lips as if to kiss him as she approached. As she walked toward him, her body shriveled, the flesh pulling tight against bone, becoming like leather. Her huge, unnatural breasts drooped and dangled near her navel, swinging as she walked toward him. Victor screamed and stabbed through the leathery sling of her left breast for her heart. His practiced arm hit the mark, severing the connecting tissue, and caused her breast to drop to the floor with a dry clatter as the knife sank deep into her chest. The stab didn't faze the creature in the slightest, and it leaned toward him as if to kiss him with lips that had receded from shining teeth. Victor withdrew his knife and kicked, sending the creature hurtling back toward the bed. Another figure appeared in the darkness, moving toward him. Victor saw the rat-faced man who had tipped him and Cat off to this place, telling them it was a treasure trove waiting for them to carry it away. Cat had ridden the man after getting the information from him, while Victor watched from outside the window. As soon as she had climaxed, she had slashed the man’s throat, eliminating a potential rival for the treasure and earning another bloody tear for her tattoo. She had sat quivering in orgasm on his prick while his blood spurted all over her. The man wore a smile on his face, and another smile showed on his neck where Cat had cut him ear-to-ear two months ago. Victor turned and fled the room in terror, running toward the master bedroom and screaming Cat's name. He kicked open the door and found the room empty. Catherine was gone, as were her clothes. His clothing and weapons were lying near the bed. Looking behind him, Victor saw no sign of the shriveled bitch or the rat-faced corpse. He ran into the room to gather up his clothing, tossing the butcher knife he carried to the bed. He jerked on his shirt, slung the cloak over his shoulder, and walked from the room threading on his belt and sheathed daggers. As soon as the weapons were in place, shadows began to flit around him. The specters emerged from the ceiling, floor, and walls, moaning and darting chaotically all around him. For the rest of your days! The apparitions moaned in a maddening cacophony. Victor ran for his life, passing through the insubstantial shadows and feeling their chill touch raise goose bumps on his flesh. He glanced into the room he had left only moments before, seeing nothing within the dark chamber. He ran to the stairs, hurtling down them at breakneck speed, bouncing off the stone walls with his hands at the landings to turn. When he reached the ground floor, he sprinted through the halls toward the front door. He was approaching the portal when he heard Catherine call out to him, "Vic?" "Cat! Over here! We've got to get the fuck out of here. The fucking place is haunted!" He spun around saw her on the other side of the room, barely visible in the shadows and walking toward him, nude and seemingly dazed. "Vic?" "Cat! Fucking move, dammit! I swear I'll..." He trailed off as she drew closer and he could see her in the moonlight streaming through the windows. Her head lolled at an unnatural angle, swinging around as her eyes tried to face him. Trails of blood traced down her thighs from her ravaged and split pussy. "Vic, my pussy hurts. Come kiss it?" Catherine said as she continued to shamble toward him. "Son of a bitch!" Victor screamed and turned to run to the door. He jerked on the handle, but the door would not budge. Checking the locks, he found them open. He pulled again – more insistent this time – but his escape route remained tightly sealed. He turned to see Catherine was almost upon him, prompting him to scream and pulled with all his strength, bracing his leg against the door jam. The door suddenly opened, and he lost his balance – falling on his ass at Catherine's feet. A drop of blood from her gaping pussy fell on his face. He scrambled toward the door, but it slammed shut before he could reach it. Curtains pulled shut over all the windows, plunging the foyer into darkness. Then out of the dark he suddenly heard, Welcome to the home by the sea! Mocking laughter erupted around him from every corner of the darkness, and he felt hands wrap around his neck – impossibly tight. The hands continued to squeeze ever tighter as he fought in vain to dislodge them, blackness consuming him as his throat crushed in Catherine's dead hands. ~^~~^~~^~ ~~^~~^~~^~ ~^~~^~~^~ Aaron spurted his seed into the clenching depths of the woman he was fucking, and then pulled from her to collapse on the bed. He smiled and praised his luck. Not only had she showed him a perfect mark, a rich manor house along the sea with no nearby neighbors, she was a damn fine filly to ride as well. He drifted off into an exhausted slumber, planning to pound her wet snatch one more time in the morning, and then kill her. He didn't need a partner, and he didn't need a rival who knew about the mark. Catherine smiled and rose from the bed, her body turning insubstantial and fading into a vaguely man-shaped shadow as she did so. Within moments, the thief Aaron was alone in the room. ~^~~^~~^~ ~~^~~^~~^~ ~^~~^~~^~ I hope you've enjoyed this tale -- as much as you can enjoy something so purposely dark and disturbing. Please do take a moment to vote/comment, as that is the lifesblood that flows in my veins, bringing new tales to light.