The Shawl

Michael pulled up in front of the three-story Victorian home. Turning off the engine of his rented Mustang convertible, he opened the door and stepped out. As he closed the door, he looked across the broad, brick-laid street and saw neat, well-maintained homes lining the expanse of road. The mountains peeked over the tops of the house roofs; the misty caps beckoning the desire within him to fly down their snowy slopes come winter. Michael turned his attention back to the house where he had parked. The neatly trimmed yard was edged in gardens of wispy white flowers dotted by pinks and purples. Vivid hues of orange and yellow added to the summer mixture of fragrant blooms. At the side of the house, two ancient spruce trees rose to over look the third floor dormer windows. The property looked just as he had imagined it from the word picture the realtor had painted.

Walking up the sidewalk to the ornate iron fence, he noticed the For Sale sign posted in front of the fence. It looked a bit worn, but he didn't pay much heed, it was not unusual for realty companies to recycle their signs until they were barely readable. Michael reached for the latch on the gate. The lever caught his attention. It was the face of a gargoyle, with a penis extending from its mouth. This rather surprised him, he did not think this type of architectural design was used in the 1800's, but, the realtor had warned him that the couple that had built the house had made their fortune in circus side-shows and that the house reflected this dark enterprise. Lifting the phallus he pushed open the gate and it moved soundlessly. He closed the gate and looked once more at the unique house before him.

The wide porch wrapped around the front of the house along the side opposite the spruce trees. The columns supporting the roof of the first story were covered in English ivy. The ivy was perfectly trimmed so it did not appear to overwhelm the house. The door was wide, painted a glossy ebony with etched glass set into it. The etching was a floral design with fairies peeking throughout the leaves. White trim graced the door and window frames, setting off the grey slate of the siding on the house. Ornate iron-work decorated the frames of the windows and balconies. There was also a dragon weathervane, the flames issuing from its mouth the direction for north, perched atop the highest peak of the roof. Reaching the steps, he took each one, marveling at the solidness of them. No creaks or groans were discernable. The railing was designed in the same ornate style as the fence. Michael stepped onto the porch and looked around. At the end, where it went around the side of the house, a wicker table and two chairs had been placed. A blue and white ceramic vase of hot pink peonies was centered on the table. A beautifully embroidered shawl was carelessly thrown over the back of one of the chairs. Assuming the owner of the house must be home, Michael dropped the key the realtor had given him back into the pocket of his smartly creased black slacks and reached for the door knocker. He rapped it three times and waited patiently for the owner to answer the door.

Michael was surprised to see the door answered by an astonishingly beautiful young woman. As she smiled up at him, her clear pale blue eyes sparkled. Diamonds could not even compare to their luster. She tucked an errant curl of her pale gold hair behind a delicate earlobe. She was petite, barely five feet tall. The soft silk of her lavender camisole did little to hide the pleasing voluptuousness of her breasts. The gentle flutter of her flowered skirt flowed gracefully over her hips as she moved out onto the porch to greet Michael. At first, he couldn't say a word; the image of a fairy came to his mind. Yes, he decided, she could have easily been a mystical princess had he believed in such things.

"Good Morning, sir! Are you the gentleman interested in acquiring my home?" she asked in a soothing, lyrical voice.

Michael stood there, feeling like a 15 year old facing the senior prom queen as if she had asked him to dance. Finally, he shook himself out of his reverie and answered her, hoping he made as favorable of an impression upon her as she did him.

"Yes, miss, I'm Michael O'Rourke. I am very pleased to meet you. I must admit that the real estate agent led me to believe that the house was empty."

Laughing lightly, the young woman introduced herself, extending a graceful hand, fingers delicate. A single ring adorned her finger, an heirloom by the look of it. "I am Constance Barringer. I must apologize. I had planned on being moved into my new home by now, but the builders have not quite finished with some of the final touches, so here I am, waiting another week until my possessions can be moved. I hope it is not an inconvenience to you, the realtor told me you would be coming by today. Actually, I am glad to be able to show you around myself. There is so much history in this house, and I would be pleased to tell you its story, if you have time."

Michael finally released her hand reluctantly. For some reason, her touch made him feel exhilarated, yet, he felt at home with her hand in his. "I would appreciate that Miss Barringer. It is a beautiful house, and I am quite taken with it already." He let his eyes gently roam over her body. The woman was incredible. He felt sure she was completely unaware of the effect she was already having on him.

"Please, sir, call me Constance; I feel as if I already know you." She looked up at him, her eyes measuring his body unabashedly. He was a good foot taller than she was, with black, slightly curling hair that fell unkempt into his eyes, giving him a rakish look. His dark green eyes were edged in a warm golden brown, and his lips were full and welcoming. She resisted the urge to pull him down to her and kiss him. 'Time enough, girl.' She said silently to herself. Michael worked out, she could tell. His chest was broad and his stomach flat.

"Constance it is then. And I look forward to the grand tour!"

Constance showed Michael into an expansive foyer. A curved balustrade followed the stairs up to the second-story landing. The floors were highly polished pine. A Turkish rug lay in the center of the foyer, its intricate design worked in shades of red and gold. She led him into a music room just to the right. A small grand piano was settled in front of a set of mirrored French doors which reflected the windows immediately across the room that opened onto a lavish garden scene. Michael found the room quite charming, and as he followed her, he found himself watching her swaying hips rather than the surrounding architecture. His thoughts went to how incredible it would be to lay her upon that grand piano, in front of the mirrors and taste her sweet body's delights. A stirring deep inside brought him back to his senses as she was telling him the history of the piano. Afterward, she led him through the French doors into a library. The walls were papered in a dark grey with an embossed pattern in a lighter shade of grey. Heavy silk drapes were hung over the floor-length windows that looked out onto another view of the garden. Constance looked as though she belonged in this room. She showed him the shelves lined with ancient tomes that had been in the family for generations naming the titles as though she had purchased them herself all those years ago.

Michael enjoyed her stories as they went about the house. Her voice had a sensuous lilt to it. He couldn't place her accent, but knew she wasn't from this area originally. They had gone through the kitchen and the dining room and parlor. Each room was decorated in exquisite details that made Michael feel as though the house had been kept exactly as it had been built nearly 200 years ago. The crystal chandelier had been converted to gas, but not electricity. It was still pristine and as the sunlight hit it, the rainbows of refracted light struck everywhere. Michael looked at Constance; her body had collected many of the prismatic colors. She was even more ethereal looking than before. His heart beat loudly, desire for this fairy woman mounting. She led him from the main floor up the stairs to the second story. Michael caught a whiff of her fragrance. It was like fresh lilacs had bloomed all around her. He was smitten with this woman.

They reached the second landing with Constance telling Michael about the rooms on this floor. She led him past a gallery of paintings upon the wall, her ancestors for certain. The first stop was a small room that was used mostly for storage. She said it could serve as a nursery as it was so close to the master bedroom. He smiled at that, telling her that it was not likely in the near future, as he was not married. Her laughter brightened the air around them, an underlying current of relief evident in the way she moved. She directed him to the largest bedroom. He stood in the doorway behind her, looking into the vast space of the room. It must have been as long as the entire house was wide. Bay windows stood along the whole length of the room. They were draped in aubergine velvet, tied back with silver tassels. Sheers embroidered in intricate floral patterns diffused the light of the sun. At one end of the room stood a great mahogany armoire. Next to it was a small writing desk with a ladies chair seated at it. Michael looked down to the other end of the room; there stood a massive bed, the canopy draped in lavender silk curtains. The counterpane was handmade with varying colors of purples.

Constance went towards the bed, and raising her hand, rested it upon the bed. She looked so tiny next to the huge bed. Michael was drawn toward her. As she spoke about the woman who had made the quilt, he went up to her and looked down. He stroked her hair lightly, feeling the gossamer strands of it shift through his fingers. She stopped her story. Looking up at him, her eyes widened. She looked so incredibly beautiful at that moment. He couldn't resist his impulses any more. He took her in his arms and lowered his full lips to her dainty mouth. He kissed her. At first, it was tentative, as if he was asking her permission. She leaned into him, pressing herself closer to his hard body. That was all the assurance he needed. He deepened his kiss, teasing open her lips to taste her sweetness. She wrapped her arms around his waist, feeling the heat of his body as he drew her closer to himself. A brief thought flashed through Michael's mind that he should not be kissing this stranger. His mind saw his fiancée, Christine, and he came to his senses, pulling away grudgingly from the tender kiss.

"Constance, I am so sorry, I don't know what just happened. I...I am so embarrassed. I should not have kissed you," Michael said as he saw the look in Constance's clear blue eyes.

She replied rather breathlessly, "No, please. I am the one who should ask forgiveness. You see, I have lived in this great house for several years alone, and, you are so handsome, and, well, I wanted you to hold me and kiss me. Please, don't think ill of me."

Constance turned her back to Michael as he stood there, confused by her proclamation. He saw her narrow shoulders, held back proudly. Her hair fell down her back in silken streams that caught the sun as it played through the room. It waved slightly as it tumbled over her hips. He couldn't help himself. He had to touch her, to feel the softness of her body under his hands. He stepped forward and gently set his hand upon Constance's shoulder, then, not sensing any resistance from her, he slid his hand down her back, and rested it upon the swell of her hip. He pulled her around to him once more, and lowered his mouth to claim her once again.

Michael had the sensation that he was becoming a part of Constance. Her body was hot, welcoming. His own response to her kisses surprised him. He did not think he could desire another woman like he did his own fiancée. Here he was, pushing thoughts of Christine away and not caring about it. He wanted this nymph that was enveloped within his arms. She had molded her body to his. He could feel every ripple of muscle as she moved next to him. She was driving him wild with the sensations that somehow touched every nerve in his body.

Without thinking, Michael pushed Constance's straps down and off her shoulders, her full, pretty breasts were perfectly formed, the nipples were a mouthwatering shade of shell pink. Erect, her nipples looked full and inviting. He lowered his mouth to her left breast, and stroked his tongue around the nipple, not touching the center. He felt her draw a breath and pulled her tighter to him. His hand slid down and splayed over her round bottom. She moved perfectly with him. He felt as though she were made for his pleasure. Finally, unable to resist any longer, Michael flicked the tip of his tongue over the pert nipple, then opened his lips to suck it entirely into his mouth. She gasped as she pressed her breast hard to his hungered mouth. She worked a thigh between his and rubbed at the growing need she felt from him. Michael's hand slid up and felt for the clasp of her skirt. Finding it, he unbuttoned it then pulled down the zipper. The skirt fell to the thick rug in a puddle of floral silk. He pulled her camisole off her, and then lifted her up into his arms. She squealed with delight as he set her upon the bed. Quickly, she pushed down the antique quilt and lay back upon the satin sheets, her body a tasty morsel laid out upon deep purple.

Michael groaned at the sight of her, and soon had his own clothing off. He stepped up to join Constance in the mahogany bed. The look in her eyes grew lustful as she took in the hardness of his body and the rigid length of his cock. She slid forward and, before he could lie down, had his cock between her lips and sliding down her throat. "Oh sweet mercy, Constance, that feels good." Michael cried out in pleasure.

She shifted herself so she was on her hands and knees. Michael was still standing on the step, as she sucked on his shaft. Her tongue felt like tiny hot flames lapping at his cock. She was hungry for him. Michael watched her hips sway with each thrust of her mouth down onto his cock. She grasped his heavy sac with her tiny hand and squeezed it expertly. She knew exactly how to turn him on. He reached down and sunk his fingers into her silky hair, and guided her harder onto him. He thrust in and out of her swollen lips, giving her what she desired. As he was about to explode, she sensed this, and pushed herself down even harder onto his shaft, and he was deep into her throat as she sucked him hard. She reached around and grabbed his hips, pulling him to her and not letting go. She constricted the muscles in her throat until he couldn't hold on any longer. Michael's fingers curled in Constance's hair as he released his hot cum deep into her throat. She swallowed hard, the motion causing him to spasm even harder. He could hardly believe how wanton she was as she took every drop of his seed. Finally, he pushed her from him, and climbed onto the bed and slid in next to her. Pulling her to him, he kissed her deeply, tasting his own fluids upon her sweet lips.

"You are incredible, Constance. I have never felt this way before."

She smiled up at him, and pulled him down to her once more, kissing him deeply and stirring him once again. Michael did not think he could rise again so quickly but, incredibly, he was rigid with even more desire than he had felt before. He wrapped his arms around the sweet nymph and drew her underneath him, he kissed her passionately, feeling her body rise up against his, stroking him with her sensuality. Slowly, he lowered his mouth to kiss and taste her neck, feeling the flutter of her strong pulse under his tongue. He moved downward, kissing the swell of her perfect breasts, inhaling her fragrance and feeling it course through him, igniting his need even more. Each nipple found its way to his mouth. Michael feasted upon Constance's body, tasting each valley and curve. He found the sweet center between her thighs, and drew his tongue lightly over the swell of her mound. She opened to him like a rare tropical flower. The muskiness of her scent caused him to ache with the need to claim her. Michael wanted to savor this experience though. He lowered his head once more and slowly began to let his tongue and lips explore the delights before him. With the first taste of her, Michael felt as though no other taste could compare. The honeyed dew of her body drove him to seek more. Deeper he plunged his tongue into the delicate folds of her body. Constance writhed under him, crying out softly as Michael kept running his tongue over the sensitive spot at the entrance. He heard her gasp as she finally found her release. Michael hungrily drank all of her sweet nectar as it flowed from her hotly.

Unable to resist the temptation of her body, Michael rose up and slid his rock hard shaft deep into her pulsing sheath. Constance cried out something he couldn't understand, but she was deliberate in her need to feel him within her. She thrust her hips up as he tried to draw from her. Wrapping her legs around him, she began rocking her hips underneath him. Michael picked up the rhythm after finally recovering from the initial shock of how hot her body felt around his cock. She was incredible. He tried to slow down her tempo, but she was wild under him. Finally, he gave in to the fierceness of her need and began to plunge deep and fast into her. With each stroke, she cried out her desire for him. He couldn't believe how strong this fairy woman was. She touched his primal self and as he drove harder into her, he gave in to the dark desires he had always held at bay.

Sliding his arms underneath Constance, Michael pulled her up to him as he continued to stroke the hot walls of her womanhood with his cock. He nuzzled her along her neck, his teeth lightly grazing the spot just above her shoulder. She clutched him, her fingers digging into his back as they moved in perfect synchrony upon the dark purple silk of the bed. Michael moaned deeply, his voice roughly telling her how beautiful she was and that all he wanted to do was make love to her forever. He begged her to let him release himself deep inside her, not wanting to draw away from her. She held him tighter and clenched her muscles around his aching shaft. Constance whispered into his ear, "Oh, Michael. Yes, I want you to let go, deep inside of me, I have been waiting for you for such a long time, fill me with your life, your need, your darkest desires!" Michael's cock exploded in a passionate display, filling Constance with his seed. She met each thrust with her own release. Their fluids mixing within her like the hot lava of a violent volcano. Finally, their bodies began to simmer down, but they continued to hold each other tightly, not wanting the moment to end. Eventually, Michael and Constance relaxed, and still holding each other, lay back down upon the lofty pillows. He did not withdraw from her, and they remained entwined as they fell asleep within each other's arms.

Michael stirred, feeling a cool breeze glide along his well-formed body. He rolled over and inhaled the scent of dust and mildew. Confused, he opened his eyes and looked up. Seeing the canopy above him, he suddenly remembered the day before and quickly sat up. Looking around, he saw the frayed bed linens, the glorious purples and lavenders were now shades of moldy grey. The furniture in the room was covered in dusty white sheeting. The windows boarded up, but for one where the board had long since decayed, leaving the room open to the breeze he now felt. He leaped out of the bed, and searched for his clothing. Finding it in a pile upon the rotted area rug, he quickly dressed.

Michael headed out of the room, confused by the changes around him. He looked into each room as he headed toward the stairs. Every room was the same, furniture covered and windows boarded. The paintings that had hung on the walls were discolored and dirty. The heavy gilt frames grimy with years of dust. Running down the stairs now, Michael called out Constance's name. His voice echoed throughout the house. He went into the library. The paper was peeling from the walls. The books were covered in cobwebs. Into the music conservatory, he went about, looking around. The piano was still there, but covered in a think layer of dust. The windows here were boarded up, but one of the boards had fallen away. Michael went over and looked out. The sun shone brightly on a desolate looking yard. The garden was overgrown and wild. The grass had overtaken some of it and was nearly two feet tall. Michael felt a sinking sensation deep in his heart. Where was the beautiful home he toured yesterday? And more importantly, where was Constance?