The spooky season always brings me back to this little, sexy ghost story. Unfortunately, it will be published after Halloween but, I think it still stands as something worth reading. I hope you like this installment. I think I am finally getting close to the end of it.
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Pt 4.
I didn't know what time of day it was but I was hungry. I headed into the kitchen and looked in sheepishly. I did not want to have another encounter with Tracy. She was not there but there was a plate on the stove with foil over it. I pulled the foil back and was greeted with the smell of roast beef and mashed potatoes. I wondered idly where the food came from and then decided I'd rather not know.
I quietly ate the meal alone in that kitchen and wondered where the library would be. The attic was obviously upstairs somewhere but the library? Behind a locked door? I had not examined all the main floor rooms. Maybe one of those?
I pushed the plate aside and stood, thinking I would go explore, but suddenly I felt extremely tired. The storm made it impossible to tell if it was afternoon or evening. I started walking back to my room. Maybe a nap would help me. Each step I took down that hall seemed to sap a measure of strength from me, and by the time I made it to the door of my room, I was leaning against the wall, only keeping upright through sheer force of will.
I managed to open the door and staggered towards the four post bed and fell on it without bothering to remove my clothes. Lost in the bone deep tiredness I immediately fell into a deep well of sleep.
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I was in my old house, the one my wife and I were leaving behind to start anew on the west coast. There were boxes piled up and the furniture was all in the wrong places, ready for movers to grab it and load it into a truck.
I wandered room to room, calling out my wife's name. There was no response. I walked through the living room and down the hall towards the bedroom. My voice seemed to echo off of the walls in my silent home.
I came to the door of our bedroom. It was open just a crack and I pushed on it, wincing at the squeal of un-oiled hinges as it swung open. My wife was standing there, looking out the window, her back to me.
"Rachel," I said, for some reason being very happy to see her. It felt like it had been a long time and I just wanted to see her face. For her to turn to look at me.
She did not, however, respond. I frowned.
"Rachel," I said. "It's me. I've been..." I paused. Where had I been? It felt like I had been far away but that made no sense.
Rachel continued to stare out the window and I began to cross the room to her, but paused when I heard the door of the bedroom open behind me.
I spun, and saw a woman standing there, naked. It was Annabelle and my memory came flooding back into my mind. How I had been trapped in some kind of haunted house, fucking women who seemed to be trapped there, including what seemed to be a ghost named Elisabeth Hart, mistress of the house. I remembered Nicholas, the creepy old man who claimed to be the butler but held some kind of power over the place.
"Hello, Mr. Drew," Annabelle said in her slightly husky, vaguely accented voice. It sounded slightly French, slightly Eastern European. I had been unable to place it.
Annabelle was wearing her slutty maid uniform, the bunched skirt barely covering her ass, her long legs in fishnet stockings. The top was a corset which caused her ample breasts to almost fall out of the flimsy white material. Her gorgeous face was smiling at me, her plump lips crimson, dark makeup around her eyes. Her black hair done up, with a small bonnet on top. To my dismay, my body reacted and I began to get hard for this woman in the same room as my wife.
"What the fuck," I said and spun to look at my wife. "How am I here? Why are you here, what is happening?"
Annabelle said nothing but crossed towards me and, before I could react, wrapped her arms around me, turning her face up, as if for a kiss.
"Fuck," I said, trying to step back but she held on, pinning her perfect body agaiant mine. "It's not what it looks like, Rachel," I said. "I didn't have a choice!"
Rachel continued to ignore me, facing the window. I tried to step away from Annabelle but the back of my legs hit the edge of the bed and I fell backwards onto the soft sheets.
Annabelle was fast as a viper, on her knees between my legs before I even registered that I had fallen. I opened my mouth to say stop but somehow my pants were already open and my cock disappeared into her open mouth, the wet warmth engulfing it.
I groaned as Annabelle shoved me into her throat and held me there, her tongue massaging the underside of my 7.5 inch shaft.
"Rachel," I said, weakly, to my wife's turned back, "it's not what it looks like."
My wife finally, slowly turned and my eyes widened. Her hair was exactly how I remembered it. Dark, long and wavy. Her body was the same, lithe, with smallish breasts. But her face ....
Her face was not there. Instead it was a vague blur, a flesh colored, unformed shape.
"What have you done to her face?" I asked.
Annabelle pulled my cock out of her mouth and stroked it with her soft hand beside her cheek.
"We have done nothing. This is not real. Just a dream. It is your memory that is failing you, Drew," she said before sucking me in once more.
Rachel walked towards the bed and sat on the edge, beside where I was leaned back, receiving a blowjob from Annabelle. I could not look away from the smeared mockery where her pretty face should have been. She was pretty, wasn't she? I was sure she was, though I could not form the features.
"No," I said, feeling tears forming in the corners of my eyes. "Don't take her from me! Leave me her face!"
I truly felt the loss, the despair of losing my memories, but something had changed in me over the last however long it had been at Hart House. Days? Weeks? Who could know? The form of my wife was beside me but I still found myself gripping the back of Annabelle's head and thrusting into her mouth, savoring the feeling of her expert fellatio.
Annabelle pulled me out of her mouth and stood, gripping the collar of her top and pulling it down, her perfect breasts spilling out. They were large but pert, with dark nipples. She climbed onto the bed and straddled my legs, hovering above my raging erection.
She gripped my cock, the thick shaft filling her small hand, stroking it so that the foreskin slid back and forth over the purple head, the bulbous end brushing the lips of her pussy.
"Fuuuuuck," I groaned as she slowly sank onto me, taking me inside of her.
"It will all fade away, Drew," she said. "All of it. Your wife, your life. All your memories. The house eats them. I don't remember my parents. I think they loved me."
Annabelle began to ride me, rising and lowering herself, and I watched my cock move inside her shaved pussy. I looked over at my faceless wife, who just sat on the edge of the bed, not moving, empty face looking away from me.
"All we can do," Annabelle continued, "is take what joy we can. Enjoy any pleasures that might be offered to us. I don't know if my parents truly loved me but I like to imagine they did. Will you love me? If only for this moment?"
I groaned once more, feeling lost and broken. I grabbed Annabelle's hips and thrust up with my hips while I pulled hers against me.
