A Room with a View

***Note--this is a continuation of the story A Room with a View. There is probably one more chapter before we catch all the way up to the vignette at the beginning of the first installment--thanks for bearing with me!***

Jenny walked through the weekend in a daze. Around the house, Heather acted like nothing had happened. It was understandable--she would have to play it cool to avoid tipping Aaron off--but it left Jenny uncertain and unnerved. In turns she felt vulnerable, not sure if her encounter had meant anything, and obsessed, not caring what it meant but desperately wanting more. Finally after lunch on Sunday Aaron announced he was off to rugby practice ("so that's where he gets the legs," Jenny thought). After the Toyota had revved away Heather sat down next to Jenny on the couch in the living room. She smiled.

"How are you, honey?"

"I'm... I don't know." For the second time, Jenny found herself almost compelled to reveal her thoughts to Heather, however embarrassing. "It's just--does this mean I have to leave?"

Heather looked at her warmly. "Oh baby, no." Her eyes widened a tick. "You don't want to leave, do you?"

"No! No, I just... I just feel like I wasn't supposed to do that."

"The part where you watched your mom's friend have sex or the part where you made her cum three times?" Something about the way Heather said it made it seem like the funniest joke Jenny had ever heard. She burst out laughing, and Heather joined in. For a minute they sat snickering; whenever one seemed to recover, with a snort the other would send them both cackling. Jenny's abs hurt by the time they regained their composure.

Heather did her best impression of a serious face. "Look, Jenny, you're an adult. I'm an adult. If you don't feel good about this, there's no problem and it stops now. I'll always love you and you'll always have a place here." Heather paused for a beat. "But you will have to stop fingering yourself in my closet."

"Oh that's mean." The laughter had relaxed Jenny, and she was feeling better than she had in two days. "Auntie Heather, I don't want to stop. But is it really OK? What about Aaron?"

"I love Aaron, and he would just die if I slept with another man. But he knows I feel like a fling with a girl from time to time, and, well, he's very comfortable with it."

"Does he know about me? About me and you, I mean?"

"No--" Heather paused and gave a sly smile. "Well, not yet."

"You can't tell him!" Jenny picked up a throw pillow and shook it menacingly. "How could I look him in the face!"

"OK, OK, it's our secret. Should we talk about how this is going to work?" Jenny nodded. "Well, I'm happy to keep putting on a show for you on Fridays. I know Aaron's enjoying the attention--you wouldn't believe how nice he's been all weekend. And he really is supposed to be working from home, so it should be pretty safe for us to spend some time together afterward."

"I'd like that," said Jenny. She scooted over next to Heather so that their legs were touching and donned a doe-eyed expression. "Is that--is that the only time we'll get?"

Heather raised her eyebrows. "My goodness Jenny! I'd almost forgotten how horny teenage girls are." She looked thoughtfully at Jenny, then down at her watch. "We have an hour before Aaron gets back, and I need to take care of something in the kitchen." She looked back to Jenny with an air of command. "Go upstairs to our room. I'll be up in fifteen minutes. I want to find you wearing your cutest underwear--only your cutest underwear--on my bed. Go!"

Jenny didn't need to be told twice. She scampered upstairs to her room and pondered over her underwear drawer. She hadn't brought anything particularly risqué with her to college--in truth, she didn't own anything particularly risqué--but she eventually settled on a baby-blue and white striped string bikini and a dark blue bra.

Looking in the cheap mirror she'd hung from the back of the door, she turned to admire her silhouette. Back home Jenny had tried to cultivate a bit of a "sexy nerd" persona, and although the project wasn't an unalloyed success she still thought she had the body for it. Nothing about her screamed bombshell, but she had enough of a butt to get noticed in yoga pants and could muster enough cleavage to distract a boy when she wanted to. (In fairness, Jenny admitted to herself, it didn't take much.) Jenny's favorite feature, though, was her emerald green eyes--her mother's eyes. In her more confident moments she thought they gave her face a touch of mystery, magic even.

Glancing back down to her outfit, she thought she'd done pretty well under the circumstances. "I am cute," she said to herself. What captured it best was "innocent," and Jenny had a feeling Heather would like that.

Jenny killed another couple of minutes trying out poses and giving herself little caresses in the mirror--on a whim she smacked her butt, and instantly regretted it as a faint red spot appeared just below the seam of her underwear. With nothing left to do and five minutes left, she walked across the hall and stepped softly into Heather and Aaron's room for the second time that weekend. She made her way confidently enough to the bed, but after sitting down she found she couldn't decide how to arrange herself to greet Heather. She tried curling up--too sleepy--lying on her side--too Kate Winslet--and even lying flat on her back with her legs vulgarly spread. ("Imagine if Aaron walked in," she thought with a giggle.)

"There in a minute, dear." Heather's voice seemed to come from inside Jenny's head again. "Damn, how does she do that?" Jenny wondered, sitting up and swiveling her head to see where Heather could be concealed. But there was no one else--Jenny assumed it must just be the acoustics in the old house.

Jenny had just enough time to scoot to the corner of the bed before the door opened slowly, and so it was that Heather found her lissome plaything sitting demurely with her knees together, hands folded in her lap, guilelessly returning Heather's gaze. Heather worked hard to conceal the jolt of adrenaline that seemed to reverberate through her body. She strode up to Jenny and caressed her cheek. "Wow, babe. You did follow directions. Stand up for me."

Almost meekly, Jenny slid off the bed and onto her feet. "Turn around, slowly," Heather continued commandingly. In any other setting Jenny would have felt stupid shuffling around in her underwear in broad daylight, but during the minutes of anticipation her self-consciousness had fallen away. In the moment, she was aware of herself only as a softly trembling body that needed to be touched, needed to be loved, needed to be fucked. When Heather's fingers brushed her thigh she buckled slightly at the waist and thrust forward vainly against the air.

"You're beautiful, Jenny." Heather was behind her, running her hands over Jenny's hips, then up her stomach to softly cup Jenny's breasts. The next command was "take your panties off," and with hooked thumbs and a wriggle Jenny complied. Heather pushed Jenny back on the bed and, having fallen badly behind the nearly naked girl lying in front of her, stripped to her own underwear and climbed over her. They kissed passionately. Heather's breasts rubbed softly against Jenny's, and then Heather purposely retreated to the foot of the bed, knelt down, and guided Jenny's legs apart.

Jenny's first thought was to be glad she'd shaved--she'd decided to copy Heather, in fact, keeping a broad triangle on her mound but shaving her lips smooth. Her second thought was really just a stifled scream as she felt Heather's tongue for the first time. Jenny had had a couple of boyfriends who'd gone down on her--it was always a quid pro quo--but they didn't have a chance in comparison with Heather. It didn't hurt that Jenny was already as aroused as she had been in her life.

The first orgasm came within seconds. With the initial tension discharged, Heather let the next one build longer, keeping Jenny on the edge of ecstasy for fully ten minutes. The climax when it came seared across her nervous system like a branding iron. When Jenny had recovered the strength to raise her head, she found Heather resting her chin on the unshaved patch of hair and grinning at her. "This is cute, by the way." Heather ran her hand over Jenny's mound. "Now, would you like to try on me?"

Jenny started to say "yes," but she had trouble forming the word and pivoted to a vigorous nod. Heather grabbed Jenny's leg and tugged herself onto the bed, coming to rest with her back propped up by a pillow. Jenny lay on her stomach with her legs bent at the knee and nestled her head between Heather's thighs. She glanced up at Heather, who nodded reassuringly, and began exploring Heather's lips with her tongue. Jenny would have lost herself in the novelty--the subtle, intoxicating taste, the smooth intricacy, the slippery silken texture of Heather's wetness against her face. But Heather kept her focused with instructions, gentle at first, then brusquer. And it was not long until Jenny felt Heather's firm grip pulling her in, and Heather let out a scream that Jenny swore rattled the blown-glass windows.

After a moment Heather reached down and lifted Jenny's chin with two fingers. "Thanks, babe. You did great. Come up here." Jenny scooted up the bed and nestled her head above Heather's breasts. Heather was still breathing hard. They lay there in silence for five minutes, until Heather glanced again at her watch. "Well, unless you want to spill the beans to Aaron, we'd better get going." She stroked Jenny's hair. "Get yourself dressed. I've got something special planned for Friday. Oh, and other than our rendezvous on Friday, no more snooping." Heather's face had turned serious. "Not every secret is as harmless as the one you stumbled upon, sweet girl."

***

Sharing the house with Heather (and Aaron, for that matter) still meant that poor Jenny had to live in a state of near-constant arousal, but after the weekend's events she felt more relaxed. Heather and Aaron, it turned out, were really lovely outside the bedroom, too: they took Jenny on hikes and introduced her to little coffee shops in Port Gladstone; they included her as they bantered at the dinner table and as the drowsily binged Netflix shows in the evening. Jenny's parents had divorced when she was eleven, and living with a couple who seemed to really like each other felt almost cathartic. Jenny still worried sometimes that crossing--and re-crossing--lines with Heather would bring the whole idyllic scene crashing down. But Heather seemed to know what she was doing, and Jenny didn't want to stop. "I'm just their pet, but lots of people have pets," Jenny thought to herself. And Jenny felt cared for.

The following Wednesday ("T-minus-2" in Jenny's internal countdown) Jenny came home from the research station at around 5 to find Heather and two of her friends sitting with a bottle of wine around the dining table.

"Jenny, let me introduce my friends Linda and Monica. We've known each other since high school."

The taller of the two, a fit blonde with a ponytail, let out a soft snort. "Yeah, since before Heather was a teen mom. I'm Monica." She waved cheerily as Heather rolled her eyes.

"And I'm Linda." A woman with dark red hair and what looked like a pretty good nose job stuck a hand across the table. So you're the Jenny we've heard so much about?"

With a jolt of anxiety, Jenny glanced at Heather, who met her gaze and shook her head "no."

"That's me, I guess," said Jenny. "So what did Heather tell you?"

"Only that you're cute as a button and you spend your days riding dolphins at the marine institute," said Monica.

"About right. Actually I send most of my time these days chasing seals, but"--she weighed her joke for the briefest interval--"but it beats catching crabs."

"Ooh, we're going to get along just fine," Linda exclaimed. "You've got something in common with Monica here--when we were kids she spent a summer in San Diego chasing SEALs, although I think she actually did catch crabs."

Heather held her hands up as Monica guffawed. "OK, OK, you dirty old women. I'm sorry, Jenny, you should know that these two are decent, god-fearing women before you get a glass of wine in them. Speaking of which, care for a splash?" Jenny didn't drink much, but she'd taken to having the fifth glass when Heather and Aaron shared a bottle at dinner, and in any event it was very hard to say no to Heather. Soon she was laughing along with the three women as they traded high school stories about clueless boyfriends, daring bedroom escapes, and skinny dipping in the (frigid) ocean.

After about forty-five minutes, Jenny began to feel drowsy. She thought it must just be the wine after a long day on the water, but whatever she did she couldn't seem to power through. Eventually she had to excuse herself--less sophisticatedly than she would have if she weren't yawning--and found she had just barely enough energy to make it up the stairs and collapse on the bed.

It was dark when Jenny woke up. In the old house, fifty miles from anything resembling a city, that meant pitch dark. It was a moonless night, and the thin, flickering pinpricks from ships transiting the strait were all she could see out her window.

Jenny fumbled for her phone and tapped the screen. It was two o'clock. She was feeling more and more alert--she must have slept soundly for eight hours. She lay in bed for a few minutes before concluding she wouldn't fall back asleep anytime soon. Just as she started to cast around in her mind for something to do, she heard a muffled thud from outside her window. She hopped out of bed to look, but all she could see were the faint lights on the strait. She was about to feel her way back to bed when she heard a clink of metal and a slow creak. She peered back out--still nothing. Pressing her ear against the windowpane, she thought for a moment she heard the sound of something dragging, like a stick being pulled across sand at the beach. Then there was one more creak--she heard this one most clearly of all. For all the world it sounded like a door whose hinges someone had neglected to oil.

Jenny kept her ear pressed against the window until the cool glass had nearly numbed it, but there was no more sound.

She ran through a list of possibilities in her head--there were raccoons, bears, coyotes, but none of them could open doors. Maybe Aaron had spent the night out--he hadn't been home when he fell asleep--but she would have heard his truck, and in the pitch dark headlights would have lit up the bluff like a searchlight. That left burglars--but who would drive for an hour just to break into a slightly shabby looking house in the middle of nowhere?

Jenny thought about waking Aaron and Heather, but even the idea made her feel childish. Still, she was restless, and there was a mystery. She carefully opened her door and, still wearing her socks, slid silently out into the hall.

The house really was pitch dark. From memory, Jenny reached out and found the banister on the staircase. She held it with an outstretched right arm as she clung to the right side of the staircase, against the wall--the structure was sounder on that side, and her steps were quieter. Eventually she made the living room. Here at least there was the soft green dial on the old DVD player, but nothing seemed out of place.

As she turned to creep toward the kitchen, something registered in the corner of her right eye. Turning back into the hall, she saw a faint glow emanating from what must be a small door she hadn't noticed under the stairs. She pressed her ear against the door; she heard nothing, but some hyperacute sense she couldn't name felt something--there was something alive behind the door. Groping around the edges, her hand slid across a discreet metal latch. The mechanism yielded, and the simple plank of the door popped out far enough that she could pull it open with her fingertips.

Jenny ducked through and found herself at the top of a stone stairway. The walls were illuminated by shifting yellow light. Jenny thought she heard a low, rhythmic hum--it sounded like voices. She stepped gingerly down the stairs into the basement she hadn't realized existed.

On the last step, Jenny paused and crouched low against the wall to her right. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Slowly, she leaned to her left until she could see around the corner.

Jenny would never forget what she saw. The basement was open and unfinished, with rough wooden posts ringed by the house's foundation walls. The light came from a rough circle of tall candlesticks arranged around the edge of the room, each burning three thick candles. In the middle of room there was a table that looked like it was made of stone. It was an altar, maybe, or--Jenny flinched--a tomb. Crouching, Jenny couldn't see the top, but in the candlelight she saw the unmistakable shape of human feet protruding off the slab. They weren't moving.

But Jenny was most shocked by what was moving. Inside the ring of candles, three women in heavy white robes were solemnly circling the altar. The chanting was unmistakable now, although Jenny couldn't make out the words. One of the figures rounded a corner to face Jenny and entered a patch of candlelight. With horror, Jenny recognized Linda. Behind her, a taller figure stepped with measured tread into the light. It was Monica.

Crouching against the wall, Jenny steeled herself for what was coming next. She maintained paralyzed silence when Heather's face came into view, biting her tongue and repeating "oh God, oh my God" in her head. As though she'd heard, Heather's eyes shot up--she'd fixed Jenny in her gaze. Heather's face contorted in a mix of fear and fury. Heather continued softly chanting, but Jenny heard her voice in her head again, this time full of power and rage: "Go! NOW!"

Jenny's paralysis broke. She scrambled wildly back up the stairs on all fours, bruising her knees. Pushing open the door, she shot out into the living room, swung herself around the post at the bottom of the main staircase and charged up to her room three steps at a time. Her mind reeling, Jenny slapped on the lights, slammed the door shut and dove onto her bed.

"What was that?" she asked aloud, still trembling. "What the hell was that?" It seemed for all the world like Heather was in a cult--complete with robes, incantations, and apparently even a dead guy. Jenny was scared and outraged. Her thoughts turned to her own position--what would happen to her? Was she safe? She contemplated running, but there was nowhere to go, and who knew what dangers lay waiting in the night.

As Jenny lay on the bed, she also felt a twinge of guilt. "She warned me," she said aloud. "Oh shit, she warned me." The thing she had dreaded had happened--she had ruined everything. No, she thought the next minute, Heather had ruined everything. Fear, anger, and guilt mixed disorderedly in her mind, mingling, as she grew a bit calmer, with curiosity. "What was that?"

Jenny was still lost in thought when the door opened. Heather stood there--alone, it seemed--in a plain cotton nightgown. Startled, Jenny pulled the covers up to her neck and cowered. For a moment they looked at each other, Jenny uncertain and fearful, and Heather still plainly furious.

Jenny started to form a question, but Heather seemed to read her mind and cut her off. "No questions. Up."

Jenny wanted to run--or to scream--but instead she found herself obediently swinging her legs off the bed to stand in front of Heather. She thought she could feel the air vibrating with anger as Heather walked slowly around her.

"You cannot begin to understand how serious this is, Jenny.' Heather's voice was authoritative, but somehow raw, lacking the sense of consummate control she'd exuded when they made love. "I warned you! Did you think I was joking?"