The Cellar

BEWARE: THIS STORY CONTAINS THEMES OF SEX AND HUMILIATION.

This story is a complete work of fiction, and all character references have only coincidental similarity with any real person either living or dead.

Remember the difference between fantasy and reality is as fundamental as the difference between right and wrong.

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On the wall of Harold Weston’s main bar was a picture of his favourite niece.

Harold, or Harry as his family and friends knew him, was the Uncle of Fiona Weston. Harry loved Fiona like an Uncle should, but he knew what the regulars at his pub, the Dog and Gun in Walthamstow East of London, thought about her. More than once he had to remind them that she was his niece as he overheard their conversations of what they could, should and would do to her given half the chance.

Harry had never dreamed of the effect him being related to “little Fi” would have on his pub. He had found that in the last few years, since she had developed into the gorgeous creature she was today, his increased custom had built up largely due to the fact that he was related to her. He sometimes thought that his customers came in simply on the off chance that they might just see her, but mostly he gratefully accepted the increased trade and got on with it without thinking too much.

Others though, the ones who came most regularly to drink at the Dog and Gun, knew that sometimes, maybe seven or eight times a year, Fiona would stay at her Uncle’s pub and help out behind the bar. Whilst most of the time she was no where to be seen there was always the chance that she would be there, pulling their beer in all of her glory.

This particular evening had been one of those occasions.

*************************************************

“Come on ladies and gentlemen, time to go please.”

Harry had been trying to clear his pub for the last half an hour. Outside a taxi waited to take him and his wife, Fiona’s Auntie Freda, to Napoleon’s casino. He liked a flutter did Uncle Harry and those places never got going until late so he was more comfortable making sure the pub was cleared before he left.

Fiona stood at one end of the bar and laughed heartily.

“Go on Uncle Harry, you know that I can lock up, it’s really not a problem.”

“You’re a good girl Fi, you really are,” he said as he kissed her cheek. The last of his customers had now filed out onto the pavements outside the pub and Harry and Freda soon followed.

“Goodnight love,” shouted Auntie Freda, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Night, night,” replied Fiona. She would be sound asleep, enjoying her break from the rigors of everyday life when they returned.

Fiona moved to a table with a couple of the day’s newspapers. She opened the front page of the Mail when a voice startled her almost into heart failure.

“Oh love, I forgot to ask, could you change the bitter barrel for me? You’re a darling.”

“Yes Uncle Harry of course, now get yourselves off otherwise it’ll be time to come home before you get there.”

Fiona stood up and went to the bar. There was a pot of hot coffee on the boil and she poured herself a steaming cup. The fresh smell of the beans relaxed her. It had been a busy night and she was always called upon to combine the tasks of pulling the drinks with a little idle chatter.

She knew her Uncle liked her to dress up and please the customers so she tried to wear moderately sexy clothes and keep them happy. Tonight had been very warm and so she had worn even less than usual and at one stage, when she caught the eye of a young man standing at the bar roving down her low neck T-shirt to her braless breasts, Fiona had thought about going to change her clothes. But she soon reflected that if that was as bad as it got she could live with it. After all she was helping his trade, and Uncle Harry had always been good to her.

Fiona walked back to her seat and setting down the cup she took a sip from the coffee. It was a pain in the backside having to change the beer barrel but she knew that it would make life easier for her Uncle tomorrow. She glanced at her watch, 11:40, almost midnight.

The lovely young girl brushed back her blonde locks as she dragged herself up from the table and made her way across the wooden floor of the main public bar towards the beer cellar steps. As she walked she glanced about, as if anxious someone else might be around. It was a big old pub, and, whilst she would never have told her Uncle this, being alone there made Fiona nervous. She looked down at her legs as the chill of the night air filtered back into the room now that the customers had left. Goose pimples began to appear making Fiona shiver and she thought to herself that her brief skirt might actually be a little inappropriate for this trip to the cellar, the short hem threatening to expose more and more thigh with every step. She hugged her folded arms to her body in an attempt to warm herself, wondering momentarily if it might be wise to get a torch before heading off.

The entrance was a narrow doorway, the sign informing everyone; 'Cellar – Staff Only' hung at an odd angle. Fiona looked back into the large room behind her feeling even more unsettled now. She opened the door and stepped through onto the landing at the top of the steep, stone stairs. A single naked bulb, poised to shed some light on the surroundings, waited to be switched on. It was dark inside, and she groped along the wall for a light switch. When she flicked it on, she thought for a moment that it wasn't working. Then there was a flash, and another, and the bulb came to life, emitting a low buzz.

“Anybody home?” Fiona called apprehensively leaning into the dimly lit entrance. “Only the ghosts,” she laughed nervously to herself.

She started to descend the stairs. The air became even colder moving up Fiona’s bare legs and seeping through her thin T-shirt. Her goose bumps developed goose bumps. She made each step gently, feeling her way down the uneven stone of the staircase trying to set her heel against the down slab of the previous step to make sure she didn’t trip.

At the foot of the stairway Fiona stopped. The floor became wood again and a rickety floorboard creaked under her weight. She jumped. Fiona moved her head stiffly around, studying the darkness, as the benefit of the single light bulb faded more and more.

“You must sort this out Uncle Harry,” she spoke to herself as if trying to calm her rising fear.

Fiona made out two old doorways framing large wooden doors and she couldn’t remember which one contained the beer barrels and pump supply.

“Eeny, meeny,” she started to guess at which door was the right one.

“Oh grow up Fiona,” she said to herself. Reaching out she took the doorknob of the door to her left and twisted. It moved and creaked open like the door would in a horror movie. Fiona gulped at the cold air, her skin now really chilly, and moved carefully forward.

Somewhere in the room before her a board squeaked. With a shriek Fiona whipped her head round and stared back out towards the staircase. She gazed into the blackness for a long time afraid to move a muscle.

“Get a grip,” she whispered, and moved further into the room. Just then a small electric candlelight flickered into life on the wall opposite to where the door was giving off a small amount of light.

“Oh shit, wrong room.”

Fiona turned to go but the door slammed shut in her face.

“No, what the …” Fiona was now getting scared. She rushed to the door and frantically twisted the knob trying to release the catch. It was locked, but how? Panicking she pounded the door.

“Help me, help somebody. I’m locked down here. Help me!”

But she was greeted with silence. There was no one there; of course, she was alone and stuck in the cellars of this big old pub.

She heard another high-pitched creak of wood, as if someone was creeping towards her. This thought raised a quiet whimper in Fiona’s throat.

“H…h…hello,” she stammered, but she received no reply. “Shit.” She stated simply, “shit, shit, shit!” What could she do now?

Just at that moment the light went out. Fiona yelped. She lent against the wall to steady herself and gazed into the pitch black of the room. She couldn’t even see the door anymore; nothing was visible in the darkness. Fiona waited for her sight to adjust but the blackness just got even more pitch.

“I’ve got to move somewhere, anywhere to search for a door or an opening,” she had taken to talking to herself again to calm her fear. Fiona tried to walk but her feet wouldn’t budge.

“What, the f…?” she questioned. Her shoes were stuck in what appeared to be dried cement. How had that happened? Her bottom lip began to quiver as tears welled up in her eyes. This was getting crazy. Slipping her feet out of the shoes Fiona stepped forward trying to allow some room in order to avoid any other soft, quick drying substances that may be present. She was back on the wooden floor, and standing a little steadier.

The old wood was cold against the flesh of her bare feet. Feeling more comfortable backing up, Fiona moved in reverse to where she thought the wall would be.

“Ouch, shit!” she exclaimed. A rough jutting piece of wood sticking out from somewhere had scraped up her back. Moving her hand around Fiona felt the wood and the resultant long tear in her T-shirt. She winced as she felt the scratch and was sure that she could feel a sticky liquid.

“I’m bleeding, that’s all I need,” she muttered.

Fiona made to move forward, but found herself stopped by the wood. It had snagged her top and become caught. She pulled but it stayed put.

“You’re very nice.”

She spun round to face the voice. No one. No one she could see anyway.

“Leave me alone, please,” she begged,” whoever you are leave me alone.”

The stretching cotton fabric of her T-shirt finally gave way and ripped down the back. Fiona stumbled into the darkness losing her footing and falling to her knees. She was very, very scared. The loose flaps of material hung at her side and she felt the cold chill on the exposed skin of her back. She was still blinded by the darkness.

“Ah, little Fiona,” the voice came again. She knelt still, not daring to move, her whole body trembling with fear. Then, slowly but very surely, she felt a touch on her skin. A shape, a hand like shape rubbed over her left breast, cupping it, squeezing as if to test its firmness, flicking the nipple which was already solidly erect due mainly to the state of her mind and the biting cold of the room.

“I want to taste you,” the voice sounded once more.

Fiona cried out.

“No! Get off me,” she yelled as she scrambled away from the groping touch.

Silence. Had it been real? Her left nipple was still very erect. It must have been.

She sobbed, quietly but definitely, to herself. She scuttled sideward until she found what was the corner of the room. Fiona felt a little more assured with the solid walls covering two of her sides. She began to cry openly. Gone were the quiet sobs to be replaced by long streams of dripping tears. She didn’t want to cry but her mind was confused.

“Uncle Harry,” she whimpered, “please come home.”

Then she was pushed. A real shove on her chest forced Fiona’s back and head against the wall. She felt something slip under her torn top and cup her breast. She moved to beat it away but there was nothing to beat. Then she felt a touch on her thigh.

“Noooooo!” Fiona yelled and then the water fell.

“Arrrgghhh,” she cried out. She was soaked. A river of freezing cold water had fallen from above and soaked her through.

“Shit,” she shivered as the cold bit even deeper now into her skin. Her T-shirt was plastered to her like a second skin, her stiff nipples poking though the nearly transparent material. Fiona shivered uncontrollably, water dripping from her hair and off her chin and nose. She really didn’t want to but she knew that the shirt would need to come off if she was to calm down and begin to dry out.

With trembling fingers Fiona took hold of the wet material and peeled it from her body. She was able to pull it forward and away from her due to the lack of fabric at the back. Standing up she dropped the T-shirt to the floor and water streamed down her body. Her gorgeous, naked breasts were slick with the ice-cold liquid. Ridiculously Fiona moved to cover her chest with folded arms despite the fact that there was no one with her. Only was there someone with her?

Silence. She waited. For what, she didn’t know. Water still dripped from her. A freezing reminder of the predicament she was in. Then Fiona felt it again. It was a slow, insistent stroke that crept up her legs massaging her bare flesh. She jumped out of her skin, shocked to the core. The feeling stopped. She still struggled to see but could clearly feel that the water had been dried on the lower part of her body where the hand - was it a hand - had been.

Fiona’s breath was ragged now. She was cold, half naked and being subjected to a supernatural experience that scared her out of her wits.

“Let me out of here!” she screamed sinking to the old, wooden floor once more.

“Whoooooosh!” a blast of air rushed at her. The heat of the blast took Fiona by surprise. It was like a hairdryer only much stronger. She was forced to stand again and in no time her skin was dry. This was crazy. Then the old light flickered once then twice and then came back on. Fiona stood dressed only in her skirt. Her knickers, which of course had not been exposed to the warm air, were still damp around her thighs. The blast of air blew her golden locks into a stunning, long mass of wild hair as the tall beautiful girl stood in the old cellar. Tears still streamed down her cheeks as her comprehension of what was happening became less and less.

She glanced around the room. There was no way out that she could see, but then the dull light still offered very little sight to her.

“You’re a nice one, a very nice one.” The voice came again as the airflow stopped.

“No, please, leave me alone,” Fiona begged, backing up once more towards the relative safety of the wall. With her palms flat against the old, peeling plaster she looked frantically around the dimly lit space in front of her.

Then the blast of air came again. Fiona moved off to her right away from the light. The heat followed her chasing her around the room. The bulb flickered and then it went out again.

“Oh shit.”

Fiona froze. The touch violated her once more. She felt a stomach-churning fear at how easily she was being groped. In a voice hoarse with terror she offered up her final pleas. She felt the shiver reach her thighs and move underneath the short loose fitting skirt, which was easily lifted. Fiona groaned as she felt her thong being pulled down until it stretched tight between her thighs. She couldn’t move. Her whole body was rigid but her mind registered everything in finite detail.

The lovely girl whimpered as she felt the touch of ghostly fingers slide up her thigh and into the warmth at the top. Expertly her lips were parted and the horrific digits zoomed in on her clitoris. Just a brief touch at first and then the length of the shape itself impaled her sliding upwards like a knife through butter.

The thing explored every inch of Fiona slowly. Carefully probing with two apparent fingers, parting them inside, then twisting and clenching them, sensitising every nerve ending in her pussy until the first fluttering of an orgasm began to build. At last the ghostly groping went back to her clit and flicked at it as before. She hated this. She was confused and very, very scared, but she responded, to a pleasure so intense that it was almost painful. Fiona stood there, transfixed gasping, pushing up with her hips to grinding harder and harder until she came in the most humiliating, embarrassing and glorious manner.

Her knees buckled and she fell to the ground. She was speechless and her throat was dry. Slowly she watched as the material of her thong was taken, as if in an unseen fist, and pulled until it ripped away from her legs. She was completely mesmerized as the wispy black material dropped to the ground. An unseen force pushed her to the floor.

She tried to scream but nothing came out.

“"I've had enough," Fiona whined. "Please let me go!" Her stomach churned with fear and apprehension. Slowly she felt the strange sensation creep up the underside of her silky thigh.

“Aaaah…” she groaned throwing her head back onto the wooden floor as her ethereal assailant gradually, inch by agonising inch, bunched her brief skirt up to her slim waist. The touch moved under her body to the curve of her bottom. Fiona clenched her teeth, and blinked back tears of pain and desperation. The invisible hands burned into her sensitive flesh and bit into the pink lips between her legs, still damp from the previous orgasm.

“Very good my pretty one.” She heard the eerie voice once more. Then the touch was more insistent from something more solid and much larger.

“No,” Fiona moaned when she realised she was going to be fucked, “Please.”

She felt her hips raised slightly by the imperceptible force. Her thighs and bottom were already throbbing painfully. She felt the object touch her groin and she groaned as it slid purposefully and definitely into her, stretching and filling her totally.

Fiona was held firm; she could feel the ghostly weight on top of her as the spectre ground its translucent body against her making her grunt with every thrust. Her naked breasts appeared squashed as the phallic shape pumped into her. Fiona once more found her pleasure building. She whimpered and sighed as the shape worked inside her. The feeling of repulsion and horror was momentarily replaced by genuine lust. The fucking went on for several minutes until Fiona felt compelled to close her eyes as the force between her thighs became even greater. She came for the second time humping and grinding at her unseen lover, finally coming to rest, spent once more.

But, it didn’t stop, the piston like pumping continued relentlessly, and now it was painful. Fiona spread her thighs wider to make access to her easier but it didn’t stop the agony. Her nipples were as stiff as bullets as she felt them kneaded roughly by the powerful force that now raped her endlessly. She tried to accommodate the spirit shaft but it swamped her. The thing fucked her like she was a doll. It shoved hard and then she felt something wet dribbling down her thighs.

The ghost had come.

“Stop, please stop.” She pleaded.

But it didn’t. Despite releasing its phantom seed into her, the barrage of abuse continued.

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” she groaned as the, still solid, ghoulish member shagged her as hard as ever.

The last thing Fiona saw was a strange swirl of grey mist as she lost her responsiveness and gave way to a welcome, dark, unconscious relief.

***********************************************************

“No Uncle Harry, please no, don’t! Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.” Fiona cried as Harry took her legs in his palms, pushed them apart and entered her roughly.

“I’ve wanted this for years Fi,” he gloated.

Fiona gripped the metal strips of the headboard and, through the tears in her eyes, glanced at the clock. Despite the pounding between her thighs she noticed the time.

“Brrringggggg,” the alarm rang out shrilly.

Reaching out Fiona idly slammed down on the catch shutting the alarm up mid ring.

Closing her eyes again she crashed back down onto the bed.

“Morning love,” came a voice from outside her door.

“Morning Uncle Harry.” She replied tiredly.

“I hope you didn’t have too many of my spirits inside you before you went to bed you little minx,” laughed Uncle Harry.

“What!” Fiona felt a sharp twist of remembrance enter her mind’s eye.