Copyright © October 2022 by CiaoSteve
CiaoSteve reserves the right to be identified as the author of this work. This story cannot be published, as a whole or in part, without the express agreement of the author other than the use of brief extracts as part of a story review.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons. It goes without saying that all sexually active characters in this story are over 18
Author's Notes
This is an entry for the 2022 Halloween Contest. I hope you enjoy and would appreciate your votes and comments. As a heads up, I like to think the story contains sex, but sex does not make the story, so don't be disappointed if it is not a quick stroker of a tale.
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If only walls could talk.
What would they say to you?
Every house has a tale to tell. For some the story is clearly wanting to be told, written for all to see on walls and floors, leaving little to the imagination. Others though, well... suffice to say they keep their narrative deep within the fabric of the house itself, secrets hidden between the very walls on which the house was built, hidden away from prying eyes, to remain just that... secrets.
Secret or not, every house does have a story to tell. Happy times, sad times, passionate times, tumultuous times, they see all, they hear all. Those which have been standing for many a decade, will have a smorgasbord of intrigue, mystery and romance etched into those very walls. Even the newest of houses will have its own story, albeit one patiently waiting to be written.
For every house with a story to tell, there are those who go looking for it, either gazing at the visible history, or searching deeper for the secrets hidden within. It is like a passion... an obsession... a destiny... always believing, never stopping, ever the optimist that the next house will be ready to reveal all.
This is the story of one such house, and one such explorer, a twenty-something young woman who spends her whole life searching for those more hidden of secrets. More so, it is the story of just what happens when the house decides she is the one worthy of knowing its deepest mysteries, of becoming one with those very walls.
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Prologue
Four months ago - Victoria confronts the inevitable
"Yessss... yessss..."
Victoria was losing herself. It always ended this way, but it was exactly why she had decided to join him all those years ago. Her master was insatiable, and her job... her job was nothing more than to satisfy his every need. It was a strange relationship, a most unorthodox relationship, a most secret of relationships, yet she had never been happier. Things had changed so much since she found him. Yes, she had sort of fallen out of the public eye—that was one of the drawbacks, one of the conditions she had willingly signed up to—but, in return, she got a home, a protective shoulder, a man who loved her more than anyone else... and... god yes, the best sex you could ever imagine... oh, and lots of it.
There was a time when she would have matched him, and given her own back in return, but these days it was becoming more of a struggle to keep up. The years had been good to Victoria. Yes, she'd lost a little muscle tone, there were wrinkles a plenty, and her blonde locks now had a striking silver highlight, but other than the natural aging process, Victoria still had many of her attractive good looks.
It had been a little over four decades since she first met the house, fell in love with it, and accepted the opportunity it offered to her. God, that sounded so weird. Victoria was talking about the house as if it was a person, alive, with its own feelings. Weirder still was... well... back then, and even now, it truly felt like the house was the one offering her the job, welcoming her into its very fabric.
The decades since may have blurred into a story of never-ending passion, but Victoria could still remember that first time, as clearly as if it was yesterday. It was never planned. It just, sort of, happened... like destiny takes you by surprise.
Back then, Victoria was a spritely twenty-six-year-old, alone, and in desperate need of an income. That's what started the whole journey, the need for money, and a tiny advert hidden away on the bottom of one of the pages of the local newspaper. Yes, in the days before social media, if you wanted something, you put it in the paper. This was different though. The advert wasn't the spectacular, grab your attention, in your face, piece of blatant publicity, nor was it pride of place in the centre of the page. This advert was tucked away towards the bottom, almost hidden by the centre fold of the page, as if not really wanting to appeal to more than the most inquisitive of readers.
That wasn't all. It was subtle and worded in a quite unorthodox way. It was a housekeeper role, of that Victoria had been sure, but there was something which just didn't fit with convention... something about being open minded... something about accepting the unexpected... something about becoming one with your new role, becoming one with the house, becoming one with its master.
Now, after all these years, Victoria understood every word and what it had meant, but back then her actions were fuelled by the need for money as much as her idle curiosity. What did she have to lose?
She remembered the first time, the interview, if you could call it that. That day, the house had seemed so bleak, so cold, so intimidating, so off-putting. Then there was the guy who had greeted her... the caretaker... or was he the master himself? How old had he been? Seventy, eighty, maybe even ninety, perhaps older still. He didn't really ask questions, well not the type you expected at an interview, and Victoria had to excuse his personal directness, blaming it on age.
Why did her sexual status really have a bearing on whether she could do what was expected of her? It was a house after all, and all she needed to do was look after it. How hard could that be?
What followed was just as strange. It wasn't so much a second interview, but more an invitation to meet the house, stay the night, and let the house choose whether she was the right fit for the role.
The second time couldn't have been more different to the first. As she approached the house, as she entered within those high courtyard walls, she first noticed the change, the glow of lights inside, the flicker of a warm fire. It was like... well, if the house was trying to dissuade her the first time, it was welcoming her with open arms this time, and as she walked inside, Victoria immediately felt at home.
She stayed the night, settling down on a freshly made four-poster bed, the same one that she now knelt upon. She remembered falling asleep. She remembered dreaming... her mind filled with the most unexpected, most satisfying, most wonderful feelings... as if she was really there, living the very images which filled her mind. There was a dress. Then there was her master. He was there. He was in that dream. Oh god, yes, for sure he was there, and for sure that very night she let him consume her young body, take her for his own.
She wasn't ever looking for love, but just to have an income, enough to put an end to living hand to mouth. It was never her intention to meet anyone, especially not a dashing romantic sort like the Count. That was the strange thing. Even his name was out of the ordinary. Count Serafino D'Arcy was how he introduced himself, but these days Victoria just called him Master.
She knew she shouldn't have done it, but she couldn't help herself. Victoria had never met anyone quite like the Count, and she was sure she never would meet anyone else like him. His voice... his eyes... his beguiling charms... Victoria just couldn't resist. That was more than forty years ago... years full of pure enjoyment.
Whatever friends and family may have said, if they even missed her, Victoria wouldn't have changed a thing.
Life changed that very day when she met the house... when she stayed the night... when she allowed herself to be seduced... when she let him take her into his realm... when she accepted both house and master. It wasn't every day you met the perfect lover. Wouldn't you have done the same? Taken that chance? It came with a cost, of course, but what she lost was nothing compared to what she gained.
Now though... at well and truly the wrong side of sixty, the years were finally catching up with Victoria. She knelt on all fours in the middle of the bed, her sheer white lace dress matching the cotton drapes hanging down from the bed frame. The dress was almost as old as she was. It had been one of her favourite outfits, the one she had worn that very day when she visited the house for the second time. Wispy see-through cotton, long enough to only just cover her backside, over the top of black lingerie... oh yes, she certainly had appeal back then.
Now though... well, the loose wispy fabric softened the ageing process. You didn't notice the way her arms and legs, muscles now wasted away a little, creased as she moved. Your eye wasn't drawn in by the way her previously pert breasts now drooped under her slim body, swinging against his every thrust.
You didn't notice... well, that was one of the costs. In joining her master, in entering his realm, Victoria had said goodbye to her own. She was still there, in presence at least. She could see all around her. She could make herself be heard. She could make herself be felt. But she could never be seen, not by anyone other than the master she had chosen to join, nor could she ever leave the fabric of the manor.
Her life had changed. Just like the bricks and mortar, Victoria had now become part of the house itself. The house was hers, and she was its. She had everything... she wanted for nothing... she lived here... she loved here... and, eventually, she would die here, in the fabric of this very house, her memory immortalised in the picture gallery. Again, it was a small price to pay for the years of pleasure she had already enjoyed.
"Faster... god, yessss... faster...." Victoria called out, her voice breaking up slightly under the onslaught.
Enjoyed? Yes, Victoria might now be long in the years, but there was no need for past tense just yet. She was enjoying rather than having enjoyed, and from the enthusiastic way in which he was pummelling her into submission, Victoria wasn't the only one having a good time.
