Attic Vengence

"No," Alyson said as she slapped her boyfriend's hand away from her curved bottom. Of course with it came a stern look, but Alyson's steadfast resolve was lost when he looked into her eyes and caught a hint of lust.

"But Alyson," he pleaded, ignoring her gesture and slipped his hand up under the hemline of her cheerleading mini-skirt and began to trace lines of her labia against her stretched panties. All attempts at stopping his hands were thwarted however when he again planted his tongue firmly into her mouth and kissed her with passion. For over a minute, only the sounds of hands gliding upon flesh could be heard as the two made out in the hallway of her parents home.

"God I need you Alyson," he said when their make-out session paused for a breath.

"Me too, but we can't do it here, my parents are home." Scott merely pointed to a faded whitewashed board and batten door that looked as if it led to a closet or something.

"That leads to the attic right?"

"Oh my God Scott, we can't do it there, it's creepy up there."

"Oh no," he asked, using his tongue again inside her mouth the test her resolve. His hands only added to the intensity as they pawed their way all over her body, caressing her chest through the tight cheerleading sweater, running them across her back, and of course, pushing her mini-skirt up past her waist for an added effect.

"Down boy, down," she said with a grin as she wiggled out of his grasp, only to grab the wrought iron latch and scurried just out of his range up the steep staircase to the attic.

Other than a precursory look around the room, the 18-year-old couple was too engrossed in each other to see much of the attic. It was stereotypical of any old new England home in any case; with a steeply pitched roof just above their heads, a single window looking out towards the back of the house, and a wooden floor creaking from their steps. A collection of old furniture rattled and shook as a trail of clothing began to form from the top of the stairs to an old feather bed.

There was her red and white pleated skirt, her polyester top, and then her bra and panties, all dropped upon the floor in the perfect stepping stones for her lover. She still wore her red canvas sneakers and matching red and white slouch socks, but the two items would hardly deter her boyfriend from getting what he wanted. Already he had kicked off his shoes and was tugging down his pants as she struck a sassy little pose upon the bed.

With her back pressed tightly against the down-filled pillows and her legs propped up and held together tightly with her arms, it would have been an innocent little pose if Scott had not noted a glimpse of her vagina peeking out between her white sneakers. At this sight he stirred, and Alyson watched as his cock stiffened and twitched as he joined her upon the antique bed.

"Can I have just a taste," she asked, and then did not give him a choice as she took the tip of his cock into her mouth and then began his sensuous blowjob by swirling her tongue around the crown. An audible groan of pleasure resonated from deep inside his body, a sound Alyson was not sure he had ever made before.

Using one hand to manipulate his shaft, Alyson reached for his swollen testicles with his other and massaged them gently. Her mouth continued to play over his cock in extremely erotic fashion, putting on a little show for her new lover. She swallowed more and more of his erection and gradually picked up the tempo. Besides squeezing his balls a little tighter, she used her fingers to rub the sensitive area right beneath his rectum. She knew what effect that had on her past boyfriend and assumed this one would find it just as seductive. Her answer came when he moved forward to receive the thrusts of her mouth as she steered him towards climax.

"Stop Alyson, stop," he cried out pushing her head off his shaft as he squirmed out of her mouth. "I want to put it inside you."

"What, you don't want to come in my mouth," she teased as she crawled up on top of the bed and spread her legs wide in an open invitation? As she did so, Alyson felt him position the tip of his cock on her shaven pussy lips. He used his cock to open and explore her, the tip just dipping inside, sliding into her wetness that had been generated from the blowjob she had given him. Those always turned her on, so did taking cock, especially one inch at a time, which was what he was doing now. He gave her another inch and then rode her like that, just the tip, in and out.

Alyson protested as she wanted it all. She wanted him to slam into her to the hilt, molding her skin to fit his hands, her pussy to fit his cock tightly. Her pussy contracted on the head of his cock, trying to pull her boyfriend deeper inside her, and finally he took pity on her and gave her more. She loved being filled by him, the warmth that spread throughout her body the complete loss of control. She was overwhelmed by his size, his massive hands around her slender waist, his hard thighs supporting her, pressing into her even. She arched up further to him, offering him more of her, all of her and he took it.

"God you're one hot cheerleader," he said, then he began driving the full, hard length of his cock into her, letting his balls slap against her, spanking her with them, easing off and then thrusting forward again. His hips snapped against her, forcing her into his rhythm, a rhythm Alyson loved. She dug her nails into the down-filled mattress for support and thrust back against him, moving with him, loving the speed and exhilaration of it. Her heart was also racing, her heart pounding even, and her breath was ragged. She started to contract around him in the way men love best when they were the deepest they could be inside her.

She squeezed as hard as she could, loving the ache building within her. The walls of her pussy opened and closed on him like a fist. He lifted her up off the mattress feeling the small feathers shift under his weight as he began moving her body up and down on his cock. Alyson felt so small in his grip, loving his tender roughness. She melted into his embrace as he kissed the curve of her neck, his tongue licking along the ridge of her shoulder, his teeth searching for purchase as he finally came.

Alyson felt it jettison inside of her, a warm, sticky sensation that filled up her womb and made her swoon with enjoyment even though he had not yet reached her own peak. As she lay there, he was still moving inside her, though it was more of a twitch than full thrusts as he tried to release every drop he had inside him. It spilled into her in a slight ooze even as he began to soften within her, her legs still wrapped around him dutifully.

When Alyson stirred a few minutes later, it seemed like hours had gone by when really it had only been a few minutes. A check of her boyfriend found him fast asleep, lulled by the relaxation of enjoyable sex; he breathed heavily, but did not snore.

Alyson gave him a kiss on his forehead and was content to let him sleep a bit. Only a cold draft caused her to stir which came from the window opened only by a crack. Carefully removing herself from the featherbed so as not to disturb Scott, she padded across the attic floor in her soft soled shoes and pushed the sticky window down tight against the ledge. As she did, a dollop of sperm trickled from her recently used sex and she silently cursed herself. They had not taken the time to put a condom on this time either...

A beam of reddish sunlight shot through a knothole in the siding of the colonial home and pooled on the wide pine floorboards of the attic as Alyson turned from the window. The light was fading into night, but she could see well enough to saunter through the dust that accumulated since her last visit and stood before a Victorian bureau and integrated cheval mirror.

She smiled at her reflection, her skin replete with paleness from her lack of clothing. In fact, with the exception of her shoes and socks, Alyson was still nude, her entire body devoid of even a single stitch of clothing as she stood there for a moment and gazed at herself. She was not sure if the cheval mirror was magical or just mystifying, but it seemed to be the only mirror in her home whose reflection she did not take exception to. Her hips, stomach and thighs all looked more slender, her facial features more defined and younger looking.

Alyson pressed forward, literally as her bare chest left nipple prints upon the silvery glass as she tried to adjust the ornamental knobs that allowed the Cheval mirror to rotate on its axis. As she did, her movements dislodged a key that had been hidden safely behind the mirror for decades. Picking it up, one of the facets on the shiny key reflected a glimmer of light and Alyson quickly applied it to the lock on the front to the chest and opened up each drawer.

All three were empty, but curiously, the bottom drawer rattled. Alyson investigated further by prying the drawer carefully out of the opening and looked carefully at the back. As she had expected, the drawer contained a false bottom and she removed it to see a diary waiting for decades to be discovered.

"Great Grandma's Diary," she said aloud when she read the name stitched into the front.

"What," her boyfriend asked as he groggily rubbed the sleep from his eyes?

"I found my Great Grandmother's diary hidden in this drawer," she said as he began to get dressed. As he did, Alyson began to turn page after page, scanning the handwritten pages with quickness and interest. Lost in the content of the diary, Alyson was oblivious to the fact that she was nude except for her socks and shoes, and other then crossing her legs from time to time, paid little attention to how she looked.

"Oh my God, she said upon an important discovery. "She was having an affair with a Judge, a married judge at that."

"So what, he wanted a little on the side. No big deal."

"It was big back then," she said and continued to read. After a few minutes of silent reading, Alyson began to talk to her boyfriend again.

"It says here that the affair was discovered by the Judge's wife and that she demanded retribution. My Great Grandmother was then accused of witchcraft within the span of a week."

Alyson was shocked by these words, but when she looked at her boyfriend to whom she was speaking, she saw his eyes were again closed and he was drifting off to sleep. Ignoring him she turned to the last entry in the diary and read it silently.

"Oh dear diary, what have I done? What have I done? What should have been true love and companionship has turned into heartbreak, for this is my last entry. I shall give this to my sister for safe keeping and swing from the gallows at noon. Oh Lord what have I done?

Alyson was astonished at these words. She had heard about her Great Grandmother's trial of witchcraft, but this turn of events was too much. She bolted from her seat on the edge of the bed and scrambled for her clothes. Her pleated skirt and tight fitting top was skewed and rumpled looking, but Alyson did not care as she grabbed her Great Grandmother's diary and bounded down the steps, forgetting all about her boyfriend.

"Alyson. Alyson, where are you going," but his words were lost as a musty dust-devil followed her down the stairs.

Twenty minutes at a hard jog brought Alyson to the Town of Bucksport's main street cemetery. Judge Buck, the founder of the town, had a prominent head stone at the head of the cemetery overlooking the river. In front of it stood a heavy chain to keep the tourists from touching the legendary monument. Alyson dipped below this chain and read the brass plaque out loud.

"John Buck, born in 1719 in Massachusetts, he was granted a parcel of land in what is now Maine. Buck had dark, penetrating eyes and was a man of strong convictions. And was also the Justice of the Peace."

"A woman was accused of witchcraft and brought before Colonel Buck. She was then condemned to death. As the noose was placed around her neck, she uttered this curse," Jonathan Buck, listen to these words, the last my tongue shall utter. In the spirit of the only true and living God I speak to you. You will soon die. Over your grave they will erect a stone that all may know where the bones of the mighty Jonathan Buck are crumbling to dust. But listen, all ye people, and may your descendents ever know the truth. Upon that stone will appear the imprint of my foot, and for a long time after your accursed race has perished from the earth the people will come from afar to view the fulfillment and will say: There lies the man who murdered a woman. Remember well, Jonathan Buck, remember well."

"After the Colonel died, his grave was marked by an ordinary marker. In 1852, Buck's descendents decided to erect a larger, more elegant monument to better honor Bucksport's namesake. That is when the curse came to bear."

"An exceptionally clean, unblemished piece of granite was chosen. Nevertheless, one morning the townspeople noticed the unmistakable mark of a leg and a foot on the front of the monument! It was assumed that it was done by vandals, and they attempted to have the monument cleaned with some kind of solution, but nothing work. They also tried to gouge it out, but it returned, and the monument was even replaced three times, but the image returned every time."

"But it's wrong. The legend of Bucksport is all wrong," Alyson cried out just as a gust of wind kicked up and began to blow the oak leaves of the cemetery trees around in an eerie cyclone. It brought a cold chill to Alyson's meagerly covered skin, giving her the same strange goose bumps that had occurred in the attic. As she turned to rush out of the frightening cemetery, a strange soothing voice began to call her name.

"Alyson, dear Alyson, please don't leave. You're the first mortal I have spoken to in fifteen decades. Please stay, please; you are the only one in our family who can take vengeance against our family's past."

It took all of Alyson's nerve to turn and face the voice she heard. She was not sure what to expect, but she held her Great Grandmother's diary close to her heart as she spun on one foot and watched a white apparition come closer from the back of the headstone and revealed itself before her very eyes. It shimmered a white translucent color, but did not approach any closer than five feet or so.

"Who are you and how do you know who I am, or about my family's history?"

"I'm your Great Grandmother Alyson. The one that penned the very ink in that diary you are holding...the one who was murdered...the one who has been waiting for a family member to discover that diary and extract revenge."

"Revenge?"

"Revenge my dear," and as she spoke, Alyson felt a strange sensation, a mixture of warm and hot liquid burst forth and rest upon her stomach. Instantly she stepped back.

"This is really giving me the creeps."

"I was only touching the child Alyson. The Great Great Grandson of Jonathan Buck."

"But I've never done anything of the sort with anyone who is a Buck."

"No, no you haven't my child, but you have with a Blake. A Scott Blake to be exact, whose mother was a Buck before getting married, making the child within you...

"Jonathan Buck's Great Great Grandson."

"Correct, and now it's our family's turn to extract justice Alyson."

"And just how do you propose I do that," she asked in a huff, crossing her arms at the apparition of her all-knowing Great Grandmother?

"The answer is in the wind my dear," and with those words the white silhouette disappeared into the darkened evening.

As a bright pink glow settled upon the western horizon, Alyson noticed her goose bumps were gone. The only thing her Great Grandmother had left behind was a heavy breeze that eddied around the young cheerleader, and then only for a minute. Just as quickly as she disappeared, so did the wind. As Alyson went to bolt from the frightening cemetery, a lime green brochure lay at her feet. She paused again, hearing the last words of her Great Grandmother echo in here ears as she stooped over to pick it up. "The answer is in the wind my dear. The answer is in the wind..."

Alyson was trembling as she picked up the bright green brochure. Flipping it over, she was startled by what she read. ABORTION IS MURDER! the brochure from a religious conservative group proclaimed in bold black ink.

"Oh my God," she gasped in horror at the unmistakable wish of her Great Grandmother. "Oh my God!"