A New York Haunting: Pt. 11

Everything in the spacious room was as he remembered it: the lustrous glow produced by the copper silk wallpaper and matching bed hangings --- the massive, sculpted mahogany bedposts, canopy, and wainscoting --- and the petite young woman lying in the bed under the covers. As before, she appeared to be asleep.

Anders inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled, striving to control the hammering of his heart. Scanning the room, he marked the crackling blaze in the fireplace on the wall opposite the bed, the mantel clock showing eleven o'clock on the dot, and the painting of the seascape above it --- the water as turbulent as his present emotions. Warily he eyed the bedside chair from whence he had witnessed the ghost's shocking actions --- almost expecting to see someone seated there even now ... watching him. Who? Peter? His own ghost?

The growing pressure in his unfurling organ prodded him to lend his attention to the agenda posthaste.

He did not possess the supernatural powers that would enable him to re-enact all the anticipated feats of fornication in the mere half hour it had taken the ghost. Ondine had promised they would have the whole night --- he prayed the remarkable experiment would take that long.

He crossed to the fireplace, shrugged off his overcoat, and laid it on the nearby armchair. It was pleasantly warm in the room, prompting a sudden, previously unconsidered question: had Van der Veen's ghost been wearing clothing? The fleeting glimpses he'd had of the glowing green form offered no answers. Anders glanced towards the bed. Ondine's dark hair and pale face were visible above the covers. Presumably, she was wearing a nightgown --- which he would shortly be removing.

He swallowed, his cock expanding yet further in his trousers. It took but a moment to decide, and then he was sliding out of his suit jacket. If Ondine was going to be nude, then by God he would be too! Even though this was to be a one-time experiment, he would be damned if he let pass the opportunity to feel her naked skin against his!

Buttons, studs, loops, and knots --- his fingers raced, dismantling piece by piece the outfit he had so carefully assembled, draping everything over the chair back. He set his pocket watch and shirt studs on the mantel.

At last completely undressed, Anders took a deep breath and headed across the room, his bobbing lather-maker heavy and protruding. Chaos erupted in his overwrought mind. Was he actually stark naked in Ondine Van der Veen's bedchamber? This must be a mad dream!

And yet as tangible as anything, he smelled the scent of burning logs, felt the fire's heat on his bare ass, and felt the softness of the Persian rug under his toes.

Could Mrs. Cornelissen's statement have been true all along? Did Ondine wish him out of her life? Was this all some elaborate ruse concocted by the family to entrap him? Would Detective Donnelly suddenly burst out from behind the drapes and arrest him?

Another staggering thought came to him --- what would happen if the ghost also visited the girl that night? Both previous times, the spirit's appearance had rendered him paralyzed. Would he be struck immobile, cock embedded in Ondine's cunny, while Van der Veen fucked her rear alley? Good God!

Soundlessly, he approached the bed.

And what if Ondine --- despite her stated wishes, despite her giving him directions and the key --- opened her eyes and screamed in terror to behold him standing naked next to her bed, cockstand throbbing rampant?

Two steps more and he halted, his heart pounding.

Ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-thump.

Before him, with her eyes closed and the coverlet drawn up to her chin, lay the subject of all his yearnings --- one Ondine Van der Veen. Her dark hair was unbound, surrounding her pale face and tumbling over the pillow, long and shining. Similarly lush brows and lashes framed the tender, rounded lids. Pink, bow-like lips were slightly parted, inexorably beckoning his longing eyes.

Anders' gaze slowly traveled over her. In the low light of the bedside oil lamp, the copper silk cover glowed with a dull sheen, contouring her nubile figure with provocative highlights and shadows ... the rise and fall of her breasts with her soft respirations ... the concavity of her slender waist ... the flare of her hips. With her apparent state of slumber, he was at last free to linger unabashedly over the details of her beauty.

His eyes darted back to her face. Was she genuinely asleep or was she simply playing her part to the hilt? Speaking of which --- he chided himself --- he was not here to indulge his amorous desires; he was here to help her. He could only imagine what it had been like for her the past year --- being repeatedly subjected to erotic stimulation without relief! And remaining in ignorance of the nature of her torment and its remedy, courtesy of society's repressive dictums!

Dæven! It was time for him to play his part in the experiment!

Chapter 47. TESTING THE HYPOTHESIS

Reaching forward, he took hold of the top edge of the bedcovers and began to peel them down over Ondine's body. Slowly, almost stealthily, did he uncover her neck ... her shoulders ... her torso ... her legs ... folding back the eiderdown and sheet to the foot of the bed. His pupils dilated as they absorbed the vision.

As before, she was clad in a demure white nightgown that covered her from neck to wrist to toe. Her hands were folded serenely upon her abdomen. The gown, although minimally decorated, was clearly of superior quality and was reminiscent of a man's tuxedo shirt with vertical pleats flanking a button placket on the chest. Anders' breath caught upon closer perusal. So fine-spun was the fabric, he could make out on either side of the pleated area the telltale circles of her areolas.

Lower, the soft cotton molded to her shapely thighs, and the fabric fold nestling into the crevice along their length directed his gaze to the juncture. Herregud! He swallowed. Here at this wondrous place, the gossamer thin fabric rose from the flatness of her belly, floating atop the pufflette of hair upon her mons, the dark patch visible under the hazy whiteness.

Inhaling and exhaling through a wave of excitement, he bent over the bed and carefully slid his arms under her back and knees, lifting her off the mattress.

Ondine's scantily clad figure was now clasped against his naked torso, her warmth and weight delectable in his arms and her hip brushing the swollen crown of his cock. Her head leaned against his shoulder, then lolled backwards, hair streaming down. Unless the girl had deliberately taken a soporific drug, he had to assume her limp, insensible state was part of the re-enactment. With a step back, he gingerly set her bare feet to the floor and placed her in a standing position next to the bed.

Stock still she stood, eyes closed and arms hanging at her sides. Anders' pulse galloped as he reached for the front of her nightgown. With the first tug on the fabric, her eyelids momentarily tremored. He started at the top of the placket --- his excited, fumbling fingers unfastening one tiny pearl button after the other. From neck to mid belly, a long narrow triangle of pale skin was gradually exposed, visibly moving with her breathing. On the brink of drawing up the garment, he remembered the sleeves. One small hand then the other was picked up to undo the cuff buttons.

Holding his breath, his fingers gathered the hanging fabric alongside her hips and pulled it up. Up, up, up --- her arms compliantly lifted under the nudging cue. And then he was tugging the gown over her head and hands, her dark tresses falling free from the collar and spilling around her now stripped body.

Big andalusite irises stared up at him.

Intent and wordless, their gazes held, the spell breathlessly extending until the downward flicks of her eyelashes betrayed her hesitant glances at his nakedness --- stolen peeks at his chest, his shoulders, his belly. The nervous survey ventured yet lower, and Ondine's body subtly swayed as her attention was captured by his aroused privy member --- a moment later, her eyes darted back up to meet his fervid stare. Spots of color bloomed on her cheeks.

She still stood pliant, but now biting her quavering lower lip. Anders' starved eyes could no longer resist and drank in the wonder of her bare body.

The details which had been burned into his mind were truly here before him, less than an arm's-length away --- indeed, so close to him was she that her soft breaths tickled the skin of his chest. Befuddled, he took in Fate's impossible gift to him --- a petite form so lilting it made his heart ache, the svelte lines from her active pursuits sweetly accentuated by the favors of her sex. Plump little breasts. Slim waist. Long hair cascading to her curved hips. Sighting down her torso from his tall vantage point, the garnishing daub of curls upon her mound was the alluring beacon to Venus' grotto.

It was incomprehensible --- all her charms were vulnerable before him and accompanied by her express directive to make free with them. He should be overjoyed --- he was and yet he wasn't. In this moment --- when he knew the first act in the experiment was a blatant pawing of her bosom --- what he most yearned to do was enfold the trembling female in his arms and kiss her.

Damn Peter Van der Veen! Damn re-enacting his uncouth script! Anders' hands curled into fists. Yes of course, on the basest level, he wanted to fuck her. But he didn't want to simply fuck her --- and such was seemingly his assignment. No. He wanted to love this girl with the entirety of his being --- his eyes, his lips, his tongue, his hands, his heart, his soul, and yes ... his cock.

Anders stood silently looking down at her, his beating heart reaching out to her across the few inches separating them.

But no detectable echoing sentiment on her part reached out to meet it. Instead, Ondine's eyes closed once more.

Bidding his heart to shut up, he raised his left hand and placed it upon her right breast, his palm covering the delicate pink peak and his fingers splayed on the upper slope. She jumped. For several seconds, he remained motionless, clasping the quivering orb and feeling the pattering of her heart ... could its rapid tempo match his?

Then he began to fondle her in earnest. Oh God! Never before had he experienced the delight of playing with a girl's teats, fully exposed and in the light. With both hands did he eagerly cup and squeeze ... lift and bounce the entrancing springy flesh. Modest in size they might be, but the succulent roundness could be cradled in his large hands to perfection. Oh heaven!

His eyes shifted back and forth from her bosom to her face, marking the effect of his touch in the subtle twitches of her brows and nostrils and parting of her lips. Again he battled the urge to kiss her.

Gentler and more sensuous did his caresses grow, his fingertips trailing all over the proud contours of the satiny flesh, gradually ascending to the even silkier, blushing tips. Under his soft tugging attention, he felt in fascination the nipples swell and lengthen. As his own breathing accelerated, Anders realized Ondine's breath as well was now audible between her open lips. Soon, his ardent stroking had the buds standing charmingly erect.

His organ throbbed a plaintive reminder that it was time to forge ahead. Releasing his hold on her lusciously roused girl founts, he paused in recollection of the next act. After several moments of contemplation, his hovering hands came to rest upon her shoulders. Ever so lightly, he applied pressure and whispered, "Kneel down."

She stood unmoving, eyelids lowered.

His breath caught. Would she do it?

Three thumps of his heart later she complied, sinking to the floor, eyes still closed. Anders stared down in disbelief at the nude girl before him --- from her pale knees pressed into the Persian rug, to her enchanting face level with his groin. Even as he gaped down at her, the fan of lashes on one eye lifted, uncovering a luminous hazel iris that fixed directly on his genitals --- only to flick abruptly shut.

Then a few seconds later, both big eyes were open, converging upon the evidently worrisome object a few inches before her face --- his upright, blood-engorged, vein-traced pillar, its overexcited head uncapped, its pendant balls raring to go.

From her hypnosis session, he was aware she had seen at least two other erect phalluses --- Peter's and the stable boy's --- but not previously at so close a proximity, he'd wager by her reaction. Recalling the degree of stretching of her orifices produced by the ghost's appendage, he judged Peter had swung a good-sized engine. He could not speculate as to length, but if anything, his own girth exceeded that of the erstwhile bridegroom.

Elated and vain, his cock thrummed and basked in her wide-eyed attention, but Anders' brain still had the wherewithal to sense her anxiety --- and attempt humor in hopes of relieving it. "Don't be scared, this means it definitely likes you."

Ondine's blink was but a fleeting interruption of her wary perusal.

"Erm --- Mrs. Van der Veen --- the next part of the re-enactment is you taking it in your mouth and sucking it."

Her eyebrows shot up and her mouth fell open. Shocked eyes sprang to his. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Røkke?"

"I'm sorry --- erm --- that's what the ghost did next. But we can omit it if you prefer."

As her eyes held his, he marked the pink flush expanding from her face and creeping down her neck towards the standing tips of her breasts. Eyelashes lowering, she shook her head.

"No, we must proceed if that is what he did," she said in a resolute voice.

But her gaze remained apprehensive as he pushed his stiffstander down to the horizontal. "The ... umm ... whole thing?" she stammered.

"No, no, just start at the end." At her continued timorous appraisal, he added, "It might be easiest to --- erm --- begin by wetting it with spittle."

Even anticipating it, he could not help shivering at the first touch of her cautiously extended tongue upon his organ. An uncertain upward glance followed his sharp inhalation of breath, but upon his nod, she proceeded to address the burning skin of his crown with soft wet swabs, tentative at first, but growing bolder when no calamity befell her. His heart and cock pulsed as one as she licked her way all over the helmet, along the flange, and shiveringly over the frenulum.

He groaned.

Her wide eyes again lifted to his face, seeming to gauge his reactions as her slippery stinger explored his anatomy, lingering in curiosity where the flicking strokes elicited his gasps.

"Ya, ya ... wet the shaft too, Mrs. Van der Veen," he breathed.

Her head tilted from side to side as her agile tongue tickled around his fingers holding down the beast. Soon, his entire Captain Standish --- from the eye to the short hairs --- was painted with a glistening coat of the darling girl's spittle. After a moment's hesitation, he touched the top of her bobbing head with his free hand.

"Erm --- I think it's wet enough. Are you ready for the next part?"

Ondine straightened with a brave nod. "Like this?" She opened her mouth.

"Yes --- erm --- be careful of your teeth," he murmured. Steadying himself with a deliberate breath, he directed his cock to her glossy, spittle-slicked lips. The tip of her pretty tongue came out to meet him. Slowly he advanced, sensing her flustered efforts and pausing to allow her mouth to accommodate his broad bulb.

By careful degrees, his swollen organ pressed into a warm moist heaven, guided in by a dainty, pink velvet runner --- a runner that exquisitely wriggled and laved him. The vision of Ondine's eyes erotically crossing as she watched him penetrate her mouth sent a pang through Anders' vitals.

Cockhead at last engulfed, they together worked in the shaft, breaths coming short --- his through his open mouth, hers through her nostrils --- until half his organ was buried in her oral aperture. Now releasing hold of his cock, he placed both hands gently upon her head. Between the light pressure of his fingers and the rocking of his pelvis, he produced a slight in-and-out sliding motion. Whether by her quick mind, an unconscious memory of the ghost's actions, or instinct, Ondine fast grasped the fundamentals of the exercise.

He moaned as she latched onto him, sucking and sucking as naively as if upon a candy stick, lips clamped around his girth --- tongue, palate, and cheeks milking him. Following the cues of his ecstatic fingertips, her head moved forward and back in lengthening excursions accompanied by lascivious slurping sounds. Oh God! It was too sweet!

The pleasure swiftly burgeoned throughout his body --- his toes gripped the rug, his thighs and belly muscles tensed, his heart hammered, and his fingers pressed against her scalp.

"OH!" she gasped as he popped out of her mouth, his raging erection springing up to his belly. Her hand beat his to it, grabbing the shaft and pulling it back down to her mouth. And he was again embraced by voluptuous wetness. Clearly reluctant to let go the newly discovered plaything, her little hand wrapped around as much of the slippery shaft as it could, combining its previously learned to and fro tugging with the eager endeavors of her mouth.

Christ! It was too much! Ondine ... his Ondine ... was sucking his cock! Artlessly, true enough, but unreservedly. Waves of joyful tension flowed towards his groin.

Sensing the fast-approaching crisis and recalling the dénouement of this particular scene with the ghost, he was seized by sudden chivalry. Stilling the motions of her head, he pulled out of her mouth and said in a strangled voice, "Erm ... Peter spent in your mouth. We can skip that part."

Her big eyes lifted to his; he did not sense complete comprehension in them when she responded, "We must adhere to the re-enactment, Mr. Røkke."

Anders groaned as her mouth once more covered him and her avid hand resumed stroking. With a last mental shrug, he abandoned himself to the escalating delight. He gaped with all his eyes at the incomparable sight before him: the lovely nymph who had consumed his nearly every waking and dreaming thought the past three months knelt naked at his feet.

No dream was it now --- her precious face was indeed impaled by his ruddy man-root, her eyes closed in concentration as the dilated 'O' of her lips slid back and forth over the junction of his crown and shaft. Rosy cheeks repeatedly hollowed in tempo with the wiggling of her lingual muscle and pumping of her fist. Shiny ribbons of spittle slid down her chin.

His eyes glazed with the inexorable mounting pressure, his ballocks straining towards her, and his shaking fingers twining in her thick hair. A tumult of imprudent words bubbled unspoken amid his hoarse breaths, but when his body jolted with the onslaught of release, he gasped, "Mrs. Van der Veen! I --- beg --- your --- pardon!" The torrent of bliss surged through his organ, spewing a slew of hot spunk over her tongue and tonsils.

Ondine's eyes flashed open with the eruption, but she held on for dear life, the plucky girl! Rounder and rounder grew her eyes above the spasming column discharging in her mouth.

As the final throb of pleasure subsided, Anders' clenched muscles relaxed, and a long breath escaped him. In joyful disbelief he gazed down at Ondine's flushed, stunned-looking face. A moment later he recovered his wits and released the handfuls of her hair, withdrawing from her mouth.

He hastened to the fireplace to retrieve the handkerchief from his pile of clothes. "Here," he said, returning to the bedside where she yet knelt. "Please forgive me. You can spit it out."