Even More New Story!

It was easy to see how a guy like Rory could get a girl like the one on the stairs, Matt thought. All you need is a shit ton of money and a house you can get lost in. He laughed to himself and swung the flashlight around, hunting for the feeder pipes. There was definitely a leak. He could smell the musty scent of fresh dampness, an ability he would be fine sacrificing for some of the homeowner’s money. 

The basement ran almost the full length of the house. Supports rose like pillars from floor to ceiling. Some spots were carpeted, others plain stone, though it looked like cobblestone rather than the more industrial cement. There was a maze formed by stacked boxes, probably lousy with mice, and little rooms with thin walls that were hardly more than plaster and some narrow beams for support. Some of these were hidden by equally thin doors, some open like the empty sockets of a broken smile. 

He couldn’t say just where he was when he came upon the open space in the basement. Matt thought he might be somewhere in the middle of the home’s floor plan, but it was difficult to be sure given the twists he’d taken to find the spot. Still no feed pipes, but a hell of a sight nonetheless.

“I’ll be damned,” he told no one, his flashlight bouncing from the chaise lounge to the rich red carpet to the chairs nearby, and a pair of tall cabinets behind those. An end table held a lamp, the shade draped with silk cloth.

“It used to be quite something.”

He turned fast, holding the light at his shoulder, stepping away from the figure that appeared, impossibly, behind him. She shrank back, held her hand to shield her eyes from the light.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, lowering the light some, but keeping the beam between them. Illuminating them both in the windowless basement. “I don’t think you oughta be down here, ma’am. It’s a little dirty for a lady like you.”

“Ma’am?” she asked, clutching her hands to her chest in mock distress. “Surely I don’t look like I’m that old, do I?”

“Hell no,” he said quickly. “I mean, no, ma’am. Just how I was raised, you know. Being polite and all.”

“You are polite,” she grinned. “I like polite.”

Matt was struck by how wide and bright her smile was, especially in the gloom of the basement. She was dark haired, and that dark, thick hair was punctuated by a tumble of curls. She was draped in black and purple, a corset cinching her waist. Her long legs were encase din black stockings, the kind Matt had only ever seen in magazines and online, where the tops clipped to garters. Beneath the corset was a blossoming skirt that looked like it might have been the height of fashion a hundred years ago, but it was split in such a way to show off the gorgeous woman’s legs. She was close enough to rest a hand on his chest, and he saw a glove on that hand made of the same sheer stuff as her stockings. 

“You are a manly man, aren’t you, Matt?”

Had he told her his name? He didn’t recall doing so, but who was he to argue with a woman who looked like that?

“I play some sports,” he offered.

“I bet you do. I like games, too, Matt. Want to play one with me?”

“I should probably-” he began, but the woman stilled him with a finger pressed to his lips.

“Just nod your head, sweetie.”

He did.

“Good. See that wardrobe over there?” She gestured with a cock of her head. His eyes followed and he nodded. “I want you to go over there and pick something out. And once you have, I want you to show it to me.”

His brows knit together, puzzling out the strange turn of events. Before he could cobble a thought together, the dark beauty dropped a hand to his crotch, gently cupping him under his clothes. Matt gasped.

“Hurry along, now.”

Matt obeyed, looking back to make sure he hadn’t imagined the woman in the first place. She stood, shrouded in shadow, we he left her, waiting for his return. The wardrobe she directed him too was coated in dust, but the smell was different here. He could smell something sweet, like a woman’s perfume. When he opened the double doors, the scent struck him like a wave. 

He shone his light inside the cabinet and saw a row of dresses and feminine finery, hanging from wooden hangers, or clipped by wooden pins to the rod. The clothes looked old, but they were in perfect condition, as if age and rot sopped at the doors of the wardrobe and never ventured inside.

He puzzled over what game they might be playing, and decided it must be some kink of hers. ‘Pick out my clothes and I’ll fuck you in them,’ something like that. He pushed a few dresses this way and that, hunting for just the right thing. The woman would be hot in anything, but something just right would get him off in no time.

“You a friend of Sara’s or something?” He didn’t turn to ask, and was surprised when the voice was so close when she answered.

“Something like that. Hunting for something special?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Gotta be just right, you know?”

“I do know. Men are all the same. They all have a portrait in their heads of what a woman is, whats he should be. And they cry like spoiled children when they don’t get what they want.”

“I don’t know about that…”

“I do. I have spent more years around men than I care to count, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Despite their brutish nature, they are so… delicious.”

Amid the dark colors and deep reds in the cabinet, there was something brighter, a light pink ensemble that caught his eye. Calling it a dress was an overstatement. It was more akin to a babydoll nightie, but split beneath the cups so that the abdomen was exposed. White lace trim decorated that split, along with the thin straps of the thing. Attached by the wooden clothespins were a pair of pink panties and sheer pink stockings. 

“This,” he announced, turning back to the woman behind him, holding the outfit before him like a totem of warding.

“How lovely,” the beautiful strange purred. “So soft. And pink Is the perfect color of femininity, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

It was soft under his fingers, and his skin tingled at the touch of it. 

“Come here,” she said, and opened her arms.

“Are you going to change into it, or-?”

She embraced him, suspending the nightie and its accessories between them. He released his hold on the hanger, running his fingers up and through her tangle of ebony hair. Her mouth was on his, red lips moving against his own, her tongue first inviting him, then consuming him. She was opening the zipper on his jeans, fishing for his erection. When she pulled him free, he felt the silk of the stockings around it, her hand wrapping him in the pink fabric.

“That feels good, doesn’t it, sweetie?”

“Yes,” he groaned. He’d never had any interest in women’s fashion, but he was beginning to understand the appeal of such delicate material on his skin.

“All wrapped up like a soft cocoon around you.” She punctuated her words with a shallow stroke, the silk stockings offering a  frictionless path up and down his shaft.

“Oh god,” he sighed, and felt the woman kissing his neck, licking his throat. And all the while, that maddening pressure on his cock, drawing him ever-nearer a climax.

“I need you,” she said. 

“Yes.”

“I want you.”

“Yes!”

The sensation on his staff was too much. With a choking sound, he came, erupting in the woman’s hand. Laughing, she stepped away from him. He saw the stocking she’d used to jerk him off dangling from her grip. Lifting her hand, she licked his cum from her fingers.

“See? Delicious. But I have a confession to make, Matt.”

“Jesus,” he said, a confused wonder coloring his voice. “What?”

“I’m still hungry.”

And then she was on him, her cum-flavored lips on his, her hands on his back, hips pressed against his. She was insistent, and stronger than he expected. And then she was inhaling, breathing him in. Only it wasn’t just his breath she stole. Something deep inside him felt like it was pulled loose by that suction, drinking down some essential part of him as he fed this gorgeous woman. What had before felt so erotic now felt dangerous.

He struggled to free himself, but her grip only tightened. When he tried to cry out, that, too, was stolen from him. Fingers clawed at his flesh, digging into his skin like talons, and always that sucking sensation, drawing him deeper and deeper down until he knew no more.

It was easy to steal down the steps from the second floor through the library. Once there, the downstairs entrance would take you to the hall, and then it was a right and then a quick left to the study. While Sara began the day with no intention to go back into the secret room, the very knowledge of the thing brought with it an incessant itch to explore more. She moved with a feline grace from the door of the library into the study, careful not to draw Rory’s attention, or that of the burly handyman. 

There was no specific reason she had to slink about, nor was there a reasons he could pinpoint that she hadn’t told Rory about the room. Except that it was hers. While the rest of the house might be all Rory’s, along with the bank account that made their future a bright one indeed, this was something that belonged only to Sara. 

Turning the bust released the hidden door once more, and Sara slipped into the dark passage and beyond, into the room with its central podium and the uncanny book atop it. This time, she used the light on her phone to identify candles resting unlit in recesses in the wall, and more books with Latin names on the spines. Some were of the same type as that on the lectern, while others were almost picture books, filled with horrid portraits of monsters devouring humans whole, or sensual and birdlike creatures hovering at the foot a man’s bed. 

So what if she was a witch? Sara wondered. She didn’t believe in that stuff. She never bother going around a ladder versus beneath it, nor did she hop over cracks in the sidewalk. Spilled salt was simply swept off the table and not tossed over a shoulder. And yet…

And yet there was a shroud-like sensation on entering this room, that the air was thick and clung to her. Whens he stood with the book in front of her, flipping through its heavy pages, it was like the air paused altogether. She couldn’t make out the meaning of the words, but they danced before her eyes nonetheless, a parade of hand-written passages that meant nothing. And yet she couldn’t stop herself from reading another, turning the page to find one more.

“Sara? Sara!”

She shook into focus, widening her eyes and shaking her head to knock the cobwebs off her thoughts. It was Rory, and he was coming closer. Like a child desperate to hide her misdeed, she rushed out of the hidden room and closed it, even as the door of the study opened.

“Hey.” Rory poked his head in the room without fully entering. “Didn’t you hear me?”

“Sorry, I was in another world, I guess. What’s up?”

“It’s Matt. The guy I hired.”

“Something wrong?”

“I think he’s sick. Do you have some aspirin or something?”