Copyright: Belongs to Redhawk. No reproduction of any kind without written permission.
Warnings: A short PWP for the coming (heh) All Hallows season…Enjoy! This story depicts a love/sexual relationship between two consenting adult women. (Well, one of ’em, anyway.) If you are under 18 years of age or if this type of story is illegal in the state or country in which you live, please do not read it. If depictions of this nature disturb you, you may wish to read something other than this story.
Dedication: To Amphipolis Dark for challenging me to write it and to Ravenhawke…you KNOW why!
I should have listened to them. I realize that now. At the time, however, I was too amused at their provincial attitudes to pay them much mind. I mean – all old houses in the French Quarter are haunted, right?
Sounds pretty cliché, but oh-so-romantic.
Working a dead end job in a small town was killing me. I needed to get away but I had no resources. Out of the blue, a telegram arrived at the video store where I worked. Some long distant cousin I had never met had passed away, leaving his only living relative his entire estate – the deed to a grand old house in New Orleans and nearly six million dollars. It had taken his lawyer nearly eight months to locate said relative – me.
Needless to say, the thought of remaining in Boring, Oregon, and checking out ‘The Sound of Music’ to old Mrs. Selby one more time was chucked out the window. I holed up in my boss’ office for half an hour as I called the lawyer who’d sent the telegram. We made my travel arrangements – all I had to do was get to the Portland airport and a ticket would be waiting.
I stopped long enough at my apartment to grab a few things I couldn’t live without and caught the first Greyhound heading in that direction. My best friend tried to talk me out of it, telling me that I was walking into a major mistake – the house could be falling apart and cost more for repairs than it was worth; it was probably haunted, to boot; that it could be just some trumped up story to lure me into a trap. I told her I’d miss her, too, and nothing she said would change my mind.
The flight was fun, having never been on a plane before. I watched the ground fall away from me, a flip-flopping sensation in my stomach as I stared out the window. All went well and, in a matter of hours, I was landing at New Orleans International. When I disembarked, I was surprised to find an older gentleman holding a piece of cardboard with my name on it. He explained that he was to drive me to the property and my deceased cousin’s lawyer would meet us there.
Used to the cold and wet of western Oregon, the mugginess of the city was a wave of heat that enveloped me. By the time the driver held open the limousine door, I’d already shed my light jacket and rolled up the sleeves of my shirt. My jeans were sticking to my skin and I realized that if I stayed here, I’d have to get an entirely different wardrobe. The air conditioning inside the sleek vehicle was a relief.
I was glued to the window as we entered the French Quarter. The houses were beyond beautiful with their large verandas and creeping vines. I could hardly believe I was here, soon to be a full-time resident. My main hope was that the house left me was, indeed, as gorgeous as these we were passing. Hearing my friend’s voice repeating her dire warnings, I shook my head and chuckled. It would be the best house on the block – I knew it.
Despite my fervent wish, when we pulled into the long drive, I think my jaw fell into my lap. God, it was the most breath-taking sight I’d seen yet. My cousin had kept the place up well. The lawn was neatly manicured with a plethora of flowers that seemed to all be in bloom. An old-fashioned wrought iron fence surrounded the property. Nestled towards the back, surrounded by trees of all sorts, was a white three-story Victorian.
Pulling to a stop at the front door, the driver turned off the limousine. I pressed up against the glass, studying the house. The veranda was hardwood, unpainted, with a handful of wide steps leading up to it. Two white marble lions flanked the stairs, looking fierce as they protected the entrance. Ivy crawled up one side, spreading across the white expanse of the second and third floors with a splash of cool green. Wooden shutters on each window were in their natural hardwood color, as well.
A black suit blocked my vision and, startled, I drew backwards with a gasp. As my heart slowed down, the driver opened the car door. He took my hand and helped me out into the southern heat. Simultaneously, one of the front double doors opened and a whip-thin man stepped out and down the stairs. Introducing himself as the lawyer I’d spoken with, he took my arm and led me inside.
The interior was more of the same and I felt that I’d stepped into some gothic movie about a vampire. As the lawyer showed me about the place, I noted the antique furniture, tasteful wallpaper, hardwood floors. A fireplace dominated the study; shelves on either side from floor to ceiling held leather bound books. I fancied I’d find a hidden passage somewhere behind them.
Along the stairs were oil paintings, portraits. This seemed more and more like a movie than ever – it was every horror flick’s haunted house. The second and third floors revealed a pair of suites, a recreation room sporting a billiard’s table and bar, and a private theater that held the latest in entertainment technology. An attic above us held some odds and ends, but we didn’t get upstairs to see.
Once the tour was over, we sat down in the dining room and went over the will and paperwork. After I’d shown him my driver’s license and birth certificate, I signed a few papers. Everything settled, the lawyer handed me the keys and left his business card, suggesting I call him should I need anything else. The expression on his face was odd, but I didn’t catch it at the time, being too wrapped up in the wonder of this daydream come true.
Floating along, I wandered the halls, stopping to study everything that caught my attention. I found my lonely bag just inside the front door. Scooping it up, I jogged up the wide stairs to the second floor suite. The sitting room was grand with its tapestry furnishings and cherry wood tables carved into intricate designs. One door led into a huge bathroom, complete with Jacuzzi and double shower with a vast walk in closet off one side. The other opened onto the bedroom proper.
Upon seeing the four-poster bed and mound of pillows, I decided that I’d been wrong. This wasn’t a place out of a horror movie. It was a romance novelist’s wet dream. I giggled and threw myself onto the bed, thinking of all those gaudy book covers showing a virile man holding a devastatingly beautiful woman. Having one of those women in this bed would definitely be the perfect capper to this perfect day.
I think I fell asleep.
Drowsily, I felt the bed shift as my dream woman crawled onto it. Rolling onto my side, I mumbled something, heard her whispered, “Shhh.” Somewhere in my mind I realized I wasn’t asleep, that I was alone in the house, but I couldn’t seem to rouse enough to react. Despite my heart thumping in sluggish fear, I lay still as a hand began to trail up my thigh.
She was behind me now, her weight causing me to tilt backwards towards her. Though her body didn’t quite touch mine, I could almost feel her warmth through my shirt. The hand snaked slowly up my body with a firm massaging motion, over my hip and along the slope of my waist. Past my belt, she reached under my shirt, continuing her leisurely path, pushing the cloth up my body. Her hand was very hot, almost searing in its intensity as it dipped down to caress my belly before continuing along my side.
My heart was thumping with more than fear now, my mouth dry. Part of me was screaming that this wasn’t a dream, that I needed to wake up, get up, run away. I felt the tickle of my shirt along my back as it was drawn up over my shoulder, a naked body pressed against mine.
I remained where I was.
As her hand continued along my arm, I felt a warm breath in my ear. I sighed as her tongue caressed it, a thrill coursing through me, awakening my passion. She held my wrist now, drawing it upwards on the bed until it was above my head. Fingers drew back down the underside of my arm, causing me to shiver. I think I whimpered when she brushed the side of my breast, reaching around to cup it gently.
My voice must have been a catalyst. Almost instantly, her hand roughly squeezed my breast and I felt teeth nip at my earlobe. I couldn’t help but groan aloud as her fingertips found my nipple and twisted it, couldn’t help but feel a flood of wetness in my jeans as her breasts pressed against my shoulder blades, couldn’t help but squirm as her tongue entered my ear.
She released my breast, dragging my sports bra upwards. The heat of her skin contrasted sharply with the air-conditioned room and I found myself shivering again. Releasing my ear, moving away from me, she rolled me onto my back. With voracious intent, her mouth attacked my nipples, sucking them and pulling on them with her teeth.
I brought my hands up to touch her, hold her, run my hands through her hair, but she wouldn’t have any of it. Another trickle of fear coursed through me, perversely heightening my excitement, as I realized my arms were now bound to the four-poster bed. Opening my eyes, I looked down my body.
Nothing was there.
Snapping my eyes shut, heart in my throat, I felt her straddling my belly. Her wetness rocking against me, she continued to massage my breasts, her mouth trailing upwards to assault mine. My attempt to deny her entry was feeble and my body betrayed me, arching against her. In seconds, I surrendered, eagerly sucking her tongue into my mouth, raising my head to continue contact as she pulled away, teasing.
The loss of her lips elicited a groan and I flopped backwards onto the bed in frustration. I didn’t care that I couldn’t see her, didn’t care that she wasn’t there. I just didn’t want her to stop as she trailed down my body with hands and mouth. Despite the bizarre situation, I opened my eyes once more, watching as my flesh moved under her touch, feeling her heat against me, unable to locate the unseen body.
My legs were spread, her ethereal body between them as she leisurely cleaned her essence from my belly. Groaning, I pushed my hips upward, jeans tight against my distended clit. I thought I could hear a low rumble of laughter, but I wasn’t sure. Through the denim, I could feel her nails scratching along my inner thighs, a tingling sensation that went right to my crotch. Moaning again, I writhed under her touch and closed my eyes.
As she loosened my belt, I jerked as teeth bite my inner thigh. The heat of her mouth wrapped around my center as she sucked on the denim, causing me to wordlessly call out and buck against her. “Oh, god,” I groaned. “Please, please, hurry!”
There was another, more evident chuckle. My belt was open, my jeans unfastened. In a smooth movement, they were whisked away – though she hadn’t left her position – leaving me vulnerable to her attentions. She lost no time in her assault, hungrily taking me into her mouth. I cried out again, relief at finally being touched warring with the new sensation of her tongue swirling about my sex.
I was so ready that her fingers slid into me without resistance. Grunting, I matched her thrusts with my own, fighting against my restraints, grinding myself against her lips. Her other hand crawled up my belly to brutally fondle my breasts once more, heedless of the bruises already developing there.
The fucking seemed to go on forever and I was vaguely aware that the afternoon had long given way to the darkness of night. Each time I reached the pinnacle, my spectral lover would pull back, change tempo, pinch my tender nipples – anything to prolong the sweet torment. I was becoming exhausted, the sweat pouring off me, my hair limp and sticking to my forehead, voice hoarse from begging her to finish. From somewhere I could hear the chime of a clock striking the hour.
Her efforts doubled at the sound, her actions focused as she guided me closer to the edge. My tortured flesh followed her until I was falling. Just as I came, I felt razor sharp teeth bite into me, taking from me, draining me. I was senseless as the last of my energy was spent, spinning out of control as I strained against her in release, crying out my pleasure/pain.
I collapsed when it was over, unable to move one more. My only thought was sleep.
That was three nights ago. When I woke, I found myself naked on the bed, no memory of undressing other than the dream. Confused, shaken, sore, I staggered into the bathroom for a long shower. It was then I realized that what happened had been real.
I found the bite marks.
While I might be able to pretend I’d had a wild wet dream and bruised myself in my eager slumber, there’s nothing that could have explained the scabs left behind as mute witness. I fled the grand old house after that, booking myself into a nearby hotel and notifying the lawyer to pay the tab with my newfound inheritance.
It’s been two days of serious questioning. Do I stay? Keep the house? Sell it? Could I honestly sell the property to an innocent family? From what I could gather, my cousin lived there for years. Did he have the same thing happen? Or am I just the ‘lucky’ one? If it did happen to him, as well – why did he stay? And maybe that’s why he stayed to begin with…
Darkness is closing in. I find myself longing to be back at the property, awaiting her touch. I crave it and it scares me.
I’m going home now.
