Penny for Your Thoughts

Penny woke to a strong tug on her clitoris. There was more, a soft fluttering, and then delicate touches that stopped and started again. Her muscles didn't answer when she tried to move. She couldn't tell if her eyes were open or closed, just pitch blackness.

Dreaming. The touch was on the tip of her clitoris now, nudging, little bursts of sensation. Unable to move, she heard something. A soft piano note, almost beyond her range of hearing. She still couldn't move or feel the rest of her body, but she felt more touches, floating.

* * *

Waking, the touch on her nipple was almost too light to feel, and then something rubbed, a cramp of pleasure.God, it felt so good. It was one of those dreams where she couldn't move. Now it was her other nipple. She thought she had made a noise, but it was all inside her head, like she was locked in her body.

The rubbing became tugs. Her thoughts scattered, touches on her clitoris now, deep pins and needles going through her pussy. Penny felt herself swelling. Something soft and warm and wet began licking between her legs. Unable to squirm, she was almost there. It built and stopped, a burning ache. She couldn't see, couldn't hear anything.

* * *

She woke, realizing she couldn't move or hear or see, the impression that something had been happening, a single piano note fading. She stayed that way. All she could feel was her heartbeat in her pussy, between her legs.

The note came. She listened for it as it repeated and then she felt a touch on her nipple, sighing.Yes, that. It moved to both nipples, tugs and pinching. Something touched her clitoris. She tried to move away from it, but it was like she didn't have a body except for those sensations, and it all faded again.

* * *

Waking to a note just becoming audible, repeating, she felt fuzzy, unable to move. She was blind and couldn't hear anything. Her pussy pulsed on a softness, warm and wet, feeling a burning ache, such need. Then she felt tugs on her nipples, getting stronger. It was gone. It returned, drawing her clitoris in, suckling. Something was rubbing on her nipples, bringing her closer, the note getting louder. She held her breath, her pussy swollen, and then it didn't stop. She would have cried out if she could move her mouth.

It was going to happen. The waves built, her eyes rolling back as she thought she closed them or they opened wide, maybe. She began to come, deep pinches on her nipples. She was still coming, mindless. More. The mouth moved on her pussy, gentle suction. She came again, so much worse. There was only the note and the pleasure, her pussy pulsing wildly, straining against the tongue as she felt it return, making it happen all over again.

The pleasure finally faded, her heart pounding, her lower body relaxing.

* * *

Penny woke, sitting straight up in the old four-poster bed, looking around. The light was streaming in the window, nothing in the room but a desk and chair, a dresser. She suspected it had been the old man's room, since she'd taken the biggest one. Throwing off her covers, she looked down at herself. She was still in her soft cotton pajamas, but she could feel that she was wet between her legs.

Making a sound of disgust, she looked around again. She hadn't known women could have wet dreams. In the bathroom, it took her time to initiate her stream, a sensitivity there that brought the sensations back. Reaching her hand down and between her legs, she touched her clitoris lightly, feeling that it was swollen. She only masturbated when she absolutely had to, being quick, getting it over with.

Wiping herself gingerly and rising, she undressed, looking at herself in the mirror. Her breasts were full and round, jutting nipples that were even more red today, a long waist and then the curve of her hips, her butt high and fat. She could see her puffy lips behind the hair between her legs. She wasn't even that pretty. She just looked...sexy. The fact was, she looked like a porn star.

Meeting her brown eyes in the mirror, she frowned, soft cheeks and fuck-lips. She kept her hair short, a cap of soft brown curls on her head. Her breasts jiggled as she turned and got in the shower. Adjusting the knobs, she got under it, gasping with cold, forgetting everything else. That was working. She finally turned it to warmer, finishing.

An hour later, she'd decided the dream was forgotten. She wasn't responsible for her unconscious. Her subconscious.Whatever. She was selling the house as soon as she could. This old dump had to be worth something.

Her great uncle Jerry had left it to her. They hadn't even been related. He'd been just a nasty old man, a friend of the family, and a lecher when she'd known him. He'd known better than to pick on her. Penny would have screamed in his face. But Penny's cousin, Alison, had been plain--plain ugly, that was--and had never had a boyfriend. It wasn't Penny's fault Alison was such a weak-kneed slut.

Penny had spied from the hall, peeking into the bathroom door where Uncle Jerry had Alison, her eighteen-year-old cousin, on her knees, his hands in her hair and his old man's butt tucked, thrusting into her mouth. Reaching with her phone, grinning with her tongue between her teeth, Penny had taken a few quick shots. She'd shown them to Alison later, getting five hundred dollars and a favorite sweater in return for a promise to erase it, which Penny hadn't, of course. You never knew when you'd need something like that.

As soon as Penny could manage it, she was going to take the shit in this house, put it on the front curb in trash bags, and call the local used store to come and pick it up if they wanted it. She'd get rid of all of it. Dishes and photographs and old furniture. She'd keep the piano to sell with the house, but there were old records and some kind of player like the ones you saw in old movies, a big megaphone. She might sell some of the furniture, although all of it old and ugly, carved heavy wood, dressers and wardrobes and beds.

The old man had owned the house free and clear, but he hadn't given her much else. A little money. Enough to pay the taxes and utilities on the place and to stock the pantry.

Penny had moved into the house a few days after she'd learned it was hers, quitting her job, ignoring her boss whining about the lack of notice. Penny had hated the small apartment she'd shared with her roommate. They'd never really gotten along. Penny didn't see any reason why she should have to give anyone extra money just because she was moving out right away. Penny wasn't going to be living there anymore. Jennifer could pay her own rent.

Moving into the house, she'd been fine and dandy until she'd remembered that Uncle Jerry had lived here alone, and he'd died here alone, in this house. Maybe he'd died in the bed she slept in, but she didn't know for sure. It freaked Penny out. She swore she felt the old bastard watching her.

When she'd first driven up, she'd seen it, an old yellow Victorian house, all alone out in a field. It had land. The problem was that if she was going to show it to sell it, she had to clean it up, all musty, and if she had to clean it up, she was going to live in it while she did and save money.

It was so fucked up that she had to do this. She'd gotten a bucket and scrub brush, starting in the living room by the stairs. Cinderella, scrubbing the floors. She'd stopped and had lunch and then she'd searched from the top to the bottom of the house and found it had no television. What had the old man done with his time? Jerked off, probably.

There was a broken window in the attic that was going to need to be fixed, sending her into a mood. It made the house look junky. She couldn't find the key to the cellar, like she'd ever go down there, and there was some kind of smell on the second floor that she located in a closet and had practically barfed, a rat trap with a real rat in it. She'd thrown three of his towels over it and rolled the mess into a plastic bag, making disgusted noises.

* * *

Penny woke to the piano note. She couldn't move, not so much a sense of struggle as much as her muscles wouldn't respond. Her eyes stared into blackness. She heard the note getting louder. With what little she could feel of her body in space, she thought she was facing down, a fullness in her head. Was she draped over the side of the bed?

She startled when she felt a touch, fingers between her spread legs, and then she cried out, trying to struggle, but her body didn't answer. This wasn't a dream. This was real. The touch was delicate, fingers spreading the skin at her entrance and then she felt more fingers on her nipples, downward tugs. There was that softness on her clitoris, which felt distended, stroking and licking her.

Crying out again, soundless, only in her mind, her eyes went wide in the blackness, although she wasn't even sure they were open. The note got louder and the fingers returned, swirling at her entrance, the tugs on her nipples continuing. Her clitoris seemed to swell impossibly against the tongue as she crested and came hard, the pleasure almost painful it was so good.

It finally released her, her heart pounding.

* * *

Dragging herself from bed, Penny looked in the mirror, her eyes heavy and her brain full of fog. Her mouth looked swollen and nasty. She hated how she felt here, with dreams she couldn't remember. Maybe there was some kind of toxic mold.

When she made it downstairs, she looked around vaguely. In the last week or so--two weeks, maybe?--she'd only managed to get a small part of the downstairs clean, the part of the living room by the stairs. That had to change. She wanted out of this dump with cash in her pocket as soon as possible.

But when she looked, her heart began to beat faster. She'd just cleaned there, getting garbage bags and tossing the stupid clutter into it, photographs in frames, old dishes, musty old books with leather covers.

It was all back, returned neatly like it had been before she cleaned. Shehated this house.

Her mouth set, she cleaned all that day, getting one garbage bag after another and tossing things in it, beginning with what she'dalready done. It was infuriating. "Old bastard," she said through her teeth, on her hands and knees, not hearing herself. "Fucker."

* * *

Asleep, something woke her, a piano note in her mind, repeating. Fingers were at her pussy, and then they entered her gently, feeling around.

She realized this wasn't a dream. There was really someone here with her. Panic exploded through her, but she couldn't move. Unable to even yell, she hated it as the fingers found that place she didn't touch, pumping in and out, turning. She grimaced, the note all she could hear, and then the fingers moved more, also passing repeatedly over her clitoris. Her eyes were blind.

She couldn't retreat, couldn't make it stop. Pulsing on it, she felt it get worse, between her legs sensitive. Penny thought she was talking, saying something, but she knew she wasn't, feeling her own face relaxed. It was going to happen and there was nothing she could do.

It got worse and worse, the note reaching a high pitch, and she came on the fingers moving fast in her pussy, straining, trying to expel them from her body. It went on, pleasure like she'd never felt before.

Then she was done, but while the fingers in her went still, there was still stimulation on her clitoris, a mouth sucking and licking. She shrieked in her mind, her clitoris jumping and retreating, straining, pulsing again and again, but there was no escape. It hurt, far too much. There were sharp pinches now on her nipples, grinding.No. It was. It was going to happen again. She was begging noiselessly, the single note getting louder again.Yes, it was going to happen.Good.

She began to come harder than she ever imagined she could. It wiped out all her thought, the fingers in her moving easily, a sensation of being very wet as they began pumping in and out of her again, making it worse. Someone was doing this to her.Dear God, someone was with her in her bed.

* * *

Crying out, Penny sat up, her hands going to her breasts over her pajamas, her pussy throbbing.Jesus Christ. Every day this week, she'd woken to this, a wave of anxiety and between her legs wet, her nipples sensitive and her body relaxed, yes, but sexual feelings nagging. Her head was fuzzy. What was wrong with her? No matter how hard she tried, she could never remember the dream.

There was a loud knock. She startled, her hand shooting out to her phone. Nine-twenty and a red line that said she was almost out of juice. Who would come all the way out to this dump? She threw on her jeans and a shirt, walking down the stairs and going to the heavy paneled front door, opening it. "What?"

The woman standing there was in a dress with a large flower print, hideous, and a straw hat, and she was carrying a glass baking dish. Looking at Penny, her smile faltered. "Hello. Sorry to bother you. I'm Beverly, down the road. The white house? I wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood."

"I'm selling it," Penny said, waiting.

"Oh. That's too bad. We knew Jerry. He was alone out here, you know, and we'd stop in sometimes and check on him. Well. This is for you. It's cobbler."

"Thanks." Penny took it, bringing it into the kitchen and getting a bowl, scraping the mess into it and returning with the dish, holding it out the woman, her eyes going to the car in her drive, an old chevy.

Beverly looked down at the dish, her brows going up, and then she took it. "It's nice to meet you." She turned, her purse over her arm, and walked to her car.

What a hick. "You, too," Penny said to her back, closing the door. Walking to get a fork, she sat at the table. It was cherry.

When she was done, she walked back into the living room and stopped.

The bags were gone and everything had been put back in its place.

Penny looked around, breathing fast.Fine.

She would sell it with everything in it, but she wasn't leaving. Whatever was going on, she was going to get her money out of this dump. She began cleaning.

* * *

The piano note sounded, Penny waking. Everything was muffled. She couldn't hear, couldn't see, couldn't feel anything, but the note bothered her. It bothered her so much. Confused, she wanted something. Nothing happened, but a feeling in her belly was getting more urgent, need rising the louder the note got.

Something touched her between her legs and she smiled, but only inside. It nudged her, pleasure going through her, and then there was a sharp smack there, like something small had struck her clitoris.

Pain blossomed through the area and then she pulsed again, pleasure coming as it returned, nudging and prodding. She didn't want it to stop and then it withdrew, another sharp smack, too much. Then it was a nasty tapping that felt so good, getting worse, and something snapped on her nipple, a sharp sensation of pain and then a spreading ache, terrible pleasure, and the other nipple.

It kept going until it was ongoing pain, sharp smacks on her clitoris, on her nipples, the note getting louder. It occurred to her someone was doing this to her, waking her a little in her bed, adrenalin going through her. If she could just move, could just see, could just scream, could justwake up. But then, her mind went quiet because she was coming, the stiff thing between her legs stroking her clitoris now, gentle as she became an inert thing jerking with pleasure.

* * *

She was sore. Penny frowned at her body in the mirror. Her nipples were redder than they should be, and they were sore. Between her legs, on her clitoris, was also sore, but when she touched herself, she cramped with pleasure. Her head was fuzzy.

Going to bed after her shower, she lay back, unable to think about anything else. Just for a moment. She spread her legs, but it wasn't enough. She brought her knees up, spreading herself wider, her finger landing on her clitoris and rubbing sharply. It took a long time, Penny sweating and whining. She finally came, yelling out her pleasure, shocked to hear herself and unable to stop from finishing.

When she was done, one hand was tugging her nipple and the other was deep in her own pussy and she was soaking wet and throbbing and she still wanted more. It wasn't right, wasn't enough.

There was something wrong with this house. Her eyes narrowed. He was doing this to her. The old man. Uncle Jerry, that pervert, that lecherous bastard. Fucker.

When she went downstairs, her eyes landed on the piano, going a little blank. She walked to it, sitting down on the bench. Pulling up the cover over the keys, she touched one, the note sounding.

Yes. Her breathing got heavier and her other hand crept down between her legs. She touched the next note, pressing, slipping her fingers into her underwear. That was good. She pressed the next key, going up. Almost there. It was going to happen, relief flowing through her. Her eyes closed, her fingers in her underwear moving fast, her completion coming. Not questioning it, full of her own need, her fingers found the key, the one that would make it happen, and met nothing.

Her eyes opened, looking down. The key was missing, a gap. Penny made a furious noise, rising and sweeping all of the music books off, the papers fluttering to the floor.

An hour later, she was picking them up, unaware she was baring her teeth.

* * *

A piano note sounded. Penny didn't remember, but her body did, responding to the tugs on her nipples, her pussy producing wetness. She was face down in her bed, she thought, her lower half higher and her legs spread. She panicked. Someone was with her in her bed. Fingers were on her clitoris, rubbing, the note getting louder, Penny seeing nothing and hearing nothing else.

Just as she was going to come, the fingers stopped and something nudged her entrance and began to enter her smoothly, inexorable, rock hard and huge. The note got louder and she came without anything else, a hot intrusion in her pussy, pumping.

It felt so good, and too big, opening her. Strokes began again on her clitoris and she was coming harder, more pinches on her nipples, still coming. The cock in her was thick, hard, moving fast. She spasmed, feeling the savage thrusts, so much hot pleasure.

Her body was limp, and then the note was back, the touching. She settled in, and somewhere, in her mind, she was smiling, her eyes closed, crying out with pleasure.

* * *

Waking, she would be fuzzy, showering and touching herself, needing it so badly.

Every morning now, she'd lie down on her bed, spreading her legs, rolling on her belly, slapping her own cunt sometimes, so very close and unable to complete. She whimpered with need, almost there. Just a little more. But she couldn't, ending up crying and sweaty. There was something she needed and wasn't getting. It didn't matter what she did.

That was when she began to hear piano music on the edge of her hearing. Those old records. She'd broken many of them, but they returned and they were whole, in their sleeves.

The first time she'd heard the music, she'd walked through the whole house, room-by-room, hearing it, but it was like it was coming from everywhere and nowhere. It drove her mad, old songs, the jazz age, the piano tinkling back and forth, ragtime.

Once, she's stood in the lower living room, her eyes blank, and seen them at the piano, the old man playing. But he was a young man with brown hair and a lazy smile, and a volumptuous woman with dark hair and red lipstick was draped over him, beads on her dress.

Hadn't Penny seen that in a movie once?

Uncle Jerry turned and looked at her and she became aware she was in a t-shirt that said "I'm Kind of a Big Deal," and that it had a salad-dressing stain and she was wearing boyshort underwear.