This is the second instalment of my sexy haunted house story. For context I suggest starting with Chapter One.
I hope you enjoy.
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Chapter Two
I had no real way of telling how long I slept there in that strange room in that strange house. It was black darkness when I collapsed into the bed and faded away into nothingness, and it was still dark when I woke.
I rubbed my eyes, confused. It took me some moments to remember where I was. I did not recognize the bed I was in, nor the pajamas I was wearing. I looked around baffled until the memories of the night before flooded in.
They were impossible to believe. A see through woman fucking me. A hallway that seemed to never end. A sexy maid with my cock in her mouth, an old man's cock in her cunt, the two of us men cumming simultaneously. It was like a disturbing sex dream.
By the time I had pulled myself out of bed into the dark room I had half convinced myself it had all been strange dreams. I must have, I thought to myself, fallen asleep, chilled and wet from the walk in the rain and fallen into some kind of fever sleep. My sickness fueled my strange dreams.
I stood and shivered. The room was cold, the floor felt like ice under my feet. I noticed some slippers under the bed and pushed my feet into them. I also saw a dressing gown hanging off the end of the bed and pulled it over my shoulders. I crossed over to the window that was currently covered by thick, dark crimson velvet curtains. I pulled them aside and peered outside, hoping to see sunny skies.
I was disappointed.
The sky, while lighter than it had been in the depths of the night, was still dark, thick clouds pouring rain down onto the mountainside forest outside of my window. The storm had not let up at all and had, in fact, somehow worsened.
I sighed. This was less than ideal. My trip to the west was going to be further delayed. I looked at my phone and saw that I still had no bars so no contact with the outside world or my wife.
The thought of her made me wince, remembering what had transpired the night before. I shook my head. It had not really happened anyway, I tried to convince myself.
I realized that I was hungry. No matter how strange this house was I needed to get myself some breakfast. Then I would find the handyman that NicolasC the decrepit old butler had promised would help me with my car.
I went to open the door to my bedroom and was relieved that it opened easily. This made me more confident that the strange things from the night before, the door that wouldn't open while I was being sexually attacked by a ghost, did not actually happen.
Still, my ankle was sore and slightly swollen, so I guessed that while some of the night before was imagined, the trip on the stairs had actually happened. But, I figured, it had been my clumsiness and not some malevolent specter that had caused the accident.
The hall was much like I remembered from the previous night. Lanterns lined it, burning kerosene. The power, I supposed, must still be out.
I walked towards the back of the building like the night before. The paintings still became progressively more risqué as I went down the hall, just like I remembered, but the passage did not play it's fun house games. As I walked I was able to reach the end. I unclenched fists that I didn't realize that I had formed my hands into.
The stairs at the end led down and no ghost tried to push me. I saw that the stairs led downwards, into a basement, I supposed. The thought of a dark cellar under this creepy old house made me shiver and I quickly pushed into the kitchen.
I was met by the warmth of a working kitchen with the smell of cooking bacon and brewing coffee. I smiled at that, the most friendly sensation I had felt since arriving at Hart House.
At first I did not notice anyone else around but the sound of a pan banging into the stove made me look over in that direction. There was a woman working at the stove, frying eggs and bacon. She had not seemed to notice me yet so I took a moment to watch her.
Part of me was slightly disappointed to see that it was not Annabelle, the sexy maid who, in my dreams, I had face fucked while the old man, Nicolas, had used her cunt. Annabelle oozed sex. Her breasts were pert and full, spilling out of top, her stomach trim and her ass was a lovely handful. This woman, however, was not so bad to look at either.
I would have guessed her age at 27-35. Obviously not as young as Annabelle, but she had taken care of herself. Her long, brown hair was pulled up on top of her head in a loose bun, a few strands hanging down onto her sweaty brow. She wore a simple blouse, enough buttons undone to show some cleavage, but not so much that someone would call it risque, and a knee length black skirt. Over this all a white apron that, other than a few food splatters, looked clean.
Her face was roundish, with full, lipstick-free lips, brown eyes and long dark lashes. It was not a face that would turn a head in a crowd but it was pleasant to look at. She was curvy. She had a full bosom that moved under the blouse and apron, making it clear to me that she was not wearing a bra. Her waist was not the most trim, but with her largish ass, it formed a nice hourglass shape, hugged by the fabric of her skirt. She was shorter than me, the top of her head coming up to about my nose, I estimated from across the room.
Finally she seemed to sense that I was looking at her and she looked up at me. Her face broke into a smile and she reached over the coffee urn, warming on the stove top.
"Come in," she called, her voice holding a slight southern twang. "Come in and sit down here. I heard we had a new gentleman guest and I was just here hoping that he would come down and get some coffee and here you are! Strange things! Come sit! What's your name? Mine is Tracy. Sit. Sit!"
Her words tumbled out in a lilting string, the southern twang reminding me of water babbling over rocks in a shallow stream. It was the first really welcoming thing I heard since arriving at Hart House and it made me smile.
I crossed the warm kitchen to the table, briefly remembering my dream and Annabelle's mouth wrapped around my cock, eyes begging me to cum in her, and sat in the same place as the night before. The memory alone was enough to start to awaken desire in me and i was glad that I had both the dressing gown and the table over my lap to keep me from being embarrassed.
"Good morning," I said. "I'm Drew. It's nice to meet you. Thank you for the coffee." I took a sip and the dark liquid warmed me from the inside. It was really very good and I told Tracy that.
"Well," she said, grinning. "I thank you for that, sugar. I do pride myself on making a good pot of coffee. I grind the beans myself. The mistress does like her coffee and she taught me herself how she wanted it brewed."
She made a plate of breakfast food and brought it over to me, placing it down in front of me. The smells of bacon and toast made my stomach rumble and I glanced up to thank her. As my eyes swung up I could not help but have them linger on the cleavage on display. The dark channel between her full breasts pulled at my eyes and attention. Visions of me tearing the blouse open flooded my mind. In my imagination I scooped her breasts out of the top, freeing them from their confines, revealing what I assumed to be brownish nipples that I would pinch and tug on. In my mind I squeezed the breasts together, spat on her cleavage and began to slide my hard cock between...
I shook my head and pulled my eyes away from her chest, looking up sheepishly, embarrassed of myself. I was far too old to be thinking like a rutting teenager, and far too married to be entertaining these ideas. Tracy, however, did not seem to notice, or if she did, she did not seem to mind.
