The Inheritance

The whispers persisted; sometimes Isabel could barely form her own thoughts through the incessant chatter. They started about a week after she had moved in. The lease on her previous house had expired and finding another property, at a price she could afford, was proving difficult. That is, until the letter arrived. It was from a lawyer informing her that she had inherited a house from a distant cousin, one she had never heard of, all her problems were over, so she had thought.

The first week had been idyllic. Unpacking personal belongings had been a chore, but exploring the old house was exciting, and informative. Interconnecting doors between rooms seemed everywhere, none had just one entrance, as if people wanted to move freely between them. Some had mirrored ceilings above vast four poster beds, somehow out of keeping with the traditional look of the furniture. Strange hooks were buried into walls, obviously something had been tied to them. The whole house seemed modified for some purpose. None of the rooms lent themselves to any form of privacy. Perhaps Isabel was just tired, but the obvious explanation eluded her.

It was her eighth night in the old property and Isabel was exhausted. She decided an evening free from work, and an early night, was called for. The whispers had quietened as if waiting for some event to occur, but Isabel was too tired to notice. Finishing her coffee she moved across the lounge, through the swing doors and into the kitchen. Leaning over the sink, she began to wash the dregs from her cup when she felt the back of her dress being lifted. First an inch, then two, then higher, exposing her bare backside. She stood, frozen, unable to move, a hand caressed her left cheek. Finally shaking off her paralysis she spun around to find the room empty. She noticed that the door to the yard was partly ajar and a late evening breeze was blowing inside. That would account for her dress moving, but not the hand, she thought, had she imagined it?

Abandoning her cup she moved back into the lounge, puzzled by what had occurred, but strangely not frightened. A voice whispered into her ear, the only word she could distinguish, as if deliberately enunciated for her benefit, was 'fuck'.

She sat down and tried to analyse the strange occurrences that had happened since she arrived. Although not frightening they were certainly erotic. There were no loud bangs or creaking stairs, and definitely no headless apparitions wandering the hallways, just a tingling sensation as she moved from room to room. For some reason, she did not yet know, the feeling was centred at her groin, causing an itch she just had to 'scratch'. Isabel certainly eased the discomfort, several times a day, which again caused her a little concern. She rarely masturbated at her previous house, but here she could barely stop herself from thrusting her hand down into her jeans and 'bringing herself off'. It was probably a symptom of overtiredness, she thought, a need for some kind of relaxation, or maybe just sleep.

Isabel lay on the bed and reached out for her vibrator from the bedside cabinet, a nightly ritual she had adopted since her arrival, and switching it on played the tip around her nipple, instantly erecting it.

"Not tonight," she said aloud and switching it off, returned it back onto the table. She dozed, her mind intentionally empty of all thoughts, when she heard the buzzing begin. She looked at the vibrator which was propelling itself across the table and about to fall onto the floor. Reaching out and grabbing it just in time, she unscrewed the base and removed the batteries. Another broken switch, she thought, and making a mental note to replace it the following day, laid it back onto the table and settled down onto the soft mattress.

The buzzing started again and turning her head she saw the vibrator levitate from the table and move towards her. Isabel tried to rise but it was as if she was paralysed by some unseen force, even her vocal cords failed to respond to the scream inside her. She watched, wide eyed, as the vibrator honed in on her left nipple, causing it to erect immediately, in spite of her fear. It moved downward, as if suspended by wires, until it reached her clit. Isabel arched her back as the vibrations brought her close to orgasm, realising that what movement she had was controlled by her unseen assailant. The vibrator continued its movement downward, slipping across the lips of her pussy and up into her sodden cunt. A flush spread across her body as she orgasmed, groaning loudly as the hard plastic drove high up inside her.

The vibrations stopped and Isabel sensed a presence to her left, turning her head she felt the unmistakable smooth texture of a hard penis at her lips. As if compelled to do so, she slowly opened her mouth and the invisible cock slipped inside. It paused for a second then began thrusting in and out of her. She could smell a man's sweat, although she could see that there was no one there. Isabel felt the cock pause its actions before four huge pulses of what felt like cum filled her mouth, disappearing immediately as if absorbed into her body. She knew instinctively that there was nothing in her mouth, only the feeling that something had been there.

She felt the vibrator being removed from her cunt to be replaced with the obvious feel of a man's cock, a very large cock. It pushed inside her, stretching her, filling her completely. Shaking her head in pain, or ecstasy, she spied a long mirror she had propped against the wall that afternoon before deciding where its final home would be. The mirror reflected her open legs and up into her cunt, the lips of her pussy gripping some unseen intruder.

She could see the pink interior of her vagina, slick with her juices, her pussy pried apart by the invisible prick. She watched, mesmerised, as the walls of her cunt rippled as the cock drove in and out of her. Faster and faster the cock impaled her, she saw her lubrication increasing as she became more aroused. Isabel stared at herself being fucked, seeing deep into her own cunt, watching as it pulsed with the friction of the shaft as it slipped up and down the walls of her vagina.

Isabel orgasmed again as she felt hot cum flooding her insides, but the mirror showed no fluid only the froth of her own juices. She felt the 'cock' going slowly limp and then sliding out, the only evidence of what had occurred being her own slick discharge covering the lips of her pussy.

She awoke the next day unsure as to what had occurred the previous night. Her body was still sticky with her sweat, the vibrator laying beside the bed, the batteries along side it. Isabel picked it up and stared into the empty battery compartment before placing it onto the bedside table.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her mind replaying the previous night's action. The cock in her mouth and in her cunt had certainly felt real enough, but being fucked by a spirit was something she couldn't quite accept. There had to be a more rational explanation for her experiences, although she couldn't think of one. She didn't believe that she had been dreaming, no dream could be that real. Isabel recalled the other strange incidences that had happened since she entered the house; the whisperings and the intense urge to masturbate. What if there was something here? She had never been a sceptic, as far as ghosts were concerned, always believing in something being there, but to find one, or more, that made her feel so 'horny' was disconcerting, but exciting. To have sex without emotional commitment was, she felt, the province of prostitutes, but this wasn't sex in the real sense of the word. This was just sexual pleasure, masturbating with help, could anyone condemn it? She began to look forward to the night, even though she had just risen. What would it bring? Some perversion she hadn't even thought of? Or a hidden fantasy, buried deep in her subconscious to be wakened and enacted.

Isabel stood, already wet with anticipation, and moved to the bathroom. After showering and a light breakfast Isabel wondered into the town for some much needed groceries. The small store was almost empty, but for a few locals, when she entered.

"You the one that's bought the old house outside town?" a voice enquired as Isabel perused the shelves.

She turned to see a stern looking middle aged man standing there.

"I inherited it actually, but, yes it is my house," Isabel answered.

"Well I hope there'll be no goings on like with the last lot we had there."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand, what do you mean," she enquired.

"It's not to be talked about in mixed company," he said, lowering his voice and glancing around furtively, "They had orgies and things, until we drove them out."

"Is that all you did, drive them out?" Isabel accused.

"I'm saying nothing more," the man said rushing from the store.

Isabel understood now what was happening. Although she couldn't decide if the house stored the sexual energy of the previous occupants, or whether something more sinister had happened to them, she knew that she was right not to feel threatened.

She rushed home in eager anticipation and pushing the door open stepped inside the hallway.

"Hi people, I'm home," she said, removing her clothes as a swirling of air indicated the presence about her of her newfound lovers.

To be continued?

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