My husband and I bought an old mansion over the summer. It was the former home to a once famous movie director. Dan looked at it as a money pit, but I fell in love with the grandeur of the place. I was so excited during escrow; I would twirl through the halls when no one was looking, and couldn't wait to get the keys and call it our own.
Dan is an attorney for a small office that deals with insurance claims. We're successful enough to keep me at home, and to afford the occasional deals that come our way - like this mansion. Eight bedrooms, six baths and even a full ballroom that we would probably spend the rest of our lives fixing, decorating, and furnishing.
I met Dan when I worked at the bookstore. Yep, that's all I did was sell books, but it was a wonderful job that brought me close to the stories and lives of people who hungered to learn or be remembered. Dan would come in to sip coffee and look over the bestsellers. He had an eye for political books. Politics bores me, but Dan was so earnest that I couldn't help but smile whenever he would sheepishly ask around for one of "those" books. The store manager liked to hide certain books that didn't agree with his political philosophy, and Dan was from the wrong side of the political spectrum. After a while, Dan would just ask for me because I always showed him where they were or went and got them from the back. Pretty soon I was hearing the juvenile "Dan plus Linda, sitting in a tree..."
Good grief, I was in my thirties.
That little relationship grew though, and we were married three years later. That was four years ago, and what a happy four years.
After escrow closed on the house, we spent several days moving in and unpacking. I often found myself stopping what I was doing and just gazing around at the wonderful old home. I spent the better part of a whole morning just exploring every room and closet. I even poked around in the empty attic. I can't say I ever felt anything suspicious, but there were times I would feel like Dan had walked up next to me but when I would look, no one was there. There was nothing creepy about the incidents, because I never heard or physically felt anything. But a few times I thought I sensed things, like memories of the past or a nostalgia that nibbled at the edges of my conscious.
The first night Dan and I made love in the house, we had a fire going. Sex between us was always energetic and exhausting. I had no complaints in that department; I was fulfilled. Dan kept a goofy smile on my face almost all the time since we had sex at least four times a week. But that first night felt naughty, for some reason. I felt like we were being watched, but not in a sinister or creepy way. It almost felt like a neighbor was getting his kicks off of us through some wispy curtain. If anything, it made our sex more flamboyant, as if we were showing the watcher what he was missing. As we were laying there afterward, I felt a strange sense of satisfaction and love. Strange in that it seemed deeper than usual.
That night I dreamt of steam and machinery. I dreamt of flickering lights and horses. I don't know why. When I woke, I had a funny smell in my nose that reminded me of freshly ironed starch.
Dan left for work, it was Friday. There were boxes still to be unpacked, but I put little effort into working at it. I mostly spent the day gliding through the halls in my underwear. I don't always put on any more clothes than are necessary, and this day was no exception. Dan loves to see me dressed minimally, anyway. I was standing in the kitchen rinsing a glass when I felt Dan come into the room. He placed his hand lovingly on my shoulder and squeezed. I could feel a hint of his breath on my bare shoulder; he was about to kiss it.
I love it when he does that.
But something was different. His cologne wasn't right. This had a rich leather-cinnamon smell that wasn't as complex as the expensive stuff my husband wore. I jerked a little that someone had come into the house and was touching me, but when I turned there wasn't anyone there. I touched my own shoulder but couldn't recall the exact feeling. In fact, I wasn't even sure I had really felt a touch. I sniffed the air but couldn't bring that scent to mind.
I began to realize after lunch that I was feeling horny. I had a heat between my legs that just wouldn't quit. I've seen all those movies where scantily clad women spend all day touching themselves, but I wasn't one of them. I wanted the real thing and that meant waiting for Dan to get home. That also meant hoping that I could somehow arouse him for a day-after repeat of the previous night. We usually went at it and then skipped a day. I found myself despairing that he might be too tired or wore out from the previous night. The heat in me wasn't going away, either. The real shock came when I found myself staring out the backyard window at all the trees and rubbing myself through my panties - almost like I was absently scratching an itch.
No, I didn't feel itchy or anything, so why was I absently stroking my panties? I laughed at myself and turned away from the window, but then I stopped. What was wrong with me if I scratched an itch? Would that mean I was sick in the head? I felt angry at that thought. I tossed my hair back and turned to the window again. I stuck my foot up on the sill in a defiant move and slid my finger in through the side of my panties. I gave myself a stroke to show that there was nothing wrong with doing it.
Wow. Shivers ran through me. I needed Dan, bad.
The heat in me grew to the point where I headed to the bedroom. As I went I stripped off my lace. Off came the bra and panties. I put them on the bed and felt naughty. I almost felt like I was showing my nakedness to anonymous strangers. I felt shy and nervous. I felt like to step outside my bedroom would be like walking around some stranger's house naked.
That was silly. this was my house.
I walked out of the door and purposely wandered around the house. I could almost feel eyes roaming over my body, feeling my neck, sliding over my breasts, stroking my hips and probing my folds. My heat continued to grow. I wanted to stop and play with myself to relieve the ache, but I knew it would only be temporary. I kept moving. I did the twirls along the hallways and occasionally I found myself running my hands over my breasts and sometimes down to my mound.
All I was doing was teasing myself.
I had worked mself to a fever pitch and needed Dan something terrible. I wasn't making the situation any better. I went back to the bedroom and slipped on my underwear and a sundress. I spent the rest of the day unpacking, like I should have been, and not playing with myself.
Unfortunately, Dan was late and tired. Fridays are often that way. He usually was very good about making up for it by taking me out on Saturday. He was so good to me. He fell asleep early, and I laid for a little bit in bed, reading. Twice, I found my hand wandering down to the heat that still sat there. I resolved to wait until tomorrow. I fell asleep arguing with myself. I needed to be fucked - no, just wait.
