Gilhearth Manor

This story was requested. Enjoy, and thanks for reading!

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CWs: CNC, eldritch stuff, Victorian setting, f/f, tentacles, drugs, peer pressure

Beneath the black tiled roof of the Gilhearth Manor hung an odious atmosphere of secrecy. Despite the great many people attending, all mask-clad and dressed in their most fanciful attire, not a single one knew the true purpose of their attendance: least of all, of course, being Olivia Mayweather.

She was a mousy little thing, standing out like a sore thumb. It wasn't her outfit completely clashing with the otherwise all-black attire of the other attendees, but her wealth: her clothes were conspicuously less tailored and pristine than those of her peers, and her shoes looked positively... worn. Streaks of orange-blonde hair cascaded like wheaten curtains across her alabaster mask, the ceramic imprinted slightly with the form of a human face. Eliza Gilhearth, the Manor's elusive owner and the evening's host, was keen on anonymity for her guests -- only the most trusted of her confidants were able to see her face-to-face.

Standing across from Olivia, hand clutching a glass of dark port wine, was her dear family friend, Mabel Payes. Payes had always been older -- 31 to Olivia's 22 years -- yet the two were practically inseparable. They'd met as coworkers at the Mayweather family bakery -- the two bonded quickly over the shared struggle of the busy kitchen, and they've been nigh-inseparable since.

Mabel, unlike Olivia, did not still live with her family, instead owning a rather successful textile mill after moving out. Her outfit was impeccable; she bore no hat, merely a painted black mask. If they hadn't come in together, Olivia would've lost her friend in the crowd; unlike herself, Mabel took the dress code at each of the Gilhearth parties very seriously.

"I'm just surprised you decided to come." Mabel remarks, swirling the drink around in her hand. "Aren't you more of the... reading sort?"

Olivia grins and takes a sip of her gin and tonic. "Well, usually -- whenever mother's not being so obtuse. This was the best way to get out of the house -- and get on her nerves at the same time."

"She's not the type for parties?" Mabel continues.

"Not the type to let me do much of anything, parties least of all -- especially not the kind Madame Gilhearth throws."

Both women giggle to one another before the slam of a door grabs their attention. At the top of the flight of stairs overlooking the foyer was Eliza Gilhearth, in the flesh -- though unmistakably absent her normal grandeur. Where typically sat neatly-braided buns, her silvery-black hair now hung limp and lifeless around her head, draping her like the equally-flowing black bathrobe that covered her body. Seeing her without her hair done was odd, but to be seen without her dress was downright cause for concern.

"Attention, guests, a few more moments until the main halls will be opened. Please have your masks secured -- we will be checking at the door. Thank you."

And with that, she was off -- back through the doors which she'd appeared and which slammed shut in an instant.

Olivia looked at Mabel and Mabel look right back, their eyes locking from the holes in their masks. Typically, Eliza reveled in her own grandeur and the splendor of her parties, but tonight she seemed rather hurried. What was on her mind?

"That was..." Olivia begins, confusion on her tongue.

"Odd?" Mabel finishes, glancing around the room at the other patrons. While some seemed equally perplexed, the others seemingly bought it as part of the show; within seconds, their raucous conversations once again fill the quiet room.

"Perhaps there's something wrong?" Olivia continues, glancing up at the great door above, "Do you think it's related to..."

"Oh, not at all -- the Gilhearths have entirely too much riding on their reputation."

In the past, Eliza had spoken in whispered tones with her more trusted guests. They were, of course, not as trustworthy as she'd hoped, and soon word of her plans got around. She was an occultist, a dedicated one at that, and despite her hesitancy to share it with anyone save for her closest companions, it was evident to almost everyone who regularly attended her parties. In recent months, however, she'd gotten far more devoted; many nights, you could see her bedroom lamp on into the earliest hours of the morning. She was on the verge of something important, apparently, but few knew what -- and even fewer of those who did know could even comprehend it.

With a deep, hollow groan, the great door at the top of the foyer stairs creaks open.

"...do they?"

Guests filter upstairs to be greeted to another world. Whatever had happened in between this party and the last had been... drastic, to say the least. Once the Gilhearth Manor had been decorated in the most impeccable midcentury Victorian style; it now seemed the work of an utterly deranged person. Every wall was covered with white chalk marks and paint, forming vast sigils, epithets, and mathematical formulas over every surface; some even ran onto the floor or nearby furniture. Gone were the fine wooden furnishings of before, in their place, floor cushions, beds, mats -- and most enticing of all, hookahs and opium pipes, the coals still burning gently.

All around the room, those who had already entered before the pair of women had begun enjoying themselves to the fullest. Smoke lingered around every ceiling, bringing Olivia to cough as she entered the main hall with Mabel.

"...t-this is certainly more than I was expecting for a first time." the girl in white remarked, standing out amidst the sea of black and red beside her. "Is it usually so... flagrant?"

"Not normally." Mabel remarks, gazing curiously at a woman in the crowd as she hiked her skirt up a bit. "I guess Eliza really is feeling off."

From behind, a pair of guests bump into the two women. It was a second or two of contact at most, and even despite her relative innocence, Olivia still felt the rigid outline of a cock beneath the black dress of the more elaborately-dressed of the pair. She apologizes in half-words, led off elsewhere hand-in-hand with her more masculine partner. Olivia shivers.

"I... can't say it's entirely unwelcome." Olivia remarks, flush in the cheeks as she turns to an equally-flustered Mabel.

"Oh, quite welcome, indeed..."

The two filter through the crowd, exploring the museum of pleasures and debauchery that the Gilhearth Manor had become. The main hall was arranged as a two-layer loop; one entered into a large ballroom dominated by a staircase, the upstairs landing a maze of locked doors and dimmed lights. At the center of it was the most curious of the various shapes painted haphazardly across the walls: a rectangle. Bare and imposing, it stands out, conspicuously plain in a sea of dizzying murals of shapes and symbols; where the other paint had been white, though, this rectangle sat against the wooden walls a heavy, eye-grabbing black.

Every step forward seems to reveal a new height of ecstasy and depth of moral abandon. On the first floor, things seemed relatively tame, at least beneath the clouds of hash and opium; touching, feeling, rolling and writhing on the luxuriant couches and pillows. Upstairs, where the air was heady, things slip beyond the pale far more quickly than either woman is prepared for. Women -- and the sparse man -- sit, and more often lay, nude, bathing in warm lamplight and clearly delighting in each others' bodies regardless of the wandering eye of passers-by. Strangest, however, was the fact that not a single one discarded their mask, even when entirely naked.

Just as Olivia turned away from such a display, a woman sat amidst the many nude figures blew a thick, pungent cloud of hash smoke into their faces. Both women coughed, turning away from it and towards the stairway once again. It was far too... blatant, for their tastes, too adventurous for their fluttering hearts. That'd have to come another time, perhaps; though neither of them could deny that they were beginning to loosen up.

The smoke clung to the white linen dress shirt Olivia wore, like a mask of its own. Eugh -- mother would surely be asking about the stench later.

"T-This is a bit..." Olivia coos, looking up at Eliza through her mask.

"Much for you?" Mabel injects, finishing her words. "I must admit I'm a little captivated, personally."

"N-No, it's not... too much, it's just so sudden. I was expecting a bit more of an... introduction to things, wouldn't you agree?" responds the sheepish girl behind the white mask.

Piercing the din of the crowd was the unmistakable sound of a woman chuckling. It stuck out like a red-hot iron, cutting through the mental noise as if it were butter. Every step they took down the stairs it seemed to follow them, echoing around the insides of their head in a way unique among the cacophony.

"Headed out so soon, girls?"

...Eliza?

The two of them whipped around only to witness the elusive hostess stroll right past them in a state of undress. Black and red paint ran down her body in streaks, as if she had dumped the stuff onto her head, finishing it off with layers upon layers of white writing; pondering it, Olivia noticed some looked impossible to write with one's own hands.

"P-Pardon us, Madame Gilhearth!" both girls reply, almost in unison. Paint from Eliza's body smears against their clothing, yet the text remains impeccable. "We-w..."

"Were leaving, hm? A little too exciting?"

"Not at all!" Mabel replies, now following just behind the imposing woman along with Olivia. "We were off to fetch some -"

"Oh, you won't need drink for much longer, my dearest guest," Eliza replies, now completely looking away from them and out into the lower level of the hall, "for the night's greatest pleasure is about to begin."

She gestures out into the hall, where the lamps have been lowered to an eerie, reddish glow. Everyone is as starkly naked as she is, yet all retain their masks, an anonymous sea of bodies; each coalesced until they formed a loose circle around the stairs. Some sat, some stood, and even more of them idly touched and explored the bodies of themselves and each other. Limbs, organs, and salacious fingers dart in and out of the low light like lightning bugs.

Eliza turns from the hall to the black border drawn upon the top of the stairwell.

"For the past several months, dears, I've been searching for something." Eliza's voice rises, as she begins to adress not only the girls but the guests on the whole. "Tonight is the grand culmination of everything I've found."

She returns her gaze to Olivia and Mabel, who are now trembling. "I must say, though, you're a bit overdressed."

Their cheeks turn red beneath their masks. This was far beyond what they'd expected -- but from the position on the stairway, so many eyes were on them, more than they'd ever had in their lives. It was a different, new kind of exciting, an intoxicating rush that they'd missed beneath the tantalizing lure of drugs and drink. A taste of something better -- both women were intrigued.

"...o-oh."

Olivia turns to Mabel and Mabel to Olivia. They face one another wordlessly for a moment, before the prying eyes of the crowd wrench them from their modesty. Hands slide up Olivia's dress -- she unfastens her bra. Whether by the smoke in the air, the unfettering excitement of the crowd and the new, strange situation, or by some fault in the girl's mind alone, she obeys the courteously-worded command. Every motion is accompanied by a faster and faster fluttering in her heart, and soon, Olivia stands nude, beside a half-dressed Mabel who'd followed her lead.

"Beautiful." Eliza whispers, smiling as she returns to address the room in full. "A most welcome addition to our ritual, wouldn't you say?"

In near-unison the guests reply in a mixture of awe, laughter, and applause.

"...ritual?" Mabel asks, cheeks bright red as she discards her shirt to the ground. Olivia blinks sheepishly. Eliza says nothing at all, allowing the crowd to fill her mouth with words.

"The ritual!" they say, sing, whisper, yell, a symphony of a myriad voices; the way the uncanniness mixes with the excitement stir alien feelings inside the two girls, yet ones they most certainly welcomed.

"Indeed," Eliza continues, "the culmination of so much searching. So much work, and truly dreadful amounts of money, and I've brought it all to here."

She steps back and gestures at the enormous painted border that sits on the wall behind her.

"NHA YYDROTH." she chants, voice gurgling in a bizarre, alien manner.

"NHA YYDROTH!" the crowd replies.

Olivia and Mabel locked eyes beneath their masks again. Inside the mind of the girl in white, there was a storm raging. Hot winds of excitement swept up the cold chill of fear and precipitated it as a strange tingling in all of her limbs. This wasn't right; none of this was right. Such a foolish, easily-pressured little tart she'd been, coming to parties without mother's...

"N-Nha Yydroth?" Mabel chants, her voice wavering yet still dripping with some kind of enthusiasm. Eliza smiles.

"Exactly -- to the floor with you, now." the paint-slicked woman remarks, gesturing both the women down and the rest of the stragglers from upstairs.

All filter down to the great central hall, Olivia and Mabel finding a spot at the edge of the group. They sit beside a couple, two women, one laying in the embrace of the other as she traced ginger hands over breasts, thighs, and soft skin. The dim light casts strange shadows, adding an alluring flush to the skin of all in attendance -- and Mabel was no exception.

Olivia never looked at her that way. They'd seen each other naked countless times; the black-masked woman was pear-shaped, bottom-heavy, with small, perky breasts and an impressive width to her hips and bottom; Olivia herself was far more petite, a cute little cock positioned between her thin, yet supple thighs. Their bodies had been the subject of playful memories in the past, but now a new closeness rubbed up in the space between them. It felt like the softest silk, as if a layer of decadent clothing neither woman had realized existed before.

"With the guests gathered," Eliza speaks, her voice echoing around the room yet equally clear in the minds of all, "the ritual may proceed."

Almost on cue, the guests turn to one another. Delayed as it was, Olivia meets Mabel's gaze, too.

"I see you bear the masks -- good. Beneath them, through Yydroth's gaze, will prove our most sacred unity -- and then join Her in Her starry lair. Keep your masks attached"

"Nha Yydroth!" the crowd chant, the two women's voices among them; it was impossible to know if even a plurality of those in attendance understood Eliza's motives or desires, but it was highly likely to not be the case.

"...what's that mean, anyways?" Olivia whispers beneath her mask to Mabel. "Some... house tradition?"

"No clue."

That was the cue for the crowd; and thus began the night's true purpose. For now, there were no more words for Eliza to say, her work for the time being fulfilled. The portal -- this magnificent gift to Yydroth -- would have its hunger for passion slaked in full.

Skin clasps skin, pressing deeper, harder; the wet and lewd sounds soon drown out the previous homely atmosphere of gossiping, chit-chatty voices. There is no more talk, every mouth stuffed full with the lips and tongue of another. Olivia, having scarcely thought of a relationship so intimate, was taken aback -- but not Mabel.

The larger girl in the black mask regards the smaller, alabaster-clad one beside her with hungry eyes. Just beside the two were a couple, now mounting one another enthusiastically; both were women, and yet the one on the bottom bore a cock thicker and heavier-looking than any Olivia would've dreamed of. On the other side, a woman mounted on her husband's face -- with another woman busy bouncing on his cock.

Mabel pins Olivia by her arms, pressing down onto her body in a way just playful enough not to startle the girl while clearly conveying the woman's needs.

"I know I've not said anything before, Liv," Mabel whispers beneath the din of sex, pinning Olivia to the ground with her weight, "but I must admit you're beyond gorgeous."

The smaller woman's words were stolen out of her mouth. "M-Mabel? Here??" she asks, cheeks red enough to spill through the eye holes in her mask. Whatever hesitance she bore was reflexive; both burned inside with the same desire that Eliza had unlocked inside them. Eyes, here just as before, regarded them hungrily, eagerly. Olivia could tell that more than a few pairs of them were trained on her pert little cock sticking out from between Mabel's supple thighs.

"Where else? It's the truth -- even back at the bakery I was taking peeks at your cute little ass," Mabel continues, smiling as she presses Olivia even further down into the floor, "and I always knew I liked what I saw."

Olivia writhes, moaning a bit as the weight of soft thighs press further down against her cock. Her sounds join the chorus; it seems practically every other voice in the room is now tuned together with the same, decadent feeling, an air of release and ecstasy stronger around them than Mabel's hands around Olivia's wrists.

So many eyes on them -- Olivia could feel their stares intensify, Mabel adjusting herself to perfectly straddle the hips of the girl beneath. The cute little cock between Olivia's thighs sticks straight up into the air, throbbing up against Mabel's cunt as their well-trimmed pubes begin to mingle.

Olivia has no words. She knows exactly what she wants and knows Mabel can see it; she's practically drooling, forgetting herself and forgetting the night. With a huff, and a nod, she presses her twitching member into the waiting orifice, Mabel resting back down onto her partner's body with a sigh.

The lights flicker -- but Olivia's eyes remain closed in bliss. Mabel leans forward to kiss her newfound partner, equally blind to the sudden commotion in the air above. A chill, alien and forceful; wherever it was emanating from, it didn't matter -- not here, not in this moment.

Moans and supple, fleshy claps coat a rolling boil of voices beginning to call out in confusion. Unknown to both Olivia and Mabel, the section of wall bounded by paint at the head of the stairs had begun to fall away -- and Eliza stood at its head, her nude body swaying and gesticulating like a woman mad. Syllables spilled out of her lips like water in the Manor's opulent garden fountains, to the confusion and horror -- yet fascination and titilation -- of the crowd of addled, excited bodies.

"Kha! Iath nyu vara kha-va!" she chants, her voice just barely rising above the chorus of ecstasy around her. "Ma xura cala-al n'varah! NHA YYDROTH!"

"ɴʜᴀ ʏʏᴅʀᴏᴛʜ."

The voice comes from no one. There is no sound; it simply resonates inside the minds of all in attendance. The lights blink out. Mabel and Olivia's bond is snapped like a frayed rubber band.

"Whuh?" Mabel stammers, strands of mixed saliva draping down her chin as she raises her head. Those not utterly lost in the trance of lovemaking were also confused, evidently; as the chasm behind the wall continued to fall away, more and more eyes found their way to Eliza -- to... Yydroth..?

Yydroth. It was her -- even those entirely oblivious to the existence of such a being knew it. The ritual had succeeded, thanks in part to the dutiful participation of Olivia and Mabel, and the Gate had drawn its first, frigid breath of the air of Earth -- and it liked what it found.

"Behold, dearest guests and disciples -- a place of true belonging."

Olivia cranes her head up and begins to pant. Her eyes are transfixed, as are most pairs in the room; it's as if they're in a trance, empty marbles gazing out of a myriad masks. Whispers filter out of the onyx gateway as it rapidly begins to fill with dazzling white stars -- and lurid shapes of pink and red.