Lovers From Beyond Ep. 04

(Continued.)

Peter trotted down the stairs to the first floor and went into the lavish dining room. The table was imported from Italy, made of molded glass with a smoked finish and with transparent borosilicate legs. The white Kalio chairs that surrounded the table looked like sculptures from a modern art museum. The single serving tray sitting on the table was also exemplary; made of stainless steel and oval shaped, with highly polished handles on either end.

Finding no one else in the living room, Peter went and poked his head into the kitchen. Martha was sitting at a small side table, apparently enjoying her own dinner, but she bolted upright when she saw him.

"Can I help you, sir?" She asked.

"Have you seen my Minton?"

Martha pointed at the opposite end of the kitchen, where sure enough, his butler was pacing back and forth. Minton's attention was focused in a conversation he was having with his cell phone. The phone, Peter noted, was hued in a bright pink, and looked nothing at all like the phone his butler usually sported.

Minton soon finished up his call. As he pocketed the device, he noticed that Peter was standing there watching him.

"Sir." He nodded.

"The color suits you well, Minton." Peter teased.

"The color?" Minton asked. "Oh, you mean the phone. Heaven forbid, it's not mine. It belongs to your aunt. Victoria lent it to me in case the art exhibition proved to be less than stellar, and I suppose that it has been. I would request your leave, sir, if you would permit it, so that I may join your aunt for another evening of carousing, frolicking, and a general state of pleasant mayhem."

"You can't go." Peter said, although he didn't really mean it.

Well, he did mean it a little bit, as the young man was jealous that his own butler was getting laid, and by three women all at once, while he was in a situation tantamount to house arrest.

"In the event you might say that, your aunt is on her way here to persuade you otherwise." Minton finished off.

That was the last thing Peter wanted. He cringed at the thought of his aunt coming after him while wearing her pink camisole. "Minton, I order you to go and stand outside until she gets here. I do not want that woman chasing me all around the house!"

"As you wish, sir." Minton nodded. "I take it that you do not want to meet Eleanor, either?"

"Not right now." Peter shook his head. "Another time, perhaps. Please don't make it sound rude."

"I shall be tactful." The butler replied. "I shall simply say you are too busy with studying for your test, if that's all right. I will see you later then. Goodbye, Martha."

"Bye." Martha waved back.

Minton vanished through the opposite kitchen door and was gone. Peter turned back toward the dining room. At this point, he remembered that he'd be eating alone.

"I simply won't have it." He muttered, although he knew that the only other person in the house was his skittish maid. He turned toward the solitary figure sitting across the kitchen from him. "Martha?"

The older woman quickly stood up at attention. "Yes, sir?"

"I wouldn't like to dine alone." Peter admitted. "I would very much appreciate if you would join me in the dining room."

"Oh, I couldn't." Martha shook him off. "It wouldn't be proper."

"Very well." Peter had half expected such an answer, as he was well accustomed to the old woman's conservative manners. He strode through the kitchen door, took the short jaunt to retrieve his serving tray, and brought it back with him. Peter set his dinner on the table directly in front of Martha. "In that case, I shall eat here instead."

Martha appeared mortified, and ready to move her food elsewhere.

"I order you to sit there, until you are finished eating." Peter demanded.

"But sir..."

"But nothing." Peter said. "You are to sit there and you will eat with me. Is that well understood?"

Martha bowed her head and nodded. Cautiously, she captured a morsel of food with her fork, and pecked at it as if she were being closely scrutinized.

"Oh, come now, you can relax at least a little." Peter tried to joke with the woman, to no avail. At least, he thought, he could get a good look at her, to see if she truly bore the resemblance to the ghost as he'd first imagined.

Martha's fairly unremarkable hair was pulled back into a bun, exposing a bit of a motherly face. She had rounded cheeks spotted pink, a tiny point of a nose, and eyes that verily hid themselves from the world. Martha had a pleasant look about her, Peter felt. With the right touches: a more sophisticated hairstyle, make-up and a better wardrobe, for example, she could have elevated herself from a Plain Jane into something much more desirable. And yes, she did look a lot like the picture of Claire he'd previously looked at.

"So, tell something about yourself." Peter tried to make conversation.

"There's not much to tell, sir."

"There must be something. Were you ever married? Do you have any children?"

"Married, yes. Children, no. The husband didn't care to have any little ones."

"What was your marriage like?"

"Oh, it was a little difficult." Martha sighed, as if she'd just realized that Peter was going to keep asking questions until he'd finagled the truth from her. "The husband was a bit on the controlling side, always watching me. Always trying to keep me in his pocket, so to speak. He wouldn't allow me to go out, and he scared off my friends and all that."

"That explains why you're so shy."

"No, I've always been shy." Martha said. "Ever since I was a little girl."

"But that must have been ages and ages ago." Peter kidded, as he started working on his food. He expected some sort of mild reaction from the maid, as he was teasing her about her age, after all. He didn't get one.

As the young man ate, he considered the few women that currently surrounded him. It was much different that what he'd become accustomed to seeing back home, where his father had no less than three attractive Latina maids tidying up the various areas of the estate. In addition to that lovely scenery, several young ladies close to his age could be found in the nearby residences.

Here in La Jolla, Peter had his aunt and her friends, who were all in their fifties, and his ghost Claire, who was in her middle forties. This last example consisted of little more than a vague, vaporous state, unless she happened to become focused enough to pull on his willing wanker.

Right in front of him, however, he had Martha, who was what, forty-one, forty-two? The maid was still what he considered to be too old for him, or was she really? Martha didn't have the deeper wrinkles his aunt carried, perhaps because she was a little plump and younger.

Martha's breasts were certainly attractive to his eyes. Peter tried to consider the rest of the woman, but he couldn't really. She always kept her form well covered with her somewhat shapeless uniform. If destiny determined that Peter must succumb to an older woman, the young man decided, then he would choose Martha first, before aunt Victoria or any of her friends.

"Martha, have you ever done anything exciting in your entire life?"

The maid thought this over, as she chewed on a particularly tough mouthful. "I can't recall that I have. I suppose I may not have it in me."

Not yet you don't, Peter almost blurted out, until he realized how deeply the woman might become offended if he said that.

Very few words crossed the table during the remainder of their meal. In the end, Peter resigned himself to the library, only slightly more knowledgeable regarding his maid than when he'd first met her.

Peter was deeply absorbed in his studies a few hours later, when he sensed the ghost sliding over beside him. Like a close friend, the ghost placed its soft chin on the young man's shoulder and peered over at his books.

"Hello, Claire." Peter said, rubbing his eyes and feeling very tired after having stumbled through one too many math problems. "I don't suppose you know anything about calculus?" When he received no ready answer, he sighed, "Well, neither do I and it's driving me insane. Actually, I've had about enough of this for one night. I've an idea. Will you follow me to my bedroom?"

Instead of pulling out his willy, this time Peter simply held out his index finger.

The ghost tugged on it once.

Peter left the library and strode up the stairs. The quiet ghost floated in a circle around him wondering what he was up to. The young man stepped into his bedroom, and before you could say lickety-split, he'd shucked off his entire outfit and skipped over to the bed. He jumped into the center of it and spread both his arms and his legs wide.

"Claire, I would like for you to kiss me all over." He declared. "You may start anywhere you wish."

Eagerly, the ghost complied with the directive. She began with Peter's lips. Although Peter tried laboriously to wrap his lips or his tongue around hers, it was a futile task, for the ghost was as far from being solid as she ever was. He soon gave it up, and simply lay there and relished the attention the ghost gave to him.

Claire really did kiss him all over, starting from the top of his head, from one shoulder to the other, all the way down to his feet. She even surprised Peter by sucking on his toes. Once she was done showering him with this tender display of love, Claire went to Peter's middle. She gave the young man what one of Victoria's friends, Eleanor, would have referred to as phantasmagorical fellatio. Afterwards, the ghost was content to simply lie close to Peter's side, nuzzling its head close to his chest as a lover would.

"I do feel as if I'm exploiting you, Claire." Peter lamented. "You give me all this affection, and I can do nothing to return my own affection towards you." He ran through several scenarios in his mind, but none of them would have made Claire more concrete. He admitted, "You know, the thought of having a relationship with an older woman never even crossed my mind before I came to this place. I've since changed my outlook, thanks to you and my randy aunt. Now that I've seen your picture, I do believe that you're quite beautiful. I would have loved to have known you as a real person."

The ghost slid up a short distance, and planted a dozen or so kisses all over Peter's face.

Peter grinned, when he recalled one of his more farfetched ideas. "Please don't be offended when I say this, but I think that the maid, Martha, looks a bit like you."

The ghost gave his noodle a pull.

"You think so, too?" Peter asked, relieved that Claire hadn't thought Martha as being too far below her social status. "I know this sounds silly, but I had a notion to dress Martha up in a costume, something contemporary to your era, and..." He faltered a bit here. "That perhaps I could make love to her. I know this is stupid, but I could pretend that it was you I was making love to."

One pull was felt on his shank.

"It was stupid, I know." Peter agreed.

Two wanks.

"No?" Peter asked.

Two wanks.

"Are you saying it wasn't stupid?"

Two wanks.

"Are you saying it was, or it wasn't stupid? Wait, wait, wait. Let me rephrase the question. Is it a good idea to dress up Martha and pretend it might be you?"

One wank.

"You would, in some strange fashion, be a part of it if I slept with Martha, while pretending it was you?"

One wank.

"But how? You wouldn't possess Martha or something diabolical like that, would you?"

Two wanks.

"That's a great relief." Peter said. "But how would you experience it then? I can't grasp that part of it."

No answer.

"Is it difficult to explain?"

One wank.

After a few more minutes of questioning, he gathered that he didn't really have to pretend that Martha was Claire, but only to acknowledge, in his mind, that Claire was present in the room with them. There was only one catch.

"A pity, but I don't think Martha would be up to it." Peter said glumly. "She's way too much of a prude to even consider such a thing."

Lots of wanks followed.

Peter was growing aroused from all the jerking around. "You think she'd go along?"

Lots of wanks again.

"Perhaps you don't know Martha as well as you think." Peter shook his head. "There is no possible way, on this earth, that Martha would go along with such a thing!"

The ghost fled so suddenly, that Peter felt a chilly gust of wind from its wake.

"Uh, sorry?" He called out, wondering what he'd said wrong.

A few minutes later, the ghost came back. By then, Peter had put his clothes back on. He was surprised when Claire tugged at his shoulder insistently. She was leading him toward the door.

"You wish for me to follow you?" Peter held his index finger out.

One pull.

Peter allowed the ghost to take him by the finger. She took him from the bedroom, down the stairs and into the hallway that led to the servant's quarters. As he strode down the short corridor, he felt Claire place both of her hands on his chest to stop him. A moment later, a single finger fell upon his lips.

"You wish for me to be quiet?" He whispered.

The ghost signaled yes. Again leading him by the finger, she took him directly to the room where Martha and Minton slept. When Claire motioned him to step closer, Peter quietly placed his ear by the door and listened.

The young man heard a soft moaning from the other side. After several repeated instances, he realized that Martha was fiddling herself, but taking great pains to keep herself quiet. On top of that, Martha could be heard moaning a very specific name intermittently, and it was none other than Peter's name.

In shock Peter opened his lips to speak, but Claire clamped her hand on his mouth and started pushing him away from the hallway. Only when they'd reached the stairs, did the ghost give him the opportunity to use his voice.

"I can't believe it!" Peter burst out. "I really can't believe it! I didn't believe that woman had a sensual bone in her entire body, and here she is playing her fiddle while she's thinking of me? Will wonders never cease to occur in this house?"

Because the ghost could not speak, nothing whatsoever was heard in reply.

"All right." Peter took a moment to compose himself. "Thanks to your discovery, Claire, we now know that Martha considers me attractive enough to masturbate over. I've already decided that Martha would make a pleasant bedfellow. The most difficult part still lies ahead, I feel, in that we will be hard pressed to get her to admit her attraction to me. This because Martha is so... so introverted. I don't believe she would ever allow me to lay a hand on her. And we both know that she's deathly afraid of ghosts."

The ghost began to pressure him toward the stairs.

"You wish me to go back to my room?" Peter asked. "Pull my finger if this is a yes."

One pull.

"And you have a plan to get Martha to participate?"

Another pull.

"I suppose that in that case, I will be upstairs and waiting in my room." Peter stated. "Do be careful with the old girl, as she does seem a bit delicate."

One last yes signal, and Peter quietly hurried up the stairs.

The young man hadn't been waiting long, when he heard a sharp shriek coming from downstairs. He rushed to the bedroom door, then paused and wondered if this might be part of Claire's plan. Going against his natural instincts, Peter did not venture outside, and in fact, he took a good step away from his door. A second scream pierced the night, coming from a much closer point. This time, Peter knew he had to act.

"I'm sorry if I'm about to ruin your plan, Claire." The young man said. "But I must see what is taking place out there!"

Peter jumped to the door, grasping its knob and wrenching it open... Only to have Martha's frantic form come crashing into him and bowl them both to the floor.

"What's the matter?" Peter asked as he hurried to his feet.

"The ghost!" Martha cried out, running behind the young man, tightly clutching him around the waist. "The ghost attacked me in my bedroom!"

The maid was pressed against him so close that Peter could barely move. "What do you mean, it attacked you?"

"It flashed the lights on and off in my room." Martha gasped. "And it knocked my brush down from the dresser!"

Peter was glad he was facing away from her, because he was having trouble keeping a straight face after he heard that. "My dear, the ghost was not trying to attack you, it was simply trying to get your attention."

He pried the woman's arms from his waist just enough to turn himself around. That was when he noticed that Martha wasn't wearing her customary maid outfit. She'd run into his room so quickly that Peter hadn't had the time to register her long, semi-transparent nightgown. Her extra large breasts were heaving against his chest now, and her obviously scared face gazed up into his.

"Martha, I have something to tell you." Peter sighed. "If I don't tell you now, I'll be feeling guilty about it for the rest of my life. I really don't want to stand here and lie to you. Will you hear me out?"

Martha was trying to peer around his arm, at the bedroom door.

"Martha?"

Reluctantly, the woman's attention came back to him. "Yes?"

"Martha, I can communicate with the ghost, in a very clever way." He revealed. "I've told the ghost that I've taken a liking to you. Since the ghost is a she, she has told me that you are, um, sometimes thinking about me. The ghost told me that you were thinking about me, in a certain manner, just a few minutes ago while you were in your room."

The maid's head turned away in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!"

"Martha, look at me." Peter said, patiently waiting until her head lifted up and her eyes almost met his. "The ghost went downstairs to fetch you, because she was hoping to bring us together."

"But why?" Martha asked, and she was suddenly shaking her head. "We're worlds apart, you and I. You're so young and handsome, and wealthy and all. I'm just a poor wretch! Not even the lout of my husband would have me!"

"Martha, please look at me." Peter asked, as gently as he could. "The ghost thinks that if we're together tonight, it might somehow make her more tangible. I admit that I may have conspired with her to do this at first, because I did want to see the ghost become more real myself. Do you hate me for this?"

Martha looked at him reproachfully. "Did you ask the ghost to attack me?"

"No, she did that on her own." Peter said. This time he couldn't suppress a chuckle. "And she didn't attack you, Martha, she simply got your attention. The ghost was trying to make you come up to my room. She's a playful spirit, just as Victoria said. But all this is beside the point. Can you answer a question for me, truthfully?"

Martha's gaze didn't waver from his, this time. "What question?"

"Do you like me?"

She bowed her head. It was several moments before she said, "Well, yes."

"Do you remember when you said you'd never done anything exciting in your entire life? What if I told you that you could change that right now, by giving me a kiss? Or by making love to me, just as you were fantasizing about me a short while ago?"

"Are you doing this because of the ghost?" She asked.

Peter shook his head and grinned. "No, not any more. I'm doing this because your breasts are pressing against me so closely it's become rather intoxicating. I'd like nothing better than to rip that nightgown you're wearing into shreds, and to throw you upon my bed and ravage you."

"You'd be making love to my breasts, then."

"I'd be making love to all of you." Peter countered. "For the entire night." He held his arms out wide. "We can start right now, by you stripping off all of my clothes."

Martha took in a deep breath and released it as a shudder. Gone was the fright she'd had earlier, now replaced by a new and growing hunger. Martha stared into the younger man's face, as if she expected him to laugh out loud and mock her for being so naïve. This was something her former husband would have done. When such humiliation didn't take place, Martha did the unexpected. She said, "To the bed with you!"