The Haunted (Sleeping with Monsters Book 1) (6 page)

What
was she going to do? She couldn’t tell Richard – he didn’t deserve to know. But
she did need him – she needed to stay here now, this was her home. If they got
divorced, he’d sell this place for sure.

And
what was more, was that she did still want a child. Richard…might not be a good
husband, or father, but he did have a lot of funds. Private schools weren’t
cheap, and neither were ivy league colleges.

If
she could manage to lead Richard on, to make him think they were happy, at
least until she got pregnant…then things might be okay, mightn’t they? There
was no way he’d stay home, he’d go away again on a business trip, philandering
– and when he was gone, she would have the baby and the ghost. The best of all
possible worlds, right?

She
stroked the curve of her ass, watching her hand in the mirror. Yes. If she could
keep her wits about her, it just might be possible to juggle it all.

She
unpacked with a vengeance that day, no flouncing or posing. She wanted Richard
to feel bad when he got home, when he saw how much she’d done, toiling away
without him. Arthur brought up boxes and they shoved furniture around as a
team, until all the bedrooms on her wing were done. She’d already picked out
one of them to be her nursery – all they had to do was get one of the dressers
the locusts had left behind out the door.

It
was heavy wood, an ancient piece, she could understand why the locusts had left
it behind. It was far too grim for a nursery though – it had to be moved.

“Let’s
put our backs into it, Arthur –“

“Ma’am,
my back may not have much more left to give!” Arthur said with a laugh.

But
the felt beneath the dresser’s feet suddenly glided across the floor and they
slid it out the door and down the hall to the spare room Daphne was using to
hide all the furniture she didn’t want or need.

They
both walked back up the hall slowly, hands to backs, congratulating each other
on a job well done, returning to the newly empty room. The walls were the wrong
color – mint green, whereas she’d want pink or blue, child depending – but the
windows were shaded by tall trees outside, letting in the perfect amount of
light.

Her
eyes scanned the room, imagining her future life, when she lit on a dusty photo
tilted against the wall where the dresser had been. She walked over and picked
it up.

It
was of a woman holding up a trophy in front of a giant black horse.

“Who’s
this?”

Arthur
came over to look over her shoulder. “I believe that was one of the prior
tenant’s children.”

Children?
She wasn’t a child. Daphne squinted, and saw it, the innocence around the eyes
– but the curves of her body, shown off by the tight breeches and top she wore,
were all woman.

“She’s
beautiful.”

“Indeed.
It was a shame.”

She
turned towards him, a question in her eyes.

“She’s
the one that died,” he explained.

“So
-- this was her room?”

“I
believe so.”

Daphne
frowned. This house was only big enough for one ghost. “I think we’ll have to
move the nursery down the hall.”

Arthur
nodded. “A wise decision, Ma’am.”

She
waited until the alarm chirped that night, and addressed the ghost directly,
knowing he had to hear.

“My
husband’s coming home tomorrow. You can’t do – that – again,” she told thin
air. Was he in the room, hovering in quiet disapproval? Or was she only
projecting her own disappointment out? “I’m sorry. I – “ she licked her lips,
scared to say the words aloud, especially when the ghost could never say them
back.

A
warm finger touched the cool space of her arm. Forgiveness? She turned towards
him. “I really do –“ She’d had all day to think on it when she’d been alone, in
between unpacking things. It was so scary to say things out loud, to say what
she needed – her whole life she’d been conditioned to never ask for what she
wanted, always praying that somehow she’d be good enough for it to just fall in
her lap.

But
because he was silent, she felt the need to fill the space up between them with
words – and because he couldn’t talk back, talking felt safe. He would never
tell a soul the way she’d writhed against him, trying to get away from him
while secretly wanting more, to see how much she could take. She’d been scared,
and it’d hurt, but – she ran another hand down her ass, feeling the soreness
he’d left behind, feeling claimed by him in a way that Richard hadn’t wanted
her in years. “I – I think you should know that – I liked it.”

A
warm hand took hers, palm to palm, and pulled her towards the entry hall and
her breath hitched to think he might take her there again, like that, but
instead of pushing her down, or pulling her towards the stairs that led to her
bedroom, he tugged her gently towards the other stairs instead.

Curious,
excited, scared – excited – she followed.

Arthur
and she hadn’t gotten very far on this side of the house. All her bedroom
furniture had been concentrated on the other side, what she thought of as the
‘living’ wing – which perhaps made it more appropriate that she was here on the
other side with the ghost of someone who’d died here.

As
he pulled her further down the hallway, she thought she knew where they’d end
up, and something low in her belly quivered. The bed, the manly bed, carved
with fighting animals, abandoned by the locusts – he drew her to the room
inexorably and with every step, knowing only enough about what was to come to
be turned on and scared at once, she felt the ache of desire rekindle within
her. There were spaces in her that only he could fill, that needed filling,
desperately. She knew if she reached down now she’d find herself wet and knew
she ought to be ashamed of how eager he made her and yet knowing he was going
to take her soon felt so good –

They
reached the door of the room and turned into it. She reached for the lightswitch,
but he held her hand back, and a soft glow suffused the room instead.
Candlelight, but from no one point, just a gentle orange glow, centered on the
four poster bed.

The
color of the light returned the bare mattress to its former glory, making it look
warm and inviting, shadows hiding the anger of the animals carved to hold it up
beneath.

Of
course the hand drew her there.

She
walked slowly, her belly on fire.
It’s about to happen again, to me, to me,
to me,
her thoughts kept pace with her steps. When she reached the bed’s
edge, the hand held her back and began to undress her.

She
stood there, feeling him move gently over her, heat pressing against her skin,
pulling her shirt up and off, unzipping and tugging her skirt down for her to
step out of. There was a pause, as though the ghost admired his own handiwork –
or her – before hot hands undid the clasp of her bra and set her breasts free,
pulling her back into a warm chest again as hands fondled her, lifting the
weight of each breast up, rolling nipples between thumb and forefinger
indulgently. She purred at his touch and his slow attention, then felt a hand
play down her side, her ribs, to tuck a finger into the band of her underwear
and pull along the elastic edge as if testing its strength. Both hands sank,
pushing her underwear off of her, feeling her as they did so, following the
underwear down against her legs all the way to the ground. She stepped out of
them and her skirt and then felt hands again, at her waist, and stroking her
welted bottom, just like they had at the end of last night. Her breath caught
with each movement of his hand – she didn’t think he’d spank her again, but he
might and – there was another rumbling behind her, as though the ghost were
chuckling at her fear.

Then
the heat abandoned her. She knew he was still in the room, the ‘light’ was
still on – and she saw divots appear in the mattress, as though someone were
crossing it toward her on their knees. Hands grabbed hers again, and pulled her
up.

She
followed the ghost on all fours, hungry and unsure. Hands pressed down on her
back and she let them, falling forward like he’d taken her on the tile the
other night, but then he pressed down on her ass, pushing all of her to lay
prone. She did as his hands told her without complaint. Whatever he wanted her
to do, she’d do.

His
hands smoothed through her hair, pushing it back from her face, so that she had
a view of the bottom of the bed and its posters. Which was how she saw it, and
why she screamed –

“Snakes!”
She writhed on the bed, trying to escape but a heavy weight held her down,
stronger than she was like this, unable to get a purchase on the mattress.

But
when her panic calmed down, she realized they were ropes.

“What?”
She still fought, but not as hard as she had been. “But –“

But
hadn’t she come here of her own accord? Hadn’t she let him undress her,
knowing, hoping, something like this might occur?

She
stilled beneath his hands and he stroked her again, as though to calm her down.

Ropes
she could see tied down both her arms, and ropes she couldn’t bound her ankles.
They pulled tight and she was lashed to the bed, spread-eagled out, entirely
reliant on a man she couldn’t even see.

“Please
–“ she didn’t want to mention her husband again, it would feel disrespectful to
the moment. “Please – don’t hurt me.”

Not
in ways that Richard could see.

But
in other ways…she swallowed, and closed her eyes.

His
hands smoothed all over her body again, even unexpected places, the bottoms of
her feet, her armpits, the angles of her neck, like he was currying a favored
horse. She relaxed under this onslaught of attention, fear of him and fear of
getting caught receding. She was still hungry, yes, but she didn’t dare raise
her hips up as he stroked down her back, no matter how much, cat-like, she
wanted to – she didn’t dare invite another spanking.

And
then, like she was hoping, like she’d been ready for ever since his hands had
led her down this hall – his fingers began trailing up the insides of her
thighs again.

There
was no way to hide herself from him, tied out like she was. He could see all of
her, her clit, her folds, her pussy, and, she realized, as he pulled warm
cheeks apart, her tight tight asshole. She quivered in fear at this, at being
so exposed. No one had ever looked at her like this before, had inspected her
so thoroughly with eyes and hands, no one had ever wanted to know her so
intimately, especially not like this.

His
hands kneaded her ass gently and she whined – there were bruises back there
now, she knew, and not all of the heat was his, she’d felt like she’d been
sitting on a sunburn the entire day. Then fingers dropped lower, to test the
wetness of her pussy.

“Please,”
she breathed, wanting him in her – any part of him, and now she arched, begging
him to fill her up. Hot fingers played in and out, broad strokes, making her
groan – and then moan, when they pulled out. “Please?” she said, hoping to feel
the mattress shift, to know he was kneeling above her, about to use his cock –

And
then a finger pressed there, hot and wet, at the tight pucker of her asshole.

“No
no no –“ she squirmed on the bed like she had on his lap the night before. The
finger followed her squirming, neither pressing harder, nor going away.

“No
– not even Richard –“ she gasped out, all of her clenching tight in fear.

But
not even Richard had ever spanked her, either. And not-even-Richard wasn’t here
– he was off with some other woman.

But
most important of all -- the Master was not him.

She
paused, gulping in huge breaths, trying to conquer her fear. The ghost had hurt
her yes – but he’d also pleased her, moreso than any other man ever had – had
ever even bothered to try.

Daphne
licked her lips and dropped her hips to the bed, took in a deep breath, and let
it go.

“Be
slow. Please be slow.”

Instead
of instantly pushing in, he rubbed her there. Now that she wasn’t frightened of
him, or this, she could realize that it felt good. A warm finger circled her,
massaging this part of her as he had the rest of her, getting her to fall back
into that blissful relaxed state – except now she was sure there was more
coming. Instead of being scared of it, she began to be excited by the idea.

Time
passed. Him waiting, rubbing, and her being rubbed. Daphne supposed ghosts had
no concept of time, and his cock was always hard, so there was no need to
hurry. And so, when she was ready, when she wanted it – at least to try it –
she perked up her ass ever so slowly.

Taking
the cue, he pushed his finger in.

It
was strange and frightening and she locked down again. But he waited there
patiently until she relaxed. She realized the sensation inside of her was
strange…but pleasurable. She moved a little testing things, and he moved with
her – and then against her, sliding his finger in and out.

Daphne
gasped at this, but not in pain. More heat rose in her pussy and her clit
begged for her to wrestle a hand free to touch it and she rocked her hips
against his hand. The bed shook for a second, him chuckling to see her come
alive beneath him, as his fingers moved again.

When
he put a second one in, she noticed, but didn’t mind. The sensation of being
stretched wider was as pleasurable in her ass as it was in her pussy, and she
was fucking the bed now, her hips begging him for more friction, her clit
aching for relief.

And
then when the whole bed shook and the fingers removed she knew what was coming
next.

“Yes
–“ she begged in the moment he left her empty. “Please –“ her breath panting
into the mattress, making her face hot.

His
heat lowered on top of her, his weight pressing her down, and she felt the heat
of his cock align with the cleft of her ass cheeks and she knew he was ready to
take her, as ready as she was to be taken – his hips moved and with an arc and
a thrust he slid his cock where his fingers had been, into her.

Daphne
cried out in triumph, surprise, and a tiny bit of pain. His cock was longer
than his fingers had been, wider, and hotter too, and yet having him in her ass
felt right. She cried out again as he thrust into her a second time,
experimentally, trying to get a feel for her as she tried to stretch for him –
and then they moved as one and she groaned.

He
was fucking her and she was helping him, their hips mated in a dance, moving
back and forth with one another, only the smallest amount of friction between
them as each claimed their rightful space.

She
had absolutely never felt like this, so owned by another. It was dirty, letting
him take her like this, fucking her asshole, but it felt so good – good wives
didn’t want this, but she wasn’t a good wife anymore, was she? Maybe good wives
are only as good as their husbands.

She
threw her head back and felt his arms wrap around her chest and neck, holding
her tightly to him so that he could fuck her more deeply, pounding her hips
into the mattress’s springs. A hand reached down and grabbed her breast,
pinching her nipple roughly, which only made the need of her clit roar.

“One
hand, please – please – please –“ she begged in time with their rhythm, her
voice rising as he sped up. He could take her like this forever, she realized –
how long could she stand it, before the heat made her catch fire?

It
was his hand he moved – not hers. One dove beneath her, reaching down to cup
near her clit – forcing her to choose.

Would
she raise her ass and let him pound it? Or would she lower it and rub against
him? It was a devil’s bargain when both things felt so good. She screamed
because she could, as the friction of her clit against his hand made her
momentarily go insane -- and then his other arm kept yanking her down, and
himself up, opening her ass to ram in his cock –

There
was no thinking anymore, no past, no future, only the present, right here on
this bed with him, in this beastial fuck, getting taken like she’d never been
taken before, him in complete control, riding her like a mustang running toward
a cliff –

Her
voice increased in volume and went hoarse – “Fuck me!” she commanded him, once
the horse, now the rider. “Fuck me hard!” she demanded, and he did, his cock
plumbing the dark depths of her and his hand shuddering against her clit and
then –

She
came. It was like she’d stepped off of cliff, and instead of falling, flown.
The ecstasy didn’t ripple through her, it spun out like a galaxy, emanating
from her hips out through every part of her, holding her up as she slowly spun.
She took in huge gulps of air hovering, floating, all of her light, his hand
still rubbing and his cock still deep inside and her still coming, coming,
coming, until she was done.

“Oh
my God,” she whispered, as the bed felt real again. He stopped touching her
clit, released her shoulders, and slowly pulled out. She swallowed, still
trying to hold onto the last moments of bliss, trying to convince herself that
that – that this – had happened to her. That the whole thing had been real.

“I
just –“ she started, trying to, what exactly? Explain it to herself? Or the
ghost?

The
ropes binding her released and disappeared. She lay still without them, unable
to catch her breath.

A
gentle hand found her back, as if to ask if she were alive.

“That
was amazing.” She got to all fours and sat back. She’d be sore tomorrow in
places she’d never been sore before – and it’d all been so very, very,
worthwhile. “I can’t believe –“ words drifted, thoughts incomplete.

A
hand pulled her chin up and hot lips kissed hers with no tongue, the chastity a
strange counterpart to what had just gone on. And then the sensation of heat,
his presence, and the candlelight, disappeared.