Haunted Sex House

The small, rusted car finally died before it could crest the hill, as Tim pumped the gas pedal and punched the steering wheel in frustration. Fruitlessly he tried to re-start the car as no lights shone on the dashboard, and the car sat in darkness on the incline of a small road passing through a thickly wooded area. A cold autumn rain pelted the landscape. Finally he gave up and turned to his mom, who was quietly sitting beside him with a worried expression on her face, "It's no use, mom. Here, get behind the wheel, I'll push us up to the top of the hill, maybe we can get the engine going while the car rolls downhill."

"But you'll get soaked!" his mother said, but Tim was already outside. Denise shifted over, raising her body over the gearshift between the seats, and settled in behind the wheel. As she signalled back and forth with her son, who slowly started pushing the car up the small distance to the top of the hill, she thought about how they'd gotten into this dilemma.

She'd taken a daytrip out to Tim's college to pick him up for the weekend. A distant relative had died, and, as his mother had told him over the phone, "They're leaving you some money, the least you can do is show your face at the funeral." It wasn't someone they'd had much interaction with, but knowing they were meeting for the occasion of someone's death made the atmosphere between them heavier on this gloomy last day of October.

Denise had hopped into her old car and quickly travelled the distance to the college where Tim was in his first year, and Tim just hopped in with a small bag of clothes before they were off again. On the way back they discovered that one bridge had been closed for maintenance work that would take all weekend - all the freeway traffic was directed onto a small detour route that was packed with cars. At this point Tim studied the map and decided to take a small country road that would cut across a rural area and bring them back home much quicker than the jammed and detoured freeway. Which is how they ended up on this small, winding road travelling through foothills, with the sun having dropped behind the trees almost an hour ago.

Tim managed to push the small car up to the crest of the hill, though his muscles ached and his clothes were soaked through with sweat as much as rain. It was the one time he was thankful that as a single mother, his mom could only afford a small, light rustbucket for transportation; he would have died trying to push a heavier car. He opened the passenger door and gave the car another gentle push and then hopped in, "Ok, mom, try starting it now! No breaks. While it's coasting downhill!"

The were almost entirely quiet as they both listened for the sound of the engine starting, for any noise or sign at all other than the car speeding up downhill, and then slowly slowing down as the ground levelled off. As the car slowed to a crawl again Denise just steered it to the gravel shoulder. They were both dispirited and out of ideas. Then Denise spoke up.

"Look! A house! And, Tim, is that a light in the window?"

Tim looked over to where his mother was pointing. There did seem to be the dark outline of the house in front of a line of trees, and something was showing in one of the windows, though it was faint enough that it was hard to tell if it was a light from inside, or just reflected off an external source. Closer to the road Tim's eyes now made out a driveway with a mailbox on a post and a low steel gate.

"Yeah mom, it is. We can call for help!"

"Hold on, maybe that's just the moon reflected in..."

"There's no moon out, mom, it's pouring rain. And even if they're asleep, we have to wake them, what else can we do?"

Denise shrugged her shoulders and agreed that it seemed to be either this choice or no choice at all. Tim got out again and pushed the car til it was against the gate. The metal gate was either locked or just rusted shut, it was hard to tell in the darkness of night. But beside it part of the wire fence had been bent and torn down til you could just step over the lower portion. And so they both got out of the car, Tim carrying his small bag, and Denise with nothing since she hadn't brought anything along, and they began to walk towards the house, neither of them with an umbrella or even a rainproof jacket.

Halfway there they passed a large old tree that overhung the gravel driveway that led up to the house. Denise glanced up again.

"Tim! The light isn't on in the house anymore!" She almost had to yell to make herself heard over the sound of the heavy rain lashing everything in sight.

"Um...well...I don't see how we have a choice, mom." Just then thunder rumbled and a half-second later lightning flashed in the sky, illuminating everything, illuminating with a cool white light mother and son with their hair soaked, wet clothes stuck to their bodies. Then it was dark again, and the rain intensified. "Run, mom!"

They finally found shelter under the roof of the front porch. The house looked very different up close, with lots of weeds grown up around it, and most of the floor-level windows smashed and boarded up.

Tim knocked hard on the heavy wooden door. "Helloooooo?!? HELLOOOOOO? Open up! We need help!" He found a heavy old metal knocker and used that too, then went back to pounding his fist on the door. "We just need to use your phone!"

Denise stood behind her son and shivered. She saw the pile of leaves blown up against the door, the paint peeling off all the woodwork. "This was a nice house in its time, Tim, but I don't think you'll get an answer now. It's obviously abandoned." Indeed it had been a nice house, two stories and a cellar, a solid cube whose owner must have been quite well off, possibly with even some live-in hired help.

They looked at each other as they dripped water, illuminated by the occasional lightning strike. Tim had grown to be almost a full head taller than his mother, his wet shirt sticking to his lean frame, and his brown hair, slightly unkempt and in need of a cut, now laying flat against his skull.

His mother had dark hair that was soaked through as well, and would have fallen all over her face during the run if she hadn't had it in a ponytail that dropped past her shoulder blades. Her body was fit but with significant curves, something she regretted in times like this, when her wet jeans clung awkwardly to the crack of her prominent thick round ass, and her shirt had gotten so wet that every little lace detail of the strong bra underneath clearly showed through as it supported her generous breasts. They looked at each other and shivered. Then Tim got the unspoken hint, and turned the doorknob as he charged his shoulder against the door: Bam! - Bam! - BAM! - craaaaaacccckkkkk.

As the door gave way Tim stumbled through, and his mother followed. There was a musty smell around them, but it seemed otherwise dry. It felt a lot warmer than the air outside, and Denise closed the door behind her. It was entirely dark except when lightning flashed, illuminating the interior for fractions of a second.

"Tim!," Denise called out, "I think I saw some candles on the mantle in this room to the side. Do you have matches or anything?"

"One sec, mom..."

Denise heard something fumbling and scratching in the darkness. The lightning had abated for a moment, and she felt a chill down her spine when she considered that the night was so pitch-black in here, it might not be her son making the noises. That might not be his shallow breathing near her. She almost yelped aloud when a flame finally lit up the room. Her eyes blinked and she saw it was Tim with a flame in his hand.

"I, uh, happened to have a lighter on me," he explained to his mother. Tim swung the flame around. They were in the front hallway of the house, with a staircase leading up to the second floor, and the hallway, with doorways branching off it, proceeding deeper into the gloom of the house.

"If it's any consolation," Denise said, "I don't think we're barging in on anyone." The floors were bare wood, with colourations where carpets had once lain. Empty rectangles showed the places of former paintings on the faded and cracked walls painted emerald-green. There was dust everywhere.

Tim added "Yeah, barging in on anyone...or anything."

Denise wondered what he meant, but decided not to pursue it. "I - I think I saw the candles in that room over there."

Tim went in first with the light, and lit up a couple of half-burned thick wax candles that rested on the mantelpiece, before extinguishing his lighter. The candles had been used before, the old wax had once run hot and dripped like tears, and was now dried into the form of the wood-and-stone mantle surrounding the fireplace.

As the flames caught on and the candles brightened, they looked around at the room that they were in. It seemed to be an old study or salon. The walls were painted a deep brown, and there was the fireplace, empty bookshelves along one wall, an old leather sofa in decent condition, and a few wooden chairs, none of them matching, roughly placed against the wall.

Tim dropped his bag to the floor and dropped himself down on the couch, letting out a loud sigh that was a mix of exhaustion and frustration.

"I think this is good enough to stay for the night," his mother said, "The windows seem fairly well sealed with boards, and we can close the doors that lead out."

"Maybe we can start a fire to keep warm too," Tim suggested.

His mother wrinkled her nose. "I don't think so. For a lot of reasons, but mostly because who knows what the chimney is like. We'd be more likely to poison ourselves. No, let's just get dry, and leave at first light. I'm going to need to borrow a change of clothes dear, looks like you have enough here...trust me, I'd wear my own if I had a dry stitch to spare."

His mother crouched over Tim's bag and unzipped it, starting to root around inside it with her hands. She pulled out a pair of cotton gym shorts and held them up, muttering, "good enough." She pulled out a white shirt and idly looked at it, and was about to gather it up when she felt Tim's hand on hers.

"Oh, mom! N-No, not that one!"

"Timmy! Honestly, what's gotten into you?" Denise said, and pulled the shirt away as Tim's hand yielded. She unfolded it and held it up to the light.

Apparently she had only seen the back when selecting it. It was a sleeveless shirt, really not more than an undershirt, or a 'wifebeater', as she had heard them referred to in slang terms - but there was a large design on the front that said BUTTMAN MAGAZINE, and on either side of the words were cartoon women, on one side a busty blonde in ridiculously high red platform heels, and a thread-thin thong bikini, and on the other side a black girl looking like the stereotype of 'ghetto', with a rolled joint in one hand and a bottle of booze in the other. Needless to say, both drawn women were bending over and displaying their ample and round derrieres.

"Were you going to wear this around the house, mister?" Denise smirked and turned the design towards Tim.

"Uh, N-no..." he was nervous, mostly looking at the floor. "I, uh...bought it at a novelty store. No, wait, I won it at a bar or something...don't worry, mom, I have other shirts for you..."

Denise bundled the shirt up and clutched it to her, then picked up a pair of socks and stood up. "That's ok, dear, I picked it, I'll wear it." She went to the mantle to pick up one of the candles. Inwardly, Denise felt amused at her son's discomfort, and at this little view of what his life must be like at college. She wasn't offended, and thought it might lighten the mood to wear it for the evening, with all the downers they'd been through. A cute joke.

She went through the other door in the room, not the one that went out into the hall. This one led to a small side room, and Denise wondered at what its original use was, though it seemed to be a bedroom in its last stage, with a bare wire-and-metal bed frame still standing against a wall, and a dresser made of dark wood. As she set the candle down on the dresser, she saw the many scratches and nicks in it, looking almost like claw marks. Perhaps someone had kept a large, angry dog in such a small space? After Denise finished changing, she looked at the window and realized that part of it wasn't boarded up, that there were still panes of glass that looked out over the dark void that was outside this old abandoned house. And that allowed anyone else to look in. Denise tried to orient herself to think about what direction this window might have been facing. She gave up. What time was it now? Past midnight, maybe? She wasn't sure of that either. She thought what if someone had been watching her change, strip down totally naked, down to her bare skin illuminated by the soft light of the candle, towelling herself off with her old wet clothes before slipping on these new ones. Who would be out in a deserted field in the middle of the night, emerging from the dark woods? Old grizzled inbred sheep-fuckers boozed to the gills and carrying shotguns...

Denise shivered and shook her head to get rid of the image. Too many late-night horror movies, she thought to herself. She picked up the candle in one hand and the old wet bundle of clothes in the other, and went back into the other room.

She walked in on her son just pulling a new pair of boxer shorts up over his ass as he faced away, otherwise naked. He half-turned and gave a sheepish grin, "Oh, hey mom, you were taking so long I thought I'd just change here...I was soooo soaked."

Tim half-turned and hoped the pulse in his crotch was just something due to the feel of his dry new boxers on his cock, and not the view of his mom as she strode across the room. Her feet were in grey athletic socks with three horizontal stripes, and from there her strong legs led up to where Tim's old yellow shorts were stretched over her body. Tim may have been taller than his mother, but she certainly had him in terms of the size of her thighs and ass, and Tim saw the way the old shorts hugged her juicy round ass, the material stretched and slipping down and showing just the barest hint of bare asscrack. From there some of her midriff, admirably toned for someone her age, was entirely exposed, before the aforementioned Buttman shirt started above her bellybutton, holding down her large breasts that were otherwise without a bra.

Denise looked down at herself and smiled, 'Hmmm, looks like I'm stretching your shirt out a bit, huh?! Soooorrry." She mockingly giggled. Now that they were dry some of the tension was gone and Denise felt like she was a teen on a sleepover. Her hair was unbound now, falling freely, slightly curly and falling past her shoulders, except in front where the bangs were cut just above her brow.

Tim crouched over to try and hide his swelling cock as he rummaged around in his bag and wondered what was wrong with himself, trying to send his cock signals to calm down. He pulled out and put on a black t-shirt which probably wasn't the greatest choice either for a sleep-over with his mom - it was for a metal band, and featured, among other things, a large blood-dripping pentagram, a huge goat skull, and several shapely women in Viking armour brandishing large swords. He was glad when his mother declined to make a comment on it.

They reduced the light to one candle as they both lay down on the couch, heads at opposite ends. The couch was large enough that though they were aware of each other's presence, they weren't uncomfortable. They covered themselves with some other items from Tim's bag - a couple of thick towels, and some sweatshirts. Tim could feel his mom's hip against his thigh, and wondered if he was occasionally feeling the softness of her breast on his feet. Denise for her part found herself pressing closer to her son, not so much for heat but for comfort. She enjoyed the manly smell of his rain-washed body. Each of them thought they were the only ones feeling a building erotic charge.

They both slept for a time.

"M-Mom? Do you, uh, hear that?"

"Mgph. The storm's just picked up again." Indeed it had. Thunder grumbled and lighting flashed through the seams in the boarded-up windows. A scratching sound seemed just outside the walls, and Tim tried to recall if there were any large trees that could sweep their branches against the house in a storm.

"Do...do you think, mom, is there a basement to this place?"

"Ummm. Probably. Didn't see any stairs down, though. Why, you wanna go exploring?"

"It's just...that sound. Can't you hear it? Sounds like it's coming from under us."

"Probably just rats, Timmy. Old houses like these have them. Let's go back to sleep."

Tim heard his mother quickly go back to snoozing. But he could not shake the feeling that there were sounds coming in both from the walls and from the floor. Especially now from under the floorboards, increasing. Something, some-things, crawling and creaking and scratching; crawling over each other, trying to get up. Speaking things like an animal trying to pronounce words, some message Tim felt he was on the verge of making sense of, as he felt his cock grow harder in his shorts til it had no more room and poked out the fly.

Despite his fear, Tim knew he had fallen back asleep, because he was startled awake again when he felt his mom move, push her warm body against his own for a moment, and then push herself off the couch and onto the floor.

Tim watched her crawl along the floor for a moment, and was about to ask something, but the words died in his throat. There was something very strange about the way she was moving, and he played as though he were still asleep, watching through one half-lidded eye.

His mother was on all fours as she crawled along the hardwood floor, her ass up higher than her head, her big tits swinging under her in the tight shirt as she moved methodically, illuminated by the single candle. She put her nose to the floor and sniffed, moved forward a few steps, then lowered an ear to the ground. She stayed that way for a moment, then crawled a few feet away, and listened again, ear to the floor. Her heart-shaped ass seemed to Tim to start to make little circles in the air as she kept her ear to the floor, her mouth half-open, wet tongue visible between her white teeth. She repeated this a few more times, crawling unnaturally, something like a crab.

Finally she went to the fireplace, knelt up, and lit up every candle that was there. Then she turned around and crawled back to the couch, until she was looking at her son Tim, almost nose-to-nose with each other. Tim was startled as he realized that, unconsciously, he had unwillingly sat up as he watched his mother move, and displaced their makeshift blankets. By the cool breeze on his cock, he knew it was rock-hard and sticking up out of the fly of his shorts.

"Son," his mother breathlessly spoke, and her eyes glittered as she looked at him. She put her hands on the bottom of her shirt and pulled it extremely hard against her big tits, then pulled it over them, exposing her large milky breasts. "You want to touch these, don't you?"

"Oh mom," Tim said as he licked his lips and couldn't help but reach out and lightly stroke a breast with his hand. Both of them moaned. Very soon both his hands were on his mother's exposed breasts, rubbing them, caressing them, feeling the hardness of her nipples. Denise grinned and arched her chest out more, giving her son access to her breasts. She pulled her shirt up over her head and then shook out her hair, then grabbed her son by the back of his head and pulled his face onto her breasts.

"Mmm, that's it Timmy, c'mon you horny fucker, suck mommy's hot tits. Fuuuuuck, they're so sensitive."

Tim licked and sucked away, moaning as he kept his mouth fully open most of the time, trying to taste every inch of those big breasts. As he came up for air he mumbled, "B-but, mom...why, mom?" and he went back to her breasts, sucking as much of a tit into his mouth as he could as he looked up at her face.