Welcome to Hart House Pt. 03

Spooky Season is upon us again, so I figured it was time for another instalment of This haunted house story. A bit less haunted this time but part 4 is not far from being published. Please read part one and two for context.

As always, feedback, messages and comments welcome.

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"You have got to be kidding me," I snarled as I pulled open the curtains and looked outside. I had hoped that this morning, finally, the storm would have finished. The brooding grey skies, the rain lashing the leaded glass, and the flashes of lightning told me otherwise.

It was two nights ago that my car had died in the storm as I crossed the mountains, forcing me to take shelter in this creepy, strange old house. Two nights of strange dreams, bizarre sexual encounters, and feeling as if I were going mad.

I had met the creepy, gross old butler, Nicolas, the slutily dressed maid Annabelle, and the horny cook, Tracy. Each encounter had been sexually charged, strange and unsettling. Not to mention I had somehow fucked what seemed to be a ghost. Twice. At least in my imagination or dreams.

One thing was sure. I had to get out of Hart House. And fast. I had been traveling across the country, heading to the west coast for work. My wife was supposed to meet me there and we were supposed to start a new life.

When I thought about my wife I felt a wave of guilt. Sure, this house was crazy but it was not like I had not taken part. My cock had been in mouths, cunts, and even an ass since I had arrived. I felt as though I was losing myself.

I checked my phone, not surprised when I found, yet again, no signal. What made me groan was that the battery was almost dead. This house had been out of power since I had arrived and if I was not careful, even if I got a signal, I would still be cut off.

The day before I had gone out into the storm to look for my car, but had not found it, just gotten soaked. I looked in the wardrobe and found that my jeans and tee shirt had been laundered and dried overnight. I did not find my underwear but just shook my head and got dressed.

I was hungry and headed down the hall to the stairs that led down to the kitchen.

I was greeted with smells of breakfast and coffee. I pushed into the room and was glad that I didn't see Nicolas, and smiled at Tracy, the cook.

She was wearing a basic dress, with a white apron over it. She had a pretty, if slightly plain face, with brown hair pulled up in a bun. She was a bit thick, with huge tits and and a fat ass. I could not help but smile to think about how, the previous morning I had fucked her in the ass.

She turned when I entered.

"Good morning, Mr. Drew," she said. "Hungry? Need some

Coffee? It's a terrible day out there again, I'm afraid? Come sit down, sweetheart!"

I crossed the room towards her, determined to get some questions answered. I knew that she thought that women were just things for men's amusement, made to be used. I planned to put that to work for me.

"Good morning," I said, approaching her. She was half turned towards me and I reached out, gripping her shoulders and turned her to face me, pushing her against the counter behind her.

"Oh!" She exclaimed. "Well, someone is happy this morning!"

I reached behind her neck and pulled the string on her apron, letting the bib section fall. Her dress had buttons running up the front, barely containing her large tits. I gripped the edges and yanked them apart, sending buttons flying.

"No, Tracy," I said as her large tits bounced as they fell free from the dress. Her dark pink nipples were hard, begging to be sucked into my mouth. She gasped but smiled and arched her back, presenting her chest to me.

"I am not happy," I said. "I don't want to be here anymore."

I took one of her tits in my hand, squeezing, feeling the hard nipple against my palm. It was too large to be contained in my hand, white flesh spilling out around it.

"I want to leave, but I can't find my fucking car. I can't get a cell signal and I can't call for help."

Tracy moaned. I lifted her breast to my mouth and flicked my tongue across the hard nub, then pulled it with my teeth. I suspected it might be painful but she groaned.

Her hand reached for my cock and wrapped around the hard shaft. I slapped it away from me.

"I need to find the groundskeeper. I think you said her name was Pat?" I said. I moved to the other breast and sucked her other nipple, making it as hard as the first one. I pushed my hand up her dress and she spread her legs apart, allowing me to reach her sex. It was already hot and wet for my fingers as they pushed against her clit.

Tracy was breathing heavily. She reached for my cock again and I grabbed her wrist to stop her. I turned her away from me, pulling her arm up behind her, keeping her in place.

"I'm..." she stammered. "I'm not supposed to say... Nicolas..."

I pushed her chest down against the counter and flipped her dress up over her ass. Underwear did not seem to be part of the uniform here at Hart House and her bare ass and already dripping cunt was on display for me.

Tracy wiggled her ass. I knew she wanted me to spank her. She had made it clear she enjoyed things rough the morning before. It was all I could do to keep from yanking out my cock and driving it into her asshole. She was ready for it. She wanted it. I wanted it. The house, somehow, seemed to want it. I didn't want to satisfy her or their house if I could help it.

"You can tell me, Tracy." I said quietly. I ran my fingers through the smooth channel of her sex, rubbing her clit. She moaned and pushed back against me. "Ah, nope. Not yet. I need you to tell me."

Tracy groaned, wiggling, trying to get my fingers into her.

"I can get..." she gasped as I pushed my fingers into her briefly before pulling back. "I can get in trouble."

I reached down and unzipped my jeans. Tracy moaned at the sound.

"I have what you need, Tracy" I said, leaned forward, whispering in her ear. "But you need to tell me what I want."

"Please Mr. Drew," she pleaded. "Please fuck me. Give me your cock."

I gripped the shaft of my cock and pressed the head against her, swiping it through her sex, coating it with her dripping juices.

"I want to," I whispered. "I really want to give you my cock, Tracy." I slapped the shaft into her wet cunt, the smacking sound seeming very loud there in the otherwise empty kitchen. "But I can't. Not until you tell me where to find Pat."

"She...she..." Tracy moaned as my cock smacked into her sex. She was writing. "Just put it in, Mr. Drew. I'll...I'll tell you after. Ass or cunt! I don't care! I'm just a hole for you to use. Fuck me!"

"No?" I said, and I moved my body back from her slightly. "You won't tell me? I guess thats that. I'll leave you to it then."

I felt her body stiffen under me.

"Please! You don't understand!" I could hear the despair in her voice. I could see tears on her cheek. "You don't know what its like here. I'm always so fucking horny. I neeeeed it. And when I don't get it I start to go crazy. I..."

"Last chance, Tracy," I said. I pressed the head of my cock against her. I almost felt bad for her. I could not, however. She was part of this house that was somehow keeping me here against my will. "I'm going to walk away."

Tracy sobbed.

"No! She's... She's... She's in the large outbuilding. The one that looks like a garage! She lives there! Now fuck me! Fuck me! Pleeeease!"

I shoved forward, sinking my cock into her. She was dripping and while her cunt gripped me as I entered her, there was no resistance.

Tracy moaned and I shoved in, bottoming out, my hips against her ass.

"There you go," I said, pulling back and slamming forward again. "Here's what you want, you slut!"

"Take!" I shouted, slamming into her.

"What!" Our bodies smacked together.

"You've been begging for!" Her ass shook with each thrust.

"Oh fuck yes!" she snarled as I mercilessly fucked her from behind. "Fill my slut cunt up! Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuuuuuuck meeeee!"

She came already, her cunt spawning around my shaft as I drove into her. I didn't pause, I fucked her through her climax, which was followed almost instantly with another.

I yanked my cock out of her and she whimpered, grabbing behind her, trying to keep me inside of her. I shoved her back on the table and looked around me.

I saw an old ladle laying on the counter. It, like everything in the kitchen, looked like an antique. It had a wide, black metal spoon that ended in a thick round handle. It was stained dark and perfectly rounded from years and years of use.

I held her chest down on the counter and pressed the rounded end of the handle against her cunt, smearing it around, catching the juices that were dripping out of her.

"You don't even care what fucks you, as long as you are fucked, right?" I snarled. I did not even recognize myself. Who was this snarling, aggressive, angry man in this room. Two days ago I would have sworn it could not be me.

But here I was, somehow changed by my time in the house, taking this woman forcefully.

"I don't," she cried out. "Fuck me! Fuck my cunt! Fuck my ass! Just fucking fuck me!"

I pushed the handle of the ladle into her wet pussy and she moaned.

"Fuck yourself," I demanded and she obeyed. Gripping it herself and shoving it deeper. Pounding it into herself.

I held her there, chest down on the counter, maxing tits squashed against the surface, squeezing out on either side of her.

She was moaning, clearly about to cum again. I grabbed her shoulders and pulled her off the counter.

"On all fours, Tracy," I demanded and watched as she she got on her knees supporting herself with one hand while the other fucked herself with the ladle. Her heavy tits swung under her, in time to the movements of the handle within her.

I moved in front of her.

"Open your whore mouth!" I shouted and she did.

As soon as her lips parted I shoved my cock into her mouth, shoving the head back towards her throat. I gripped either side of her head in my hands and fucked her throat as savagely as I had been fucking her cunt earlier.

She came again while my cock was deep in her throat and he moaning and gagging massaged the head of my cock. I grunted, unable to hold back anymore. I yanked my cock out of her mouth and gripped the shaft.

I pumped several times, dragging the foreskin across the swollen head, crying out as I finally climaxed, a jet of cum splashing across her face.

My back was arched and I felt another spurt coming on so I grabbed the back of her head and shoved my cock right down her throat and came more, making her gag as I pumped cum directly into her stomach.

Finally I fell back. Tracy collapsed, laying legs spread wide, ladle still inside of her, gasping for breath.

"Thank you, Mr. Drew," she said. "Thank you."

I caught my breath and came to my senses. What had I just done?! What kind of man was I? I thought about my wife who was probably at home frantically trying to find me, calling the police, worrying about me.

I shoved my cock back in my jeans and scrambled away from her. I stood and hurried out of the room, leaving her there on the floor.

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Nicolas was in the hall as I left, leering at me. His thin white hair stood up, messy around his gaunt features. He looked me up and down with his unsettling bright eyes. He was wearing his old tuxedo that looked too big for him, and smiling.

"Good Morning, Mr. Drew," he sneered. "It looks like the storm continues! It's almost as if it is never going to end! Ah, well. I heard you, ahem, having breakfast just now. At least you are keeping yourself occupied while you are our guest!"

"Fuck you, Nic," I snarled as I shoved past him. "Fuck you and fuck this house!"

"Oh, don't tempt me, boy," he laughed at me. "I'm never one to turn down a good fuck, wherever it comes from! And to fuck a house? What a strange idea. But...well...everything is strange here, is it not? Maybe one day that wish will come true!"

I grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and shoved him against the wall. He was surprisingly light, and while I was not a terribly large man, he was easily manhandled.

"What the fuck does that mean?" I snarled, my face inches from his. "What the fuck is going on here! Nothing makes sense!"

Nicolas leered in my face, in no way afraid of me. His eyes were bright, but black. I could see almost no irises in them.

"My boy," he said, his voice almost gleeful. "I am flattered that you think I have all the answers! And, I'll admit, I do have some. But you won't get anywhere with force. Not with me, anyway. The girls perhaps. But not me."

I grunted in frustration and then Nicolas gripped my hands and forced them open to release him. He was surprisingly strong and did this with seemingly no effort.

"Why don't you look around, boy," he said. "Explore. You never know, maybe you can find some answers for yourself."

He started walking towards the kitchen, and was already opening his trousers.

"Now, I think Tracy might be interested in a bit more fun. Thank you for warming her up for me."

And then he was gone through the door. I hurried the other direction. I had no interest in hearing what that gross old man might do in there.

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I went to the closet that was by the entrance. The day before Nicolas had provided me with rain gear from that cupboard for my search for my car. Sure enough they were still in there.

The jacket was in no way a modern raincoat, rather a still waxed denim, like you might see in a period piece movie. It was a bit big on me, but covered me to mid thigh. It was still slightly damp from the day before but it was better than nothing. I also grabbed the old rubber boots. They had cracks in them, but again, it was what was on offer.

I sighed and stepped out of the house, and into the storm.

I was not from the mountains but I found it hard to believe what I was experiencing. The rain was coming down in sheets, just as hard as it had been the two days previous. Was that possible? Did storms last this long without letting up in the mountains?

The wind was driving the rain almost sideways and I had to lean into it to prevent myself from losing my footing and falling.

The road that led up to the house, the one I had walked down in hope two nights ago, was mud now, the ruts filled with deep puddles of water. One would need a 4x4 to get through that, I thought.

I looked around me, trying to spot any out buildings, determined to find this Pat woman who was supposed to be the caretaker.

It was difficult to make anything out. The rain was driving into my face and obscuring everything. The sun was, I supposed, shining up above the storm clouds, but they were so thick it was like early evening, just after sunset beneath them. The trees grew close to the house, gnarled and thick, whipping back and forth in the driving wind.

I cupped my hand over my eyes, shielding them from the rain, seeking anything that would lead my way. I squinted and almost gasped when I thought I noticed a little bit of light, through the trees.

I headed that way and sure enough, there was a vague path that led through the trees in that direction. I headed that way.

The rain was slightly better under the trees, but the branches swayed above me and made cracking sounds. I looked up, worried. I did not want a branch to fall on me, broken off in the storm.

The path curved, and I followed, the squelching mud sucking at my boots. Eventually I could see a dark shape ahead of me, rising up in the gauge form of a barn.

I almost shouted with happiness and hurried towards it. There were only a few windows, but an orange glow of an oil lantern shone out from them. It looked like someone was in there.

I found the door and didn't bother knocking. I shoved it open, almost losing contour of it when a gust of wind tried to yank it out of my hands. I stepped inside and wrestled it closed behind me, sagging against it when I was inside and out of the cold driving rain and relentless wind.

I looked around and took in the space. The storm could still be heard outside, the wind moaning through the rafters above but it was dry and warm inside here.

It had clearly once been a barn, but it was now used for other things. Storage mostly it seemed. Boxes were piled up in the old horse or cow stalls along one wall. There was an old Buick sedan, a large black classic car that looked to date from the 30s or 40s. It's hood was up and the engine was in pieces beside it. There were old spinning blade push lawn mowers and a tool bench with ancient looking tools arranged on it.

Nothing in this room looked newer than 60 or 70 years, except for the girl. She was sitting in the area that she had clearly set up as a small living space.

There was a smiple, single cot, a small wood stove that doubled as a heat source and cooking surface. A washbasin and mirror and a soft chair beside a bookcase. The girl was in the chair, looking at him.

"What the fuck are you doing in here," the girl demanded.

She was glaring at him from behind thick black rimmed glasses that looked as if they had come from a different time. Her blond hair hair was cut short in a style that was cute but slightly masculine. Her face was fresh, but with no apparent makeup. There was a smear of soot or grease across her broad forehead.

She was wearing simple coveralls, the kind you might see a mechanic wear. Though she was sitting I could tell she was shorter than me. Her coveralls were unzipped partway but she did not have much of a bust so there was no cleavage for my now eversexed mind to focus on. That was, I thought a good thing.

"I asked you a question," she said and crossed her arms.

I shook my head.

"Sorry," I said. "Sorry. Look. I don't mean to barge into your..." I looked around, "house. I'm just...I mean...my car broke down and I'm stuck here..."

I shrugged, feeling helpless. Lost.

"I thought maybe you could help me. I'm Drew."

She looked hard at me for a few moments then sighed. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees.

"Pat. I'm Pat," she said. "And you, Drew, well you are fucked."

She reached over and picked up a crumpled pack of cigarettes in a a soft pack and shook one out. She struck a wooden match and lit it, shaking the flame out with a flourish, dragging deeply then exhaling a cloud of white smoke.

"What do you mean," I asked. "You won't help me?"

She kicked a wooden chair beside her and it moved three feet towards me.

"Have a seat, Drew," she said. "Let's have a chat. I'll tell you some things those horny bitches over there in the house will never tell you."

I dropped into the chair and sighed. Finally! Someone was going to tell me something. Help me out.

She offered me her pack of cigarettes. I hesitated. I had quit smoking many years prior but then grabbed one. She struck another match and lit it for me.

"First off," she said, "you ain't getting out of here. I'm sorry to say, but it's true. No one ever does. No more than this storm ever stops."

"Wait," I interrupted. "What do you mean, the storm never stops? That doesn't make sense. How long has it been raining?"

"As long as I have been here. Not one day of sunshine. Rain. Thunder. Lightning. Every fucking day."

I shook my head. It could not be true. I paused and took her in. The hair did not seem to be very modern. And those thick black frames on her glasses. They seemed to be from another era.

"How long have you been here, Pat?" I asked slowly, afraid of the answer.

She shrugged and took another drag of her cigarette.

"Who knows. Time...doesn't seem to pass here. While at the same time...it feels like an eternity."

"Well, you have to know...I mean...who's the president? Who was the president the day you arrived here?"