House of Desire

Part 1

Christine finally ended her engagement to Robert. In fact she broke off all contact with him. She didn't hate him. She appreciated him, and he was solicitous of her. But there had been little enough fire between them, and that had long since sputtered out. What troubled her most was that he hadn't seemed to notice. They'd still slept together; they'd still fucked. But she did it from a strange vantage point, floating off in her mind, as if she were watching strangers copulating. No voyeuristic thrill compensated for this desolation. She feared that if she tried to fix things, she would break instead. So she did her best to console him, to encourage him to find someone else, to not hurt him too badly.

And then it was done. The next few days turned to weeks, sliding by in a blur. She was quite lovely to look at--a long, lithe brunette. Body like a dancer's. So it was easy enough for her to date, and she accepted invitations from men she'd met through her work selling real estate, but her heart just wasn't in it. She didn't bed them. They were all Robert's understudies.

So after another bleak Saturday night at the neighborhood bar, having downed too many drinks (or perhaps not enough), she walked home, turned the key to the apartment door. Went in, and undressed. She lay in bed, waiting for sleep. A strange thought made its way into her hypnagogic state: She might find an answer in her dreams. She might find release. Then sleep took her, and she dreamed.

She found herself standing at the door of a fine old mansion. Lush, colorful landscaping surrounded the place. It seemed to be in a part of town she knew, given her occupation. Perhaps she'd driven by at some point in time. She rang the bell. The door opened. She was met by an absolutely stunning woman with skin like ivory, eyes of green, auburn hair. The woman wore a shockingly erotic outfit, perhaps like a French maid's, but starkly sexual. The woman's full breasts were exposed, as was her vulva. The costume (for costume it had to be-no one would otherwise wear something so frankly seductive) colored a deep purple, served only to draw one's eyes to her mouth, breasts, cunt.

The woman spoke. "My name is Pauline. I am here to guide you. This is only a dream, but there is truth in it. Come with me." Christine seemed to float through the red-carpeted rooms, following Pauline up the stairs to an opulent spa-like bath. Surrounding the sunken tub were erotic murals: women and men; women penetrated; women on their knees... Christine found herself somehow naked in the tub's scented water. The heat melted away her tension, her worries, her resistance. The tub then seemed to fade away, to be replaced by a luxurious Parlor. Somehow it seemed natural that she now was dressed exactly as Pauline was dressed. Her "maid's" costume fit her perfectly. But the scene that met her eyes took her breath away. She saw Pauline, kneeling before two men. The men were naked, their cocks throbbing. Pauline held one of the cocks in her hand, the other between her lips. Taking turns on one and then the other, her eyes were ablaze with both wild hunger and dark serenity, a strange mix of open defiance and deep submission. Their phalluses now dripping from Pauline's eager attention, the men began to rub themselves on her face, leaving glistening decoration on her perfect skin. She looked toward Christine, and beckoned her to approach. Christine, hungry to taste these men, drifted toward them, as Pauline withdrew. Gratefully falling to her knees, with a desperate, pleading look, she parted her lips to accept the first pulsating cock.

Then, to her astonishment and immeasurable grief, the scene faded, only to be replaced by the bizarre vision of a numeral, floating before her: The number "4". It was cruel to tear her from her aching need, only to find, instead, this grotesque enigma. Then she fell...

And she fell...and awoke in her own bed. A deep sob wracked her body, followed by a quiet litany of them. Her tears cleansed her soul. The sin of her betrayal of herself, the sin of believing that Robert might ever make her happy, had been washed from her. So, amidst her grief, she felt lighter, more herself than she had in years. There was some solace in that. She considered the meaning of the numeral "4," but found no explanation.

She showered. Still aroused from her dream, she touched herself as she bathed. She pictured herself truly taking Pauline's place, kneeling before the men, their cocks sliding back an forth in her hands; in and out of her mouth. She climaxed with her imaginary sex partners, finished her shower, and left for work.

She had an appointment to show a house, in an affluent area outside the city. She met with the clients, showed the house, but in a distracted fashion. She could not drive the images of the mysterious dream house and its erotically obsessed denizens from her mind. As she drove back towards the city, she had a curious sense of deja-vu, beyond her general familiarity with the neighborhood. It seemed that her House of Desire (as she came to think of it) must be just around the corner, as ridiculous as that had to be.

The rest of her day and evening came and went. It was neither interesting, nor troubling. It simply was. In her mind, the time had become merely a necessary prologue to her return to her bed, and to her dream. She ate at a restaurant, returned home, and prepared for sleep.

It came upon her quickly. And to her astonishment and gratitude, she found herself again standing before the door of the House. Again Pauline bade her enter. She bathed, and drifted into the Parlor, and found herself staring as Pauline pumped and fellated the men. Pauline withdrew, and Christine took her place. Her heart raced as she accepted the men into her mouth. Their cocks were large, stretching her lips, banging against the back of her throat. As she stroked these men toward ecstasy, her own desire burned. The skin at her collarbone flushed and darkened, her nipples grew hard and pointed, her clit throbbed, and her own juices ran down her legs. A moment later, she first sensed, and then saw, that there were others in the room, who moved out of the shadows to where she could make out their forms. There were at least ten men, aroused, staring at her performance. And there were women, stroking these men's cocks. At the realization that her own desperate erotic acts were on display, she went absolutely mad with desire. She saw, in a vision within the dream, these men endlessly using her, fucking her mouth, her cunt, her tits, anointing her with endless jets of cum. In that instant, the two men she was stroking and sucking erupted, their cocks pumping spurt after spurt of warm, translucent jizz all over her face. It ran in rivulets down her cheeks, and dripped from her lips onto her nipples. Though her clit hadn't been touched, her own orgasm tore through her.

Then she found herself drifting away from the house, floating between worlds. Another numeral appeared before her, this time, a "3". What could that possibly mean?

She awoke in her bed. It was nearly dawn. Her body was drenched in sweat, her thighs soaked from her cunt juices. She shook, violently, for a few seconds, and then the spasm subsided. She slipped back into (now dreamless) sleep.

Her alarm clock woke her. She showered, washing away the physical evidence of the "surreality" of the night before. She ate breakfast, and then drove to the realty office. On the road, unbidden erotic images flashed through her mind: Herself, on her knees, stretching her tongue to lick the underside of a proffered, erect and throbbing cock, while a group of men masturbated around her. Pauline pumping cocks in and out of Christine's mouth. And a man presenting his truly enormous cock, rigid and dripping before her eyes, demanding the answer to a question she could not hear.

The images intruded repeatedly throughout the day, until she was exhausted from the effort of remaining focused on her work. The hours seemed interminable, but finally, she was done with her clients, and headed home. After a light dinner and a bit of TV, she gratefully crawled into bed.

Soon, sleep brought her back to her House, to Pauline, and two additional women--Anna and Sophia they were called, perhaps--and the men waiting to use her. The image of the man with the enormous phallus had become real, at least in this dream state. He was tall and athletic, but she could not see his face, so riveted were her eyes on his dripping, shining cock. He demanded, "Christine, describe what you see!" All she could see was his cock, which seemed to grow, as the room and the men and the women, and everything else seemed to fade away. The absurdly large penis towered over her, now. It somehow morphed into something else, entirely: a tall and slender tree. Christine then sank into a deep, dreamless sleep, where she could escape, for a time, from this seemingly impossible riddle.

She awoke the next morning, surprisingly refreshed. She'd arranged to take a few days off from work, so she'd slept in. It restored her energy. She showered, and had breakfast. As she ate, she almost absentmindedly began to think of the series of dreams. She wanted to dismiss the whole thing as the product of a lurid imagination. The images that came at the end of each dream were incongruous, preposterous: A "4," a "3," and a tree. "Four, three, tree." That rhymed, but still made no sense. But the thought struck her: "It wasn't a broad tree like an oak or maple. Surely the phallic shape means something." As a real estate agent, she knew not only houses, but landscaping as well. She knew her trees. This one was a poplar. Thoughts of the images ran through her mind like a mantra: "Four, three, poplar; four, three, poplar, four three..." She stopped, caught up short. In an instant, she knew the answer: "Four, three, Poplar. 43 Poplar Drive." It was an address!

It was an address in the very area in which she'd been showing real estate, two days earlier. No wonder she'd thought the House of Desire must be just around the corner. In truth it had to be. She dressed in a clingy purple satin blouse, short black skirt, and high heels. She wanted to look as whorish as possible when she arrived at the House. She felt like a cum slut. It was time to make that a reality.

Part Two

Christine packed a few essentials for the time she planned on spending at the House. She didn't bring many clothes. She locked the apartment door, got in her car, and headed out of town. She began to feel some trepidation. What if this turned out to be an illusion-or a delusion? Poplar Drive, she knew existed. But was there really a number 43? And even if there were, there were no guarantees that the House, as she'd pictured it, really existed. But the only way to learn the truth was to go, and see for herself. The neighborhood seemed very familiar as she turned onto Poplar. The street looked right. The "vibe" was right. And then, she saw it. The House was exactly as she'd pictured it in her dreams. She pulled into the long driveway, and parked her car next to a blue Volvo (a car usually associated with people who want to play it safe, she thought, wryly).

She stepped out of the car, carrying her small travel case, walked up to the door, and rang the bell. Pauline opened the door, dressed exactly as she had in the dreams. Christine felt her legs go rubbery for a brief moment. At last, she knew it was all true. And she knew what awaited her inside: an ocean of cum. Pauline said, "Welcome, Christine. We have, of course, been expecting you. Come with me." Christine stood at the threshold for an instant, and then stepped inside. No going back, now. "How do you know my name?" she asked Pauline, as they walked. "Different people find this House by different routes. I was invited via email. Your invitation was more direct, more intimate. That you are here, is all that really matters."

They walked through the corridor, and up the stairs to the bath. Christine already knew the way. She shed her clothes, slipped into the tub. The fragrant waters relaxed her, just as they had in her dreams. Looking at the murals, she felt a heat beginning to build in her cunt. She left the tub, dried herself, and donned the "maid's" outfit, as she knew she was expected to do. Pauline then led her to the Parlor. It had begun.

Pauline moved from her, crossed the room, and approached two men. They were fit, naked, and rapidly becoming aroused. Pauline embraced them, first one, and then the other. Then she stood between them and began stroking their cocks. The response was rapid. Christine hungrily eyed their rampant erections, but continued to watch and wait. Pauline sank to her knees and began to suck cock, first one, and then the other, as a look of pure bliss came over her face. The men began dripping pre-cum, and painted Pauline's face with it. Christine felt reason slipping from her. The outside world no longer existed; it never had existed. This was the universe, entire. It was made of sex.

Pauline continued to stroke and suck the men until finally, she withdrew, allowing Christine to replace her. With gratitude she never thought herself capable of feeling, Christine sank to her knees, and took hold of the men's cocks. They tingled in her hands, as she pumped them, staring at one and then the other. The pre-cum ran down her wrists. This was too beautiful to be real, but real it was. She took one and then the other into her mouth, licking, sucking, pumping. Their juice was all over her lips, and then she too became their canvas, painted with shining, silvery streaks. She grew wilder, an animal grunting and gasping as the men pumped in and out of her mouth, banging the back of her throat.

Then she remembered the others from the dream-more men aroused and ready, moving towards her as Pauline and Anna and Sophia stroked them. They were attractive, though that scarcely mattered, now. Christine was on fire. They were watching her; they were all watching her! She was surrounded with gasping groaning men, ready to give her what she desperately needed. Then the cock in her mouth twitched, swelled, and exploded, the first jet hitting the roof of her mouth. The man withdrew, to spray cum on her face and hair. The sight of this sent the second man over the edge, and he shot spurt after spurt of jism on her tits, on her face, and on her lips. The taste of the men's sperm mingled on her tongue, arousing her more, though that scarcely seemed possible. Sophia, Anna, and Pauline stepped back, as the group of men advanced. The men touched Christine everywhere, stroking her face, kneading her tits, her ass, probing her cunt, working her clit. Her insides melted, and she whimpered, uncontrollably. Pauline then approached, and she told Christine, "Masturbate for these men. Show them what a true slut you are! You came here to taste their cum." Then she whispered, "They will give it to you." Christine, still on her knees, worked her fingers furiously in and out of her slit. She looked up at the men, with the drawn, glassy-eyed look of a woman consumed with lust. "Go on!" she screamed. "Give it to me! I want it all over me! I want your cum! I want it everywhere!" The men gathered around her stroking their throbbing, pulsating, dripping, glistening cocks. It was all she could see. The men gasped and grunted as they came, one after another and sometimes in groups, on her face, in her hair, on her tits, on her belly, on her back. Others rammed their cocks in her mouth. She couldn't hold all their jizz, and it ran out the corners of her mouth, dripping, coating her tits, her belly, and finally her pussy. Her mind raced, as time slowed. She watched sperm fly from one cock after another, drifting (as it seemed) toward her waiting mouth. She caught it on her tongue; it fell across the bridge of her nose; it coated her lips, her cheeks, her ears. She hoped to drown in it. She howled like an animal as orgasmic waves washed over her. She heard a voice screaming in ecstasy. It was her own.

Finally, the encounter was done. The men left. Pauline and Sophia helped her to her feet, supporting her as they walked to the bedroom that had been prepared for her. They helped her remove the maid's outfit. The cum still dripped from her body, still mingling with her own juices. "You will sleep this way," Pauline instructed. "--To remind you of who you are."

To be continued...