The Haunted House of Desire

"I can't read this! It's a diary, it's... private. A person isn't supposed to..."

I had to read it.

I sensed a strong feeling of appreciation, but also determination. Just as soon as I had put the book away, it reappeared in my lap. It felt like it was shoved into my hands. It made me jump, but it didn't feel scary or painful. It was just... something that had to be done. She needed me to read it.

I was still hesitating. A woman's diary would contain her most intimate thoughts. I doubted she had ever shown this to anyone. Not even her husband. Speaking of, as I flipped through the first few pages, past youthful dreams and hopes for the future, I found him.

There was a photo of a lovely couple, standing outside in a garden, posing for the person holding the camera. The caption read: "With my adorable fiancé." Unusually for the time, it was a color photo. If anything, Ruth looked even more beautiful in this one; she was practically glowing. The man she was with also looked pretty good.

"Okay... Pretty handsome guy." I muttered to myself.

Conflict.

There were strong emotions connected to this, but they were highly conflicted. I looked at the photo again. Clearly, I was right; the man was handsome, tall, clean-shaven, wearing a white shirt and dress trousers, and Ruth was clearly enamored with him, leaning in towards him and holding her hand on his chest.

But there was a problem. Something was wrong. A tidal wave of emotions washed over me, going from love and affection to frustration, disappointment and downright hate.

"I don't understand... Did you hate your husband?"

No.

No, that wasn't it. Not really. It was more complicated than that. Not something that could be described easily.

I started reading from the beginning. It seemed normal enough at first; the story was that of a young, attractive woman full of hopes and dreams for the future. Then she started writing about the boys of the town, remarking how handsome they were and commenting on how they made her feel warm and gooey inside. It quickly dawned on me that as she had reached a certain age, love and sex were at the forefront of her mind. For page after page, her entries were mostly about that.

As she met her future husband and they started dating, her writings became more and more hopeful that she would finally be able to live out all her fantasies. There was something going on in the descriptions, though. Something insidious, moving in slowly. I didn't catch it at first, but then it started getting clearer as I kept reading. The way it began was in her expectations of married life. She was looking forward to it immensely.

"I can't wait to show Ben my new dress! Vicky and the other ladies at the store said it'll drive men mad. I'm hoping it will make Ben really happy."

"The bedroom is almost ready. Our new bed looks really comfortable. And sturdy too, he-he."

"I can't wait to offer Ben all the joys of married life. I will give him all the pleasures a loving wife can."

"Our wedding night was just as I had hoped for. I loved it! Oh, it feels so amazing to finally be together in that way. I plan on jumping on him again this evening, as soon as he comes home!"

"Every night for a week now. I can barely contain myself. Ben is so passionate, I almost feel sore. If we carry on like this, I'll be pregnant by next week!"

"I tried a new thing last night. Ben was shocked! It was so much fun!"

There were lots of short comments like these. Less... raunchy than modern erotic literature, but pretty clear nonetheless. These were the thoughts of a fiery woman in her early twenties, full of life and desire. Before getting married, Ruth clearly already had ideas of a sexual nature. Still, she wasn't prepared to indulge before marriage; instead, she had high expectations once the relationship was official.

As soon as she was married, she was clearly acting on her passions: the first few pages after their marriage were full of lewd remarks, culminating with the pregnancy confirmed by her doctor some time later.

After this, things slowed down. Fast. And judging by her comments, she was getting more and more frustrated.

"Ever since I got pregnant, Ben won't touch me. At least not... the way I want. He says we must be careful not to hurt the baby..."

Ah, yes. The old-fashioned belief that having sex while pregnant could hurt the fetus. Even I knew this to be nonsense, but I guess they didn't know that in the middle of the twentieth century.

I flipped forward and found a small image of an infant, accompanied by descriptions of a happy couple who had just become parents. Ruth's comments were radiating happiness, and she kept describing her little child as the center of her world.

Later, though, her frustrations once again came to the surface. It seemed that after her child had been born, the couple's sex life had gone down the drain. I stopped reading the details after the first couple of pages. After that, page after page, descriptions of events were all the same - prosaic at first, then less and less elaborate:

"I long for the feeling of my man's hardness penetrating my soft flesh."

"God, I wish Ben could be here right now, ravishing me, tearing off my clothes to satiate his hunger."

"Once again, Ben rejected my advances. He's very tired from his traveling, poor man."

"I tried a new thing last night. Ben didn't like it, he said I shouldn't have such 'dirty' ideas. I suppose he's right. I feel bad for even offering."

"I made an effort again last night. No luck."

After this, there were no new entries for several months. There was just one entry about taking a summer trip, the rest of the page was blank. Then, as I turned to the next page, she was writing about Christmas. There was no more talk of sex, lust or desires - it all became very mundane. I flipped through page after page describing how fast her daughter was growing; entries about raffles and volunteering...

Then there was a page where she had written something on the first few lines, only to cross it out. Several streaks of ink had been drawn over it in an effort to hide the text, but I saw that it could be read if I just tried hard enough. It took me a minute, and I really had to look close at it, but I managed it in the end. It wasn't good.

The text seemed shaky, written either in haste or a fit of rage. Or by somebody who was really drunk.

"My husband is a dummy. He keeps saying no! We used to do so many fun and dirty things but not anymore! I guess he doesn't think it's appropriate for the mother of his child to suck his cock."

A new entry was written below this crossed out text, this time in the clearer handwriting. Could it have been written the next day? I read through it and felt really bad for her. It was tragic.

"I have come to the conclusion that there is little I can do about my husband's lack of attention to me. I could never sleep around or have what the youths call 'casual sex'. I shall not take a lover or leave my husband; what would the neighbors say? Not to mention the reverend. I must therefore suffer in silence, never achieving the level of gratification I crave. We hardly ever have relations anymore, but I love my husband and he is a good provider, a good father to our daughter. I should not want for more. It shall have to suffice."

Yep, there it was - the conservative, puritan America making its presence felt. The reason that even today, movies containing violence get a PG-13 rating while the ones containing sex don't. A nice, respectable housewife living in the suburbs wasn't supposed to be lustful, desiring sex. She must have been very fearful. Not just of rejection but stigmatization. Fear of gossip, of what her friends and neighbors would say about her. Fear of becoming a social outcast.

I kept going through the pages quickly, getting an outline of her life. The more I read, the clearer the picture became. She had been a passionate young woman, eager to experience the pleasures of the flesh but waiting until she was married to do so. Then, after living out her fantasies the first few years, her husband's sex drive had declined while hers had grown stronger. The result was an increasing level of sexual frustration that just became worse and worse over time.

"All you wanted was sex... what's wrong with that?" I mumbled.

Entries in the diary grew more and more sporadic. Sometimes, weeks or even months would pass without anything new, until it eventually stopped altogether. The last few pages were blank. I really felt bad for her. What was meant to be one of many diaries describing a life full of wonderful romance had developed into a chronicle of disappointments. Poor girl.

Now I could understand.

"Yes, I understand now."

She had kept it all in. Bottled it up. All that simmering desire bubbling under the surface - she just hid it from the world and never got any release. How long had this been going on? I looked back on the first few pages. 1940s, that's when she got the book, when she was a teenager. She first met her husband during the war... Let's see... teens, wedding, children... the problems started some time in the late 1950s.

Woah, I thought. Judging from the story Porter told me, if Ruth really was that 'little old lady' who had passed away, initiating this house's journey out on the market, she would have been living here for more than...

"Holy shit! Fifty years?"

It was.

I could hardly imagine it. No wonder she had started haunting the place! Fifty years of pent-up desire, made manifest in a physical being. A sexual entity, literally willed into being by half a century's worth of sexual frustration.

"It's like you were born in the wrong century. Well, I guess even today, promiscuous women are seen as sluts by some people. So-called 'respectable' people. Me? I like sluts. At least, I want a woman to behave like a slut with me. Your husband didn't like doing 'dirty' things? I love it. Pity we didn't meet in a past life..."

Elation.

There was a great feeling of relief and happiness surging through the room. She was happy. Happy at not being judged, not being thought of as a bad person just because she had urges. Happy at having found someone who accepted her for who she was. What she was.

I felt hands tugging at my pants, opening the buttons.

"Really? You really think the mood is right for sex right now? Just after I've had to absorb all this?"

Lust.

Apparently, yes. She didn't stop. The feeling of lust didn't stop. It just kept growing. And my body didn't fail to respond. I leaned back on the couch and let her do what she wanted. My jeans were thrown on the floor and seconds later, I could feel her warm breath on my cock before her mouth slid down on it.

I really didn't care about the weirdness of this anymore. Even though I couldn't see her, there was no question in my mind that what was happening was real. The spirit of Ruth Baker sucked happily at my dick, slurping and moaning as the feeling of desire in the building kept getting stronger and stronger. She got more and more aggressive, I could feel her wanting more as her hands gripped and clawed at me.

I was getting hornier too - it felt so good, being serviced like this. I kept thinking back to those other times when she had sucked me off, how good it had felt and how much I wanted it to happen again. Then, I felt her stopping. Teasing. I heard a distant voice laughing.

"Oh, don't..." I started moaning. "Keep going... it feels so good... Make me cum, please..."

I opened my eyes and looked up. There was that amazing figure, standing before me, looking exactly like she did in the photograph. Wholesome, fit, sexy, half-naked. She smiled and climbed onto my lap. Her top slid down and two lovely breasts revealed themselves directly in front of my face. I wasted no time and immediately leaned forward, kissing and sucking them greedily. Her skin felt amazingly soft.

She started grinding against me. I groaned in frustration as I could feel her panties rub against the whole length of my throbbing cock. I wanted to be inside her, desperately. I could tell she could feel it. It was like our feelings were connected: I could feel her desire and she could feel mine.

My hands slid down and tugged at the fabric, but then she suddenly got up and started hopping away, looking back at me with a playful grin.

"Oh, no, you don't... Get back here!" I shouted and got up.

I started running after her and I heard a delighted squeal in the distance as she took off into the bedroom. I caught her in there and just threw her down on the bed, ripping off her panties in the process.

"Come here, you fucking tease, I'm gonna..."

She was on her stomach and I pulled her up on all fours. I grabbed her hips and pulled her closer just as I thrust forward. My cock sank into a wonderfully tight, dripping wet opening. The noises I could hear suddenly went from playful laughter to a lustful moan. The sound reverberated through the room, as if the very walls were shuddering.

"AAWWHHH..."

"You're gonna be my little slut now, aren't you..." I growled at her as I started fucking that amazing pussy. "That's what you want, right? To be my little slut, getting fucked in all kinds of depraved ways...?"

It was what she had always wanted.

I started pulling her towards me while thrusting into her as hard as I could. The feeling was incredible. I started groaning loudly in rude, primal grunts as I kept plunging into this wonderful tunnel of wetness.

The rougher I got, the more she loved it. This was precisely what she had always wanted - to be the object of a man's lust. To be taken and used by someone who was so turned on by her that they couldn't stop themselves. She wanted to be an instrument of pleasure, someone who gave a man everything he desired.

I couldn't last long like this. Breathing heavily and with sweat beginning to run down my forehead, I fucked Ruth's sexy body as hard as I could until the feeling became so intense that I practically screamed.

"FUUUCK! TAKE IT, YOU SLUT!"

I released. Streams of cum shot out of me and deep inside her cunt, making her shudder and squeal as she felt it coming. After I had emptied myself inside her, I pulled out and grabbed her roughly by the hair, turning her around to face me.

"Now suck it clean, you dirty slut." I growled, smiling like a Cheshire Cat in heat.

She sat on the bed, legs pulled up, looking up at me, innocently. Then she obediently leaned forward and opened her mouth, keeping my gaze with those beautiful puppy dog eyes. Her mouth enveloped my cock and kept it hard, making me feel like an absolute sex god, able to keep going for hours.

"We're not done yet, you're gonna be my little fucktoy all night."

Glee. Delight.

I could sense that she wanted to scream it to the world. That she loved this and wanted more. She had wanted to shout it out for so many years. Slurping noises filled the room instead as her throat clenched around my cock. It was like she wanted to milk it, fully embracing her role as a toy for my pleasure.

The next few days became a veritable fuck fest. I took a day off work and stayed in with the spirit of Ruth, indulging in every kind of dirty, depraved activity I could think of. Oral, anal, fisting... sex in the bathroom, kitchen, living room... you name it, we did it. The whole house was filled by a thick smell of sex, as we only took breaks because I needed to. I needed food and rest occasionally, but after a while, that insatiable desire came over me once more and I just had to have her again.

At some point, I was lying on the bed, half-awake from exhaustion as my cock was once again being serviced by my new-found lover. Suddenly, I had my phone in my hand, and a number had already been dialed. I heard a voice coming from the speaker and put it up to my ear, recognizing the voice of the estate agent, Mr. Porter, on the other end.

Just as I tried to catch what he was saying, the spirit of Ruth giggled mischievously and sucked me off expertly, making it hard to focus on anything other than her. I managed to squeeze out a few words in between moans, but she wasn't making it easy for me.

"Sorry... I didn't quite catch that... Could you ... say that again... please?"

"Yeah, I'm glad you called; I was waiting to hear about your... experiences."

"Oh... oh! Yeah, it's... ahh.... really good, actually... I love it here..."

"Really? Uh... So you haven't ... er... haven't been having any... problems?"

I looked down and saw the face of that beautiful woman who had taken up residence in the house even after her death. She radiated happiness as she kept licking and sucking at me, eager to give me as much pleasure as my body could possibly endure. I could feel her. She was completely happy.

"Uh... no... Nope! No problems at all. I can see myself living here... a looooong time..."