In Town for a Funeral

Just as I was about to lean forward the last few inches, I heard a male voice inside my head, "Wait! Not so fast. Make her beg for it."

I sat up, leaning back on my haunches, my hands resting on Flo's knees. Then I reached behind me and grabbed a foot, my fingers wrapped around the arch. I pulled her foot back and up so the leg was fully extended. I rose up on my knees and caressed the side of my face with the captive foot. The skin on her foot was soft and warm. "No!" the voice reminded me. "You should be caressing her foot with your face. Not the other way around. It's all about her." The voice wasn't Flo's. It was the male voice again. I seemed to have more than one coach.

After stroking the side of her foot with my face one more time, I pulled my head back and used my tongue to softly lick the sole of her foot, starting just in front of the heel and working up the base of her toes. I repeated my tongue's caress of her sole, and then I used it to lick that little space between her toe pads and the base of each toe. I followed that up by slowly sucking on each toe.

"Oh, you bad boy," she said. "Where did you learn that? Oh," she groaned. "That feels so good, just heavenly."

I hadn't forgotten her pussy, of course. The voice inside me had told me to take my time—so I was, and she seemed to be enjoying my delay. My next tactic was to begin kissing and licking my way up her leg. I did it as slowly and sensuously as I could, being sure to lick and caress all the little soft spots, on the inside of her Achilles tendon, just below the calf and, most importantly, behind her knee. As I worked my way up her thigh, I concentrated on the soft skin on the inside. Occasionally I pinched it between my thumb and forefinger.

Eventually I reached the junction of her legs. There was a pool of her liquid on the bed below her and her lips were spread wide, her arousal having pushed them apart. I could easily see into the opening of her cunt, that I so badly wanted to fuck. I let my nose briefly brush her distended pussy lips, but kept my tongue in check.

As I pulled back, Flo groaned. "Oh God! You bastard. You can't stop now. Just finish me. Oh you're a fucking sadist. Where did you learn to do this?"

The voice in my head (the male voice) said, "That's it. You've got her going."

I ignored her plea. No that's not true. I relished in it, and I rose to my knees again, picked up her other leg and repeated the whole process.

Eventually I reached her sex again. I repeated my delay, staring at her gaping cunt and listening with delight to her pleas and demands that I finish her. This time I reached forward and slid three fingers of my right hand into her slippery, warm, wet, cunt. "Oh yes! Oh fuck yes! Now your tongue. Use your tongue. Oh, Andrew Cranston," she said, using my whole name for the first time. "Use your tongue."

How the hell did she know my middle name? I never told anyone my middle name, but she had been calling me Cranston for half an hour now.

As she spoke, she reached behind her knees and pulled back on her legs so that she was fully exposed. The movement pulled my fingers from her cunt. I leaned forward resting my elbows on the bed with my hands and arms cradling her ass. Then I used the flat of my tongue to lick one long slow soft stroke from her rosebud to just short of her protruding clit. I slowly repeated my licking as she groaned and cried. She was in ecstasy now.

I kept up the licking for at least five minutes. Eventually the male voice in my head spoke again, "Okay. You've toyed with her enough. This is a cunt licking she will never forget. Move to her clit now."

My tongue took a final stroke up the length of her sex, but this time I didn't stop when I reached her clit. As my flat tongue brushed over it, she arched her back and cried out, "Oh yes. That's it. That's it. More!"

Now I used the tip of my tongue to lash her clit, much as I had done with her nipples. Then I moved to sucking on her clit. At the same time I slid three fingers back into her gaping cunt. Now she had both hands on my head holding it in place. There was no way to turn back now. She would kill me if I stopped.

"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck! Ohhhhhhhhh! Yes, yes, yes, Oh god, I'm going to cum. OHHHHHHHHHHHHH! OHHHHHH SHIT! FUUUUUUUUUUCK! OOOOOOOOOOOH!" She was shrieking.

As her climax roared through her she arched her back and pulled my face even tighter into her. I could barely breath, but then again, I'm not sure she was doing much breathing either. I could feel the muscles in her pussy clamping down on my fingers, pushing them together and over each other.

Eventually she began to breathe again. The pressure on my fingers began to relent, but it was in waves that kind of matched her sobs. Flo put her feet back on the bed, her legs on either side of me, and I pulled back to my knees and sat watching her trying to recover from her ecstasy.

Fucking Flo—Interrupted

That's when I heard the voice in my head again, "Now fuck her! Use that big hard dick of yours to fuck her!" It wasn't Flo's voice and it wasn't my voice either.

So I did; or at least I started to. I shuffled forward on my knees and then leaned forward on my arms so I was poised over her torso with my once again stiff cock poised for action at the mouth of her cunt. Then I leaned forward just a bit and began to force it into her. She was so tight, still cramped from her massive orgasm of a few minutes earlier before.

"Wait! Oh god! What are you doing? Oh god. Not now. You just destroyed me with that fucking tongue of yours!"

I flexed and pushed a bit harder. Not ramming it home mind you. Just a modest increase in the slow steady pressure I had been maintaining. Now the head was past the entrance and my prick had begun a slow steady drive into her cunt.

As I looked down at Flo her brown eyes popped open wide. "Oh!" she said. "Oh fuck! Oh fuck yes! Goddamn! That feels good. So fucking good! It's been years!"

"So you don't want me to stop?" I said.

"No, no! Don't stop! Just keep doing what you are doing. I'm so full. So fucking full!"

It didn't take long until my prick was pushing against the end of her cunt. I stopped pushing and lowered my body down on to hers so my chest was smashed against those marvelous tits. We both lay still enjoying the sensations arising from my large, hot, prick stuffing her wet, slippery, cunt.

Then we heard a noise. "What's that?" I asked.

"It's the garage door opening! Someone is back!"

"Oh, oh. Is that a problem? Will they come up here?"

"They might. We better get dressed and get out of here," she said as she pushed me off and out of her. Now we could hear a car idling into the garage.

I quickly had my T-shirt and jeans on (I had no idea where my boxers had gone). As I pulled my shoes on I asked, "How do we get out? The stairs lead right into the garage."

"There's another way out," she said as she strode across the room in her see-through nightgown. Flo walked quickly to an old wardrobe setting against a wall on the far side of the room. She opened the doors of the wardrobe and reached up towards the back corner. I heard something click and then I could see the back wall of the wardrobe slide to one side. I couldn't see it slide across the wall beside the wardrobe so it was apparent that it was a part of the wall.

"Come on. Follow me, and hurry," she said as she stepped into the wardrobe. "And close the doors as you come in. She took a step beyond the back of the wardrobe and then disappeared to the right. I followed her in, closing the doors as instructed. Now it was pitch dark. I stepped forward very tentatively making sure there was a floor beneath my feet as I passed beyond the back wall of the wardrobe. I knew she had gone to the right, but I couldn't see a thing. "Flo, where are you?" I whispered.

"Shhh! Go to your right and mind the stairs."

I turned to the right and began to feel my way down a narrow, steep flight of stairs. Every so often my face snared a cobweb. It was obvious that this wasn't a regular entrance to the former tack room.

This was a much longer set of stairs than the ones I had come up from the garage. It must lead below the level of the garage, I thought. I also noticed that it seemed to be bending around to the left. If my sense of direction was correct, that would lead us outside the Carriage House structure.

"Hurry up!" I heard Flo whisper just before I reached the bottom of the stairs. I stepped down a couple more stairs and found myself on a landing where I essentially bumped into Flo. "God, you're slow," she said.

"Somehow, I think you have been here before," I said.

She laughed. "Oh yeah, just a few times." Her voice was tinged with sarcasm and lewdness.

"Where are we?"

"Out of the Carriage House," she said, her voice tinged with relief. "That was close. Oh well, that's why I had it built—for quick exits."

"You had it built?"

"Never mind. I keep telling you there are things you don't need to know."

"Yeah, but I would sure like to know some of them," I said to myself.

I heard her flick a switch, and I could see a dimly lit tunnel to the right. "Now follow that tunnel, and in about thirty yards you will come to a door. Go through the door, and you will be in the old root cellar of the main house. It's used as a wine cellar today. Be sure to turn the tunnel lights out and close the door as you go in. The stairs out of the wine cellar will get you into the kitchen.

I could see her now with the dim lighting from the tunnel to the wine cellar. Her body was shown in silhouette through her gown. As she started to turn and head into another dark tunnel leading somewhere else, I grabbed her arm and whispered, "Wait! When will I see you again?"

She turned back toward me, using her free arm to push her now wild and tangled hair from her face. "What?" she said, now speaking freely, as though confident no one could hear us in the dank hole we had arrived in.

"When will I see you again?" I repeated.

She was pulling against my arm that held her, silent as she tried to escape. Finally she spoke. "All right," she said. "Once more. Tonight. Meet me at 2:00 a.m."

"Where?" I asked as I maintained a firm grip on her arm.

"Same place. Above the Carriage House," she said. Then she leaned in to me and kissed me softly and briefly on the lips. As she pulled away from me she repeated in a whisper, "Above the Carriage House at 2:00 a.m., Cranston." Then she was gone down the other hallway. At first, a faint trace of white from her gossamer gown and then . . . just gone as the darkness enveloped her. Why was she calling me Cranston?

I stood watching for a moment until I realized there was nothing to watch. Then I turned and walked through the tunnel to the wine cellar. The cobwebs that kept sticking to my face suggested no one had used it in years.

When I finally reached the kitchen, realizing I was ravenously hungry, I dug around in the giant refrigerator and made myself a ham sandwich. As I sat at the kitchen table consuming the sandwich and a bottle of beer, I reflected on the last twenty-four hours. Who was this woman, Flo? Was she some long lost cousin that was defying family custom by using the forbidden name? Was she my great grandmother's ghost?

"And another question," I said to myself. "Who is this male voice I keep hearing in my head telling me how to make love to Flo? Is it Cranston's ghost?"

Oh no, I thought as the second idea popped into my head. This way lies madness. There are no such things as ghosts, and if there were, they certainly couldn't fuck as Flo did.

That brought my mind back to our unfinished fuck. Oh, that was something that had to be pursued. I had to have more of that marvelous pussy that had enwrapped my cock just as the car had arrived below us. Maybe I was fucking my cousin. Maybe I was fucking my great grandmother, and either way it was incest. But I had to have more of that.

And as far as the voices in my head went, well maybe that was insanity, but so far they were helpful and not threatening. So the best thing to do about them was nothing.

Dreaming of Lucinda

After finishing my sandwich, I felt a need for sleep. I found a couch in a corner of the library and drifted off into a deep sleep. As I slept, I dreamed.

It wasn't a nice dream. I was in the room above the Carriage House sitting in a chair. No, I was tied to the chair. I was naked and I was watching Flo fucking someone else. I had a huge erection, but the way I was tied, I couldn't touch it. It just stood straight out oozing a drop of precum occasionally and twitching on its own from time to time as I watched my lover fucking someone else.

But it wasn't quite Flo. Dreams are that way. Almost, but not quite reality. The woman had shiny black hair, just as I had been told Lucinda had. Other than the hair, it was Flo—her face, her complexion, her large brown eyes, her lips, and, oh yes, her perfect body. Even the small mole on her left hip that I had seen earlier.

The black man was tall and broad shouldered. He was muscled, as a man used to hard labor would be. Not a kid, probably in his thirties. His skin was as black as an African's skin can be. Almost a blue undertone in it.

At first he just stood before her acting deferential. "What do you want, Miss Lucinda?"

"You know what I want, Earl," she responded. She had an evil smile as she spoke. "I want that big dick of yours. I want you to fuck me, Earl. Just like we always do on Tuesday afternoons up here above the Carriage House. And I want that skinny little white boy over there to watch and learn so someday he can fuck like you like do."

Earl turned to look back at me and that's when I saw the enormous erection. I know. I know. That's a stereotype, and this was just a dream. "But my god it was huge. How was she going to take it?" I was asking myself.

As dreams do, it jumped to another scene with little or no connectivity. Now Earl was lying on his back on the bed, his enormous erection standing tall and straight above his flat hard belly. Lucinda (Flo?) was on her knees above him with her hand wrapped around the giant cock to guide it into her cunt. She slowly began to sink down on him. I could see her grimace as she tried to force him in.

"Oh fuck you're big today," she said as she struggled to get the head of his prick past her opening. "Fuck, it doesn't want to go." Her head was bent forward, her long dark hair hanging down before her face as she looked at Earl's monster pressing at her entrance.

Earl flexed his hips and Lucinda screamed—a high-pitched scream that probably could be heard in the carriage room below. But now he was in her, and she slowly began to fuck him rising above him and then pushing down, forcing his dick farther and farther into her. "Oh god, Earl. That's so good. So good. So fucking good." She sat fully impaled on him, her face hidden by her long black hair. She was massaging her tits and making little mewling sounds as she pulled on her nipples. Earl was silent, but I could see he was flexing his hips regularly, fucking her cunt with his huge dick.

Then the scene shifted again. Now Earl was taking her from behind. Lucinda was leaning over the arm of the big couch, her round, full, butt pushed out for Earl to take, and he was standing behind her, holding her beautiful ass on both sides and ramming that big prick into her. At first it was long slow strokes, but he soon accelerated and before long he was pounding her. You could hear his body slap against her ass each time he drove his prick into her.

Lucinda was screaming as Earl pounded her. Nothing intelligent. It sounded like she was in a more or less continuous orgasm. It couldn't last long, and it didn't. Lucinda arched her back, pushing back against Earl for all she was worth while she literally howled as the pleasure at the peak of her orgasm ripped through her. Then she collapsed on the arm of the couch and Earl pulled out of her. He stood holding his rigid prick. It was shiny with Lucinda's juices. He stroked it just a bit and began to squirt stream after stream of shiny white cum over her hips and back. Then he walked around and sat next to her face on the couch, his wilting cock still looking like a log as it lay over, dripping a few last drops of cum into her dark hair.

My last thought in the dream was how beautiful the contrast was between Lucinda's creamy white skin and Earl's inky black skin. Why would I focus on that instead of the unbridled lust I had just witnessed? Dreams are so odd.

Then it was over and I was awake in the dark house. I was hungry again.

I reached in my pocket for my cell phone. It was nearly 1:00 a.m. "Where was everyone?" I wondered. Then I saw a message on my phone from my mother telling me that they had all decided to spend the night at the plantation. She told me I could find plenty of food in the kitchen, and she hoped I was feeling better.

I returned to the kitchen and reprised my ham sandwich of earlier, along with another beer I found in the refrigerator. "Really," I asked myself as I sat at the kitchen table. "Who is this woman you have gotten yourself involved with. No one else in the family seems to acknowledge she exists and I've now talked to several family members who firmly reject the notion that anyone in the family would use the name Flo."

I took a long pull on the beer as I thought about the events of the last twenty-four hours. "So," I asked myself very slowly, . . . "Does that mean she is really Lucinda's ghost manifesting as her younger self?"

"Nonsense!" I told myself. "There has to be a more rational explanation."

Moving on to an even more disturbing question, I asked myself, "Who was that voice I heard in my head telling me how to make love to Flo? I never made love to a woman like that in my life, and I wouldn't have without the instructions from the voice in my head. Was I channeling one of Lucinda's old lovers? Cranston?"

"No that doesn't happen. Flo is not Lucinda's ghost and I was not channeling her old lover, Cranston."

Of course there was a much worse and more frightening possibility. Perhaps I was just having a psychotic break. Maybe this whole experience was an hallucination, and yes . . . insanity did run in my family. My mother had always been mildly bi-polar. Her medications usually kept it in check, but from time to time it caused her problems. That was what drove my father away when I was young. Mom had told me that Grandma Sam had suffered from similar problems also.

Also, the descriptions of Flo and her doppelganger, Lucinda, certainly sounded like a person many would describe as mentally disturbed. Two distinct personalities in the same person. One a nymphomaniac slut and the other the stern matriarch of a conservative wealthy southern family. What had she experienced while exiled to the plantation in Georgia that had changed her so? Then there was the matter of my dream of Lucinda and Earl. Apparently Lucinda had more in common with Flo than she admitted to the world. But that was just a dream—I hoped. Had there really been a Sam, and was he the field hand that killed my mother's stepfather, Jack?

My Return to the Carriage House

But the longer I thought about these problems, the more my mind wandered to my upcoming tryst with Flo in the Carriage House. Soon it was time to head down through the wine cellar and over to the Carriage House. My mind was purely focused

on how I was going to make love with Flo. All I could think about was her marvelous body and how good it had felt when I was fucking her. My dick was mostly erect by the time I rose from the kitchen table to head to my assignation with Flo.