But this night was turning out to be anything but normal.

He got out of the car and glanced briefly at the trunk before walking up the steps and into the house. He paused in the kitchen long enough to down a couple of shots of brandy and rummage through his wife's purse before slipping quietly up the stairs.

The magazine lay open on her chest and she seemed asleep. He crept around to her side of the bed and knelt on the floor, not wanting to wake her. He stared at her intently. The bruise on her forehead had deepened but the swelling was down and the cut was hardly visible.

"So, you're finally home." She said it softly, opening her eyes.

Startled, he rocked backwards, bumping into the wall. "Yeah." He managed a smile. "Sorry it took longer than I thought." He hesitated. "But I found something interesting."

"Really?" She sat up and reached for him, the coverlet slipping down to reveal her bare shoulders. "What was it?"

Oh, no, he thought. Not this time. He got up off his haunches and sat on the foot of the bed. "A graveyard," he said, watching carefully for her reaction.

Her hands paused but her face betrayed nothing.

"Yeah," he went on, "just a small family plot, must be hundreds of years old. It's right there, not far from where you went off the road. Isn't that something?" Her arms now at her sides, she might have been a statue except for the slow rise and fall of her breasts beneath the blanket. With each breath, her cleavage played a game of peek-a-boo with his eyes and his cock stirred once more.

"Anyway," he continued, "I found some blood near the car and I figured you were right, that you must've hit something, so I followed it a short ways down a trail and it led me right to this graveyard. There were four graves, one of which had been washed away by all the rain we had this summer. Just the head stone remained." His hand drifted to his back pocket. "And guess what was written on it."

"Faith Marie Tyler." She closed her eyes. "Born 1692; died 1710. May God Have Mercy On Her Soul."

"The head stone," he said, "was blank. Wiped clean by the passage of time." He raised his hand and pointed it at her, the barrel of the .22 barely protruding beyond his fingers. "Now, you want to tell me just what the fuck is going on here?"

Her lips trembled into a smile. "What do you think is going on, Brian?"

"I'll ask the questions, thanks." The blanket moved as if tugged by an unseen hand and the valley between her breasts grew wider. "You're Faith, aren't you?"

"No, Brian. I'm your wife."

"That's enough!" His hand shook. "Who are you?"

"You know who I am." Her smile broadened. "And do you really think that weapon can hurt me?"

He stared at her. With her eyes closed, how could she know--? He tried a different tack. "You don't sound like someone from the 17th century."

She chuckled from her throat, like a purr. "You can thank Susan for that. Everything I know about this time I'm still learning from her."

"Still learning?"

"Oh, yes. It's impossible to absorb a lifetime of knowledge in so short a time. Even after the sunrise I will go on learning from her."

After sunrise? What the hell did that--? "Wait a minute. Do you mean that whatever's happened – whatever you've done – isn't complete until dawn? If I were to take you back to the graveyard before then I could get Susan back?"

"You're not quite as slow as you look, Brian. Yes, that's exactly what it means." Her head tilted in consideration of the thought. "But that's not going to happen."

"Why not?"

"Because you won't want it to." Her eyes flashed and for a brief second glowed like crimson ashes. His hand opened and the gun, suddenly much too hot to hold, fell harmlessly to the bed. "Now come to me, Brian."

He felt himself irresistibly drawn to her, like the slow tug of an ocean tide, unable to look anywhere but at her eyes. Her arms reached out to welcome him and the blanket slipped down to her waist. Still her gaze held him and he saw that her eyes had changed yet again, the blue softening to pale denim. In that respect, at least, her transformation was now complete.

Then she was kissing him hungrily, her tongue a cotton candy blur in his mouth, and he found himself returning her kiss. Her breasts fit perfectly in his hands and he kneaded them, drawing a moan from her. A part of his mind screamed that this was wrong but it didn't feel wrong. Her skin felt hot now, and he found it impossible to imagine that she'd ever been cold, that she'd ever been outside, lying in the snow for hours, freezing to death while some doppelganger took her place in their house, in their bed.

Impossible to imagine that she was anyone other than his wife.

Her hands were insistent on his shoulders and his lips reluctantly left hers, leaving a trail of saliva on her chin and neck, fastening instead on a nipple and suckling it like a newborn.

"Too long," she breathed, pressing him hard against her.

Too long, he thought, licking and nibbling on the taut, spongy flesh. Much, much too long

Still she persisted and the nipple popped out of his mouth, his stubble scraping the soft swell of her belly as he dropped to his knees beside the bed, throwing the coverlet aside, inhaling the spicy, pungent aroma of her sex. Without preamble, his lips surrounded her engorged clit and his tongue lashed across it like a whip. Her hips bucked against his face reflexively and she cried out, her legs whipsawing across his shoulders, her thighs squeezing his head until all he could hear was the pounding of his own blood.

His tongue burrowed in the velvet tunnel of her cunt and she responded with a gush, flooding his mouth and staining his chin and cheeks with her come. His fingers dug into the pliant, meaty flesh of her ass cheeks as he hung on during a series of orgasms that racked her body like a seizure.

"Oh, how I've missed that," she managed, as the tremors gradually subsided.

Brian gave her juicy slit another swipe and lifted his head. Before he could respond, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye and the words died in his throat.

Susan stood in the doorway.

"Well, don't you two make the cute couple?" She'd taken off her coat and hat before coming upstairs but other than that she looked exactly as he'd found her in the graveyard. Wet ringlets framed her pale, gaunt face and the slight ruddy cast to her cheeks came, he knew, not from alcohol but from anger. He tried to stand but Faith grabbed his shoulders.

"You fool!" she hissed. "Do you know what you've done?"

"I couldn't just leave her out there, could I?"

He got to his feet and staggered around the edge of the bed, stopping only when he saw the butcher knife in her hand. He thought briefly of the little .22, now hidden under the coverlet, but decided against grabbing for it. Instead, he raised his hands slowly, a thief caught in the act, grateful he hadn't gotten around to unzipping his pants.

"Susan, honey," he began, "you're alive!"

"Don't you honey me, you bastard!" Her fingers tightened on the knife and he fought the urge to lower his hands to protect his crotch. "Brian, how could you do this?"

"I thought she was you!"

"Is that what you thought?" Now she did take a step towards him, the cold steel gleaming in her hand. "Is that what you thought when you found me out there, freezing in the snow? Is that what you thought when you left me out in your trunk?"

"Now wait, Susan. That wasn't –"

"You brought her in from the cold, Brian. Why not me?" She raised her hand. "But, of course you couldn't hear me, could you? Not with her thighs wrapped around your head like a pair of ear muffs, you fucking prick!" The knife whistled past his ear and thunked into the wall, quivering like a lost puppy. He ducked, scuttling away from her.

"Damn it, Susan, stop!" He backed towards the closet. The wall stopped him and he glanced nervously left and right, measuring his escape routes. "Wait, please. Look, I just want – Can we talk about this for a minute?

"Honey, I thought you were dead." The words sounded lame, even to him.

"Oh, poor Brian." Her voice was calm but the muscles in her arm bunched and coiled like snakes under her skin. "What is there to talk about? First, you thought I was her and then you thought I was dead. And as for what you want," her chuckle was cold, mirthless, "it's as plain as the come on your face."

He flushed crimson, remembering suddenly that Susan never wanted to kiss him after he'd gone down on her. Somehow, he didn't think Faith would share those qualms. He risked a quick glance at the bed. Faith hadn't bothered to cover herself and her nakedness taunted him, even she watched the two of them with an avid curiosity.

Wait a minute.

"Susan, how much do you remember of what happened tonight?"

"Remember?" Her eyes narrowed. "All of it. I remember everything."

"Then why are you so angry with me," he pointed at Faith, "When you should be mad at her?"

She stared at him, puzzled.

"I'm not the one who caused you to hit the tree, Susan, she did. I didn't leave you out there in the snow to freeze to death while she took your place." His eyes pleaded with her. "Hell, Susan, you'd still be out there if it weren't for me. Don't you understand? If you don't believe me, ask her. Go on, ask her!"

For the first time since appearing in the doorway, Susan seemed confused, indecisive. Slowly she turned and faced the bed. For a few moments, the two women stared at each other in silence. Finally, it was Faith who spoke.

"Well done, Brian," she murmured. "Once again I have to remind myself not to underestimate you." She stood up. "Now you need to leave us alone." The closet door next to him swung open and he felt himself being pulled into it. "Susan and I need some 'girl' talk."

The door slammed shut in his face and before he could move, the shelf behind him gave way and he saw nothing more.

He woke to darkness and quailed, thinking he was in the graveyard, buried under a mound of earth and snow, his life ticking away as the dawn approached. Then he remembered. He winced from the knot on his head and fumbled around for the culprit. Figures, he thought, fingering the bowling bag. Too bad my head wasn't a pin; you'd have missed me for sure.

His eyes began to adjust. A sliver of light stole into the closet through the keyhole and he inched over to it. His view of the room was limited and at first it seemed the two women had left. On one side he saw the curve of the bed and on the other – he stopped. Susan's clothes lay in a heap on the floor. Right where she was standing, he thought. He angled for a better look but there was no sign of the butcher knife.

Movement. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of skin on the bed. At the same moment he heard a moan of unmistakable pleasure, followed by a murmur of throaty laughter. One leg, then two slid into his vision, both of them chopped off in mid-thigh by the edge of the keyhole. Susan? The legs twisted and writhed on the sheet before straightening out suddenly and he heard another moan, louder and longer this time and ending in a wet sigh.

Faith? He jammed his face against the door, hoping for a better look, but like a peephole from Hell, the keyhole permitted only tantalizing glimpses of tawny, disembodied flesh. It was like watching a poorly edited porn flick, only without the bad music. He heard a voice.

"Fuck! Where did you learn how to do that?" Susan! Sweet Jesus, that was Susan!

"My brother taught me."

"Your brother?"

Faith laughed at the shock in Susan's voice. "My brother taught me many things."

Brian listened raptly, wondering if he was going crazy or if he was still knocked out and this was some bizarre concoction of his unconscious. This made no sense. Didn't one of them have to die in a few hours? Then Susan spoke again and he felt the hair on the nape of his neck stand up and salute.

"Well, I wish someone had shown it to Brian." Her voice was soft, languid. "It might have helped."

Had shown?

Why, he wondered, is she talking about me in the past tense? He had a sudden image of himself once again in the graveyard, helpless to move under a mound of earth and snow, while above him the two women stood, like sisters, smiling together as they brought the shovel blade crashing down –

Oh, fuck. Oh, shit. Oh fucking shit.

"So, Brian never pleased you?" He barely heard Faith over the pounding of his heart.

"Oh, he was a good enough lover." Brian distinctly heard her sigh. "He just couldn't give me what I wanted."

A baby, he thought. Oh, you fucking cunt! He wanted to scream it at her. Haven't we been over this before? He'd heard enough.

He tried turning the doorknob. Locked. He considered his options. Two ideas came readily to mind but both were noisy. He decided to pop the lock; it was quicker and he might get some advantage of surprise out of it. He stepped back to get some leverage behind his kick but before he could move, Susan cried out.

"Oh, God! Your tongue! How do you – Oh, fuck!" She became incoherent, the words trailing off into a mixture of inarticulate grunts and moans.

Brian hesitated. He bent down for another look through the keyhole but the legs had disappeared from view. He readied his kick...and watched in amazement as the doorknob began to turn by itself. He heard a soft click and the door opened, swinging wide and gently bumping the wall.

After a moment, he heard Faith's voice. "Come out, come out, wherever you are."

He moved cautiously to the doorway of the closet and stopped, rooted to the spot by the erotic picture in front of him.

The two women were lying next to each other on the bed. Susan lay on her back with her eyes closed and legs spread, her mouth open and moving but no sound coming from it. Faith rested to one side, her fingers lightly playing with Susan's matted pubes, a cat just ate the canary grin on her face.

Susan's words came back to him as he noticed the wet come on Faith's chin and cheeks. Does this, he wondered, make us even? While he watched, she flicked her tongue lightly over Susan's nipple and then slipped it into her mouth. Susan's gasp gurgled up from her throat like air escaping a balloon.

The gasp became a shriek as Faith plunged two fingers between the wet folds of Susan's pussy and began fucking her with them. All the while, Faith kept her eyes locked on his, teasing him, challenging him, even as her lips curled and her smooth, white teeth bit down on Susan's tender bud.

Brian looked on in wonder. This has to be a dream, he thought, watching Faith mangle his wife's tit like a chew toy. Dozens of questions whirled in his mind but the raw, primal sexuality in front of him scattered them all like scraps of paper, cleaving straight to his reptilian core, the part of his brain that imagined only three responses to life's problems: fight, flight or fuck. His cock raged in its confinement and his skulking fear only spurred it on.

Susan cried out suddenly and her back arched, thrusting even more of her breast into Faith's mouth. Her body convulsed once, twice, and then went limp, crumpling on the bed like a corpse.

Faith raised her head and the nipple popped from her mouth like a cork. She inspected her gooey fingers, inhaling deeply. Satisfied, she lightly draped them across Susan's lips. No way, Brian thought. Not a fucking chance. But Susan opened her mouth and began licking and sucking on them greedily. After a moment, as if to add a measure of punctuation, Faith leaned over and replaced her fingers with her mouth. Susan accepted this without hesitation and Brian could only gape as the two women kissed open-mouthed, their tongues slipping and sliding together like a couple of plump seals.

As they kissed, Faith whispered something too low for Brian to hear. Susan paused, her eyelids fluttering; she nodded. They shared one more lingering kiss and then Susan began to shift her position on the bed. Faith sat up and looked at Brian as if noticing him for the first time. She frowned.

"Why aren't you naked?"

He stared at her, unable to reply.

She crooked her finger. "Come here, Brian."

His legs jerked and he stumbled forward, his cock still very much in charge. Susan now rested on her stomach with her hips elevated by some bed pillows. Her soft, rounded ass, slick-shiny with sweat and come, swayed before him like a split peach with a juicy slit center. When Faith leaned over and jabbed her tongue into Susan's asshole, Brian felt as if he'd blundered into a wet dream featuring the Coors Light Twins.

Faith watched him undress, her eyes glittering.

"Oh, Susan!" she mewled, "look at what we've got here!" His thickly veined cock swayed before her, dribbling copious amounts of pre-come. Faith reached out to guide him onto the bed. Susan stirred, turning her head to look. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused.

"Yep," she said thickly. "That's the one." Her voice sounded like she'd been gargling syrup.

"What did you do to her?"

"Oh, you might say I've prepared her," Faith answered lightly, using her thumb to polish the pre-come into his knob.

"Prepared her? For what?" Her touch was exquisite torture.

"For your seed." Unnoticed, her left hand slipped under the coverlet. Susan closed her eyes and began slowly grinding her pussy into the pillows.

"Wait a minute." He shook his head. "I don't know what she told you but we've been through all that, and I can't – "

"Don't you worry," Faith interrupted him by squeezing his dick. "I'll take care of it."

Abruptly, she bent down and engulfed him with her mouth. Brian groaned as she swallowed him to the root, her nose nestling in his pubes. He'd never met a woman who could take all of him into her mouth – Susan wouldn't even try – and when he felt her tongue snake over his balls it took a major effort of will not to empty his wad down her throat.

She lifted her head in slow motion, showing off her skill. After tongue bathing every inch of him with her saliva, her lips squeegeed him dry. She came up for air smiling and with her left hand grasped him firmly at the base of the shaft. He didn't notice her other hand until it was too late.

Faith slid the butcher knife across his mushroomed head like a violin bow, so quickly that he barely felt it.

"What the fuck --?" Brian stared in shock and horror at the blood welling up from the shallow cut. Her fingers squeezed his balls.

"Don't move!" Once more she bent down. Her lips hovered over his penis, murmuring words he couldn't hear. Her tongue lapped at the wound, daubing his blood over his slit in the rough shape of a cross.

Brian was startled to discover that he felt no pain from the cut; his cock seemed to have gone completely numb. Despite the trauma and the lack of feeling, his hard-on remained intact. If anything, it seemed to have grown bigger. How was that possible?

"You cut me," he finally managed. "Why did you cut me?"

"Don't be such a big baby." She said it casually, as though her tone could make him forget the sight of the blade slicing through his flesh. "It's just a few drops of blood." She looked at him evenly. "Sometimes, to get what you want, you have to be willing to shed a little blood." She tugged him into position behind Susan, who, oblivious to all else, continued to hump her pillows.

Brian hesitated. "Wait a minute. How am I supposed to come if I can't feel anything?" "Oh, you'll come, all right."

She rubbed his cock up and down the length of Susan's slit before gently placing the bulging head between her pouting lips. "Come on, Brian. Fuck your wife like a good boy."

His hips twitched reflexively and Susan gasped as his cock slithered inside her.

"That's it," Faith cooed, "Give her what she wants." She moved behind him and twisted her body, slipping between his legs, not stopping until her head rested snugly against the pillows. "Now this," she sighed, "is my kind of view." She tickled his balls and playfully slapped his ass.

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byGaucho© 10 comments/ 34991 views/ 2 favorites

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