STORY: Haunted House - MM/f, BDSM, NC, Occult

[John Simmons]

Shannon Mitchell wasn't sure why she had felt such a sense of unease all
day. She and her parents had just moved into the old house. Perhaps that
was it. For while it was beautiful, and filled with delightfully odd
little twists and turns in its corridors it was unfamiliar. And the
stone which covered the walls made it hard to warm up to it. Perhaps
some kind of wall coverings were in order.

She shrugged mentally. She'd be gone back to college in a month anyway.
Best to enjoy the quirky old place while she could. She'd be back in the
boxy old dorm soon enough.

The room was chilly. She stripped quickly and casually. She was a petite
young woman with a slim figure firm with youth, high full breasts,
strong, slender legs, and a long chestnut hair spilling down her back.
She drew on a pair of boxer shorts and an old T-shirt, then climbed into
the big bed, rolled to its opposite side, and snapped off the light.

She woke with a start, fear gripping her as she stared around the dark,
shadowed room. Her mouth was dry and her heart pounding, and for long
moments she sat in unreasoning fear before her knuckles slowly relaxed
on the sheets. Then her eyes were caught by a movement in the corner and
she jerked backwards against the headboard, pulse racing as her eyes
tried to penetrate the dark corner. She waited, staring, and there was
another movement, subtle and barely detectable.

She slid backwards off the opposite side of the bed and looked around
wildly for something she could use as a weapon. There was nothing, and
instead her hands fumbled at the stiff lamp switch. She clicked it, but
nothing happened. The curtains ahead of her fluttered in breeze coming
through the open window and she heard a low moaning sound as the wind
whistled through the small crack beneath the door to the hall.

She stared into the corner, feeling her fear growing until she was
almost paralysed with it. The door was not far from the corner and she
could not bring herself to approach that dark, shadowy something. Then
she remembered the old candlestick sitting on its holder on dresser, and
after a moment's frantic thought, the lighter in one of the drawers. She
eased slowly aside, her hand running along the surface of the dresser,
searching for the drawer. She slid it open, and her fingers eased
within, fumbling for the lighter.

Almost to her surprise, she found it at once, and snatched it out. Her
hand fumbled for the candle. It was as thick as an alter candle,
standing on a five foot high, wrought metal candlestick holder. Her
knuckles slapped painfully against the iron, then shot up, grasping the
candle and wrenching it up and out. She flicked the lighter and felt a
wave of relief as a warm glow enveloped her. She eagerly brought the
flame to the top of the thick candle, and watched it catch, the light
growing wider and stronger.

Bracing herself, she held the thick candle aloft and stared towards the
corner. The candle pushed back the shadows, but not all the way, and
there was nothing for it but to move closer. If she could bring herself
to move.

She drew in a deep, shaky breath, then stepped forward, her feet cold on
the stone floor. She took another step, and another, the fear growing
until the pounding of her heart was like a drum sounding in her ears.
And then as the candle's warm glow penetrated to the wall she saw, with
a shocked sense of relief, that there was nothing there but the big old
armoire. And a moment later she saw the mirror on the front of the
armoire reflecting the sight of the white curtains fluttering in the window.

"Shit," she groaned, feeling an immense sense of relief tinged with
irritation at her stupidity. Still, her nerves were on edge, so she
moved up to it warily. She stared at her reflection a moment and blinked
in surprise, her jaw dropping. She often slept nude, especially on warm
summer nights. But she had worn boxer shorts and a T-shirt to bed
because the old house had felt damp and chilly. She was sure she had!

Yet she was nude.

And how had she not thought of that while crouched in the corner, while
staring at what she thought was an intruder of some kind in the far
corner!? How had she not even noticed?! She stared at herself holding
the candle, disbelief on her mirror image's face.

She gave her head a little shake, pushing that aside for the moment as
she reached for the door to the armoire. She was fairly sure there was
nothing inside, but her nervousness made her check anyway. She eased the
door open and drew in a deep breath, releasing it, as she saw the bare
walls inside. She closed the door and looked at herself again in the
mirror, still unable to understand how she could have wound up nude and
not even noticed it.

She froze, shock gripping her body and mind as her mirror image cocked
her head to one side and gave her a lazy grin. Confusion filled her, as
for a stunned moment she wondered if she actually were moving in the
same way. But then her image raised the candle higher and leaned
forward, as if staring at her. Then it leaned back, grinning, arching
her back and thrusting out her breasts. As Gwen stared in shock her
image brought the candle in closer to her body and then slowly tilted it
so that hot wed wax dripped slowly down onto her nipple.

She felt a double shock as her own nipple stung fiercely, as she felt
the drop hit, and the next. She stared incredulously as the woman in the
mirror slowly rolled her hips, arching her back sensuously as she
dripped hot wax across her breasts and nipples. Her own feet seemed
locked in place as she felt the stinging, burning pains moving across
her breasts, felt the wax beginning to encrust and harden around her
nipples.

And then her image reached through the glass, her hand sliding behind
Gwen's head, yanking her forward. She tried to scream as she felt her
image's lips crushed against her own, lips which were soft yet ice cold.
She felt a tongue thrusting into her mouth and stared in horror at her
dark, flame filled eyes. She dropped the candle, trying to twist free,
yet her hands met only the smooth dark glass of the mirror even as she
felt her face drawn forward.

Her image's mouth was biting and sucking at her lips with growing
passion, her tongue impossibly long, thrusting up through her lips. She
couldn't breath, her mind panicking, fluttering like a butterfly as she
felt cold, hard hands caressing her back and sliding down to squeeze and
knead her buttocks. She was drawn further into the mirror, her hands
desperately clutching the mirror's frame on either side as her head and
upper body were drawn forward, feeling her image's ice cold breasts
pressing against her own.

Her image's tongue was raping her mouth, her fingers like claws at her
bottom, trying to pull her fully into the mirror, and she knew that if
it succeeded she would never return.

Yet amid her terror was a strange, dark hunger growing within her body,
as if she were becoming infected by the passion and lust filling her
mirror image. And when her image slid a hand between her legs and
plunged two icy fingers straight up into her sex she felt an almost
explosive reaction of icy pain and burning pleasure. She whimpered and
trembled violently, her body writhing and twisting, her fingers
straining in their grip on the frame.

She felt them thrusting in and out as the woman's expression grew
sadistic and merciless. She was jamming them in with painful force,
bruising her soft flesh even as her chill touch froze and numbed her
skin. Yet the dark hunger continued to grow and spread within her, and
her mind began to waver, to imagine the pleasure and passion which
awaited her inside the mirror and consider releasing her grip on the frame.

So what was death, or worse, compared to such ecstasy and passion? Her
muscles spasmed and her grip on the mirror slipped. And then she came,
screaming soundlessly into her image's mouth, around her image's thick,
flitting tongue, and her legs collapsed beneath her. She fell, tearing
free of the woman's icy grip and sprawling back to the floor.

A steel hard hand gripped her ankle and dragged her back. Gasping for
breath, trying to fight through a churning whirlpool of passion and
feverish need she twisted and rolled and twisted again as a pale,
porcelain hand pulled her foot into the mirror. She could feel an icy
almost gelatinous liquid sensation around her leg as it slid in to the
knee. She planted the other foot against the frame, crying out in panic
and fear.

She saw the mirror bulge out towards her, not a hand this time but - but
a thick glowing white glassy looking helmet headed cock. Her legs were
spread with her right foot jammed against the frame and her left pulled
inside, and she had to grip the opposite frame with both hands to
counter the pull on her leg.

She tried to twist her pelvis away but the long glassy cock twisted with
her, and she screamed as it found her slit and pierced her. She heard
pounding on the door, and muffled shouts, but as she tried to scream
again an icy mist came out of her open mouth. She felt her body take on
a terrible, painful chill. Her insides burned with cold as the thick
gelatin like thing drove deep.

Hands reached out for her now, long glassy arms straining out from the
mirror. She sobbed helplessly as they gripped her other ankle and yanked
her foot free of the frame. Her legs slid into the mirror and her hips
followed. She caught at the frame with her arms, sobbing as she felt her
legs spread painfully wide inside. The icy cold thing was moving in and
out now, moving in and out with furious speed and savage force, pounding
at her insides as they turned to ice, then a numbness spread up her body.

A dark, blistering lust suddenly blossomed within her. She fought it
hopelessly, feeling it growing and spreading and seeping into her mind
so that she began to moan with pleasure as her insides were pounded.
Pain and a terrible, icy cold, and yet she exulted in it, rejoiced in
it, panting and shuddering in growing pleasure, her fingers slowly
loosening on the frame.

She came, and it was terrible, and wonderful at once. She arched her
back and threw back her head to scream. Her fingers loosened, and she
was yanked into the mirror.

The door was old and thick and heavy. The police had to be called to
break into the room. They found nothing out of the ordinary except that
the alleged occupant was missing. The desperate complaints of the
missing girl's parents were given short shrift. If the girl had screamed
then she would have been in the room when they broke in. They must have
imagined it. As for where the girl had gone - since there was no
evidence of a crime and the girl was over eighteen it really didn't
concern them.

Only one felt otherwise, a young woman on her first week as a detective.
While alone in the room she chanced to turn her head and glance into the
mirror, which suddenly flashed onto a scene of impossible snowy
whiteness in which hundreds of faceless, ivory figures writhed in
endless sexual abandon.

In their centre was a young girl, her pink skin flushed with cold,
straddling a male figure with an enormous organ, bent forward, plunging
violently up and down upon it. Another faceless ivory male thrust a
second huge cock into her anus. Her head was twisted up and to the side
by a third ivory figure, her soft brown hair wrapped around its fist as
it pumped its thick white cock into her mouth, forcing her lips all the
way up to the base of its groin.

The figure pulled its cock free, and the detective gaped at the
thickness and length of it as it turned the girl's face towards the
mirror. For a moment the woman saw a look of absolute horror mixed with
feverish animal lust on the girl's face, then her head was yanked back
and the figure thrust its cock deep into her throat.

Dozens and dozens of figures surrounded them, hands and arms reaching
out for the girl, clawing and pawing, licking and sucking at her exposed
flesh.

In the blink of an eye the scene disappeared and the shaken young woman
was staring at a simple mirror. Opening it and peering into the armoire
revealed nothing. Pulling the armoire back revealed less than nothing.
She told no one of what she had seen.

Shannon Mitchell's parents searched for months for their daughter,
certain she had been abducted, then, bitter and disillusioned with what
they had thought would be their dream house, they abandoned it.

"Spooky looking place," Holly said, shivering a little despite the heat.

"I don't know. I like old places. They have a charm."

Holly made a face and shrugged. Maybe Claire was right. She wasn't
particularly fond of plastic cookie cutter homes which all looked the
same either. But this place...

It was a veritable mansion, a huge pile of square dark gray stone blocks
occupying a large, overgrown lot only a half dozen blocks from the
university. You could hardly see it from the street, so thick was the
growth of hedges, bushes, trees - and a waste high mass of weeds and
grass. The six foot high steel bar fence around the front added to the
forbidding air as she looked up along its ivy covered front walls at the
small dark windows on the second floor.

It had eight large bedrooms. Mike Chadwick had organized the group,
placed adverts on the bulletin board, interviewed them all. Between them
they had no difficulty paying the rent. They were shocked at how small
it was, and each of them was suspicious about what was wrong with the
place that it hadn't long ago been sold.

Inside, was a huge soaring front hall, the top lost in shadows. All the
rooms had high ceilings, in fact, ceilings which seemed to eat the light
from below. A pair of large round gray pillars flanked the big double
doors, and beyond them were dimly lit corridn keep the living room and
front hall clean."

"I think we should rotate through these," Holly said. "Why should one
person get stuck with the same thing all the time? What are you guys
gonna do?"

"Me and Mike are in charge of cleaning up the yards and doing repairs
around the house. And this place needs a lot," he said.

"What, you think I can't do that? I used to work in an appliance repair
shop. I'm a whiz with electrical fixtures and not bad at plumbing either."

After further discussions, everything was doled out, and Holly climbed
the stairs to her room. Her stereo now sat on a large old table, a small
computer occupied the desk, and Stacie was setting up her TV in the corner.

Holly leaned over the dresser and gazed at herself in an ancient gold
lined mirror, then brushed at her short blonde hair. She noticed a stain
on her blouse and unbuttoned it, then shrugged it off and tossed it on
the bed. She bent and opened a dresser drawer and felt a strange
prickling sensation betwee with straight hair which fell halfway down
her back. She was a simple girl, from the way she talked.

"So I said, like, I didn't want no more small bills," she said to Steve,
"And the asshole gives me this look, like I'm annoying him or something.
Can you believe that? What a pooh head"

She had lived on a farm, Holly discovered, only a little guilty at the
mental sneer she fluxes in the car," Claire said.

Steven led the way up the stairs and down the hall to their bedroom.

"God," Claire sighed, smiling as she stared around her.

It was an enormous bedroom, even for two people. There were two large
single beds, but there was actually room for a pair of doubles, even
king sized beds. The furniture along the walls was glossy walnut dark
with age, a pair of enormous armoires, each seven feet high. There were
several large dressers along the walls, and an antique desk with a
large, heavy, straight backed chair. There were several large, build in
book cases, and a long padded window seat in the deep window well. The
beds themselves were old fashioned four posters, though, Holly was
relieved, without the canopy overhead.

They set down their things and immediately set out for more. Along the
way they encountered a few of the others who would be sharing the old
place with them. Mike Darling was another athlete, like Steve, though
blonder and taller. Both of them were going to be trying out for the
football team, and were confident of making it. Gwen Templer was a
short, slender blonde with thick, curling blonde hair and an attitude
made up of a dry wit and the sophisticated world weariness only a
nineteen year old could exude. Holly Jenson was another blonde, but hers
was straight, and her body was noted by all for its buxomness,
especially since she wore only a tank top, and the weight of her heavy
breasts produced ample visible cleavage in the low neckline.

Holly stared at her in dislike as she giggled and laughed with the boys.
It wasn't that the shirt was really that revealing. As lon g as she
stood up straight it wasn't - bad - but as soon as she bent over even a
little, and she was forced to do that a lot while picking up boxes and
bags, the weight of her big breasts made the neck gape.

She was having no difficulty finding male help, and showed no reluctance
to accept it.

Karen was another one with big tits, she thought, cynically guessing
that looks were the primary requirement for the girls Steven had
interviewed. She was a brunette, with straight hair which fell halfway
down her back. She was a simple girl, from the way she talked.

"So I said, like, I didn't want no more small bills," she said to Steve,
"And the asshole gives me this look, like I'm annoying himn keep the
living room and front hall clean."

"I think we should rotate through these," Holly said. "Why should one
person get stuck with the same thing all the time? What are you guys
gonna do?"

"Me and Mike are in charge of cleaning up the yards and doing repairs
around the house. And this place needs a lot," he said.

"What, you think I can't do that? I used to work in an appliance repair
shop. I'm a whiz with electrical fixtures and not bad at plumbing either."

After further discussions, everything was doled out, and Holly climbed
the stairs to her room. Her stereo now sat on a large old table, a small
computer occupied the desk, and Stacie was setting up her TV in the corner.

Holly leaned over the dresser and gazed at herself in an ancient gold
lined mirror, then brushed at her short blonde hair. She noticed a stain
on her blouse and unbuttoned it, then shrugged it off and tossed it on
the bed. She bent and opened a dresser drawer and felt a strange
prickling sensation betweee for who did what.

There were only two guys, and Holly cynically decided the two of them
had been in on setting the place up as a kind of female dorm with cute
girls just for them. It did not surprise her at all to find out that
none of the seven girls currently had a boyfriend.

"Who cooks?" he asked. "We don't want to eat take-out every night."

"You want one of us to cook for seven people every night?" Claire demanded.

"No, just supervise. We'll take turns making dinner, two people each
night on a rotating schedule. We eat lunch at school and we're on our
own for breakfast. Make cereal or something."

"What does the supervisor have to do?" Holly asked.

"Help the ones cooking. Let's face it, some of us don't know shit about
cooking. They can also arrange for groceries to be ordered. We can order
on the internet but they'll have to arrange with everyone about how much
and what to get."

Mila raised her hand hesitantly. She was an excruciatingly beautiful
half Japanese girl. She was slender and shy, with thick silky black hair
split in the middle, spilling down across her face to half cover large
brown eyes which had only a hint of almond shape, then caressing her
shoulders and falling halfway down her back. She wasn't busty like Karen
or Stacie, but her breasts were full and firm and high on her slender chest.

"My father is a chef," she said. "I've been learning to cook since I was
about six."

"I don't think I want Japanese food every day," Mike grumbled.

"Who said Japanese?" the girl snapped. "He works for the Hilton. He
makes all kinds of food."

"No offense," Mike said, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Mila is in charge of food and groceries," Steve said.

"Groceries?" Mile said in surprise. "I'm not doing the frigging
groceries every week."

"We can order on the internet, have them delivered. All you have to do
is keep track of what we need."

"I suppose," she said doubtfully.

"Stacie," can you do the vacuuming?"

The blonde shrugged and nodded happily.

"I can do the books," Claire said. "I'll set them all up so I can pay
them from a pool of money we establish." That way we won't suddenly find
ourselves getting our power turned off because everyone else thought
someone else had taken care of it."

Steve nodded and wrote it down.

"Everyone does their own rooms," he said. "But Karen, you can do the
main bathroom, and

upstairs Holly, you can keep the living room and front hall clean."

"I think we should rotate through these," Holly said. "Why should one
person get stuck with the same thing all the time? What are you guys
gonna do?"

"Me and Mike are in charge of cleaning up the yards and doing repairs
around the house. And this place needs a lot," he said.

"What, you think I can't do that? I used to work in an appliance repair
shop. I'm a whiz with electrical fixtures and not bad at plumbing either."

After further discussions, everything was doled out, and Holly climbed
the stairs to her room. Her stereo now sat on a large old table, a small
computer occupied the desk, and Stacie was setting up her TV in the corner.

Holly leaned over the dresser and gazed at herself in an ancient gold
lined mirror, then brushed at her short blonde hair. She noticed a stain
on her blouse and unbuttoned it, then shrugged it off and tossed it on
the bed. She bent and opened a dresser drawer and felt a strange
prickling sensation between her shoulders.

She straightened and abruptly turned, looking around the room, then
towards the door, her arms folding over her chest. She had very small
breasts and often - as now - did not wear a bra. It felt as if someone
were watching her. She looked down at Claire, who was still down behind
the TV and then padded to the door to make sure it was locked. She
turned and looked around the room as she went back to the dresser, not
sure where the feeling of discomfort came from. The room was cold,
though, with all that dark stone.

"We should get something to cover these walls," she said.

"Like what?" Claire asked.

"I don't know. Posters or something."

Claire climbed out from behind the TV and turned it on, flipping through
channels with satisfaction before looking around.

"I think it looks kind of bold and dramatic," she said. "All that
unrelieved gray."

"I think it's cold."

"Well, we'll put in lots of throw rugs and candles. It'll look fine then."

She stood up and headed for the bathroom. "I'm going to take a quick
shower."

Holly nodded. The idea of being watched continued, but more than
discomfort went with it. She felt oddly aroused, like an exhibitionist
putting on a show. Something made her reluctant to pull on another top
and, wearing just her jeans, she crossed the room to the tall window and
looked out on the neighbourhood.

She was in a window well barely wider than her shoulders, and it was
easy to feel as if she were putting on a show, like a dancer in a cage
in a nightclub. She grinned at the silly thought, but her small pink
nipples were rigid and she felt a pleasant throbbing between her legs.

There were no nearby windows looking towards them, though there were
several apartment buildings within telescope range. If some frat boy
type wanted to peep at her from that distance she didn't much care.
Maybe she would give them a show, she thought, with amusement tinged
with heat. She slid her hands up through her short hair and rolled her
hips as she looked out onto the greenery of the local neighbourhood.

She stopped, giggling a little, and drew back into the room. She again
felt that sense of being watched, and crossed her arms briefly over her
chest. She slid them apart slowly, feeling foolish.

It was an odd looking bathroom. The house was so old and Claire wondered
if it had simply been a normal room with plumping fixtures - after
indoor plumbing was discovered.

The room was several times larger than any other bathroom she had ever
seen, with a large window well and waist to ceiling window. The fixtures
were all new, though, with a full sized shower stall with sliding glass
doors and a large sunken tub. There was a normal enough toilet, though
with an overhead tank and a cord dangling from it. Next to it was a
bidet, which Claire had never used but was curious about.

She stepped into the shower and turned on the water, gasping as it
poured from three different showerheads. Grinning, she took off her
glasses and put them on the counter, then stepped inside and slid the
glass doors shut, luxuriating in luxury of the strong multiple sprays.

"Cool," she groaned, turning slowly, drawing her head back, groaning as
the powerful spray bounced off her chest with almost painful force. She
spit out some water, turning, and made a small face at the odd taste.
How old were the pipes, she wondered casually. She picked up the soap,
taking her time, delighting in the shower as she soaped herself up.

She felt the water climbing around her feet and peered down, squinting,
trying to see the drain. Without her glasses, though, it was a lost
cause. She shrugged and continued her shower, washing her hair next,
then rinsing it off. The water was climbing up her legs disturbingly
fast and she rinsed off quickly and reached for the levers. She turned
them fully to the off position and the water stopped.

There was a watery gurgling, then another, and without warning water
suddenly gushed out of the lower nozzle in front of her, spraying her
chest. She reached for the lever again even as she realized that it felt
- wrong, much too thick, almost as thick as the shampoo she had squeezed
into the palm of her hand minutes earlier.

It was slick - slippery, warm rather than hot, and when it hit her body
it dribbled down in thick waves. Then the one behind her erupted, and
the one above and ahead of her spewed into her face. She gasped and
twisted away, her eyes tearing. She tried to wipe them with slippery
wrists and arms, and reached almost blindly for the door.

She slipped and fell heavily, hitting her head on the wall as she went
down. She lay, groaning, head propped against the wall, dazed, as the
stuff rose higher. She choked on it, spat it out and dragged herself
further up the wall, sitting weakly, bringing a shaking hand to the back
of her head.

Amid her confusion a part of her identified the taste of the creamy
substance. It tasted - oddly, and, she was sure, coincidentally, like
come. Not that she had enormous experience tasting come, but she had
developed a certain expertise with her last boyfriend, who had been ever
eager to make use of her talents.

She held up a hand before her squinting eyes and saw the stuff dribbling
over the edge.

"Oooo," she said in disgust.

It was already up past her belly as she sat against the wall, and she
squirmed mentally as she realized it was covering her pussy. She tried
to push herself to her feet but, still off balance, her foot again
slipped in the slippery goo and to avoid the wall she slipped sideways.

She was covered in it, underneath it. She kept her eyes closed and sat
up, wiping it away from her face, feeling it dribbling down her cheeks
and breasts. She reached up for the wall, rising onto her knees.

There was nothing to hold on to!

She half slid, half crawled to the corner, and reached up again, her
hands slippery as she tried to brace herself against the wall. Slowly
and carefully, she forced herself up and stood swaying, moaning. The
stuff was up to her groin. Why wasn't it spurting out around the door?

There was the lever, and she grabbed it, yanking. It didn't budge. She
sobbed desperately and yanked again, and again, bracing her foot against
the wall. The lever tore free, and suddenly a two inch thick stream of
the stuff spewed out, hitting her belly with enough force to spon her
against the wall.

She fell to her knees and caught her balance with the stuff up to her
neck. She rose slowly, carefully, moaning fearfully, head pounding.

She shifted her feet slowly forward, feeling the slickness beneath them.
She walked very slowly to the door and reached for it.

Something grabbed her ankle and yanked it out from under her.

She let out a scream and fell with a splash. Again she was beneath it,
and it filled her eyes and mouth and nose. She launched herself back up,
spitting it out of her mouth, blinded now as her eyes teared furiously.
She pulled herself to her feet, slipped, and rose again. Now it was up
to her hips, thick, gooey and warm as it swirled around her.

What had grabbed her!?

She tried to see, tried to look down into the gooey cream, but even with
her glasses it was too thick. She turned for the door again, panicking,
and slipped.

This time she was able to close her eyes and mouth. She got back to her
feet and almost at once felt something wrapped around not just one, but
both ankles. She screamed in terror as she was yanked off her feet. This
time she wasn't released, and was pulled into the wall by the frothing,
spewing opening where the lever had been.

She forced herself up out of the goo only to be hit in the face, in the
open mouth, by the thick stream. It blew her backwards into the goo and
her ankles were again pulled back to the wall. She twisted, writhing,
kicking, forcing herself up out of the slippery, creamy goo. She reached
down to grip whatever had her ankles, and felt a snake like thing around
each ankle. She tore at them only to have them twist and snag her
wrists. She tore herself up and back and the stuff stretched, stretched
enough to let her pull her torso out of the cream - though only barely.

She felt the stuff slither up her legs and over her thighs, then yank
her backwards. Her wrists were still caught, and she screamed as it
forced her directly back against the spewing pipe, screamed again as she
felt herself pierced, felt her labia smashed against and around the pipe.

Her belly twisted, her guts ached. She felt suddenly bloated as the
firehose like spray pounded up through her pussy and hammered against
her cervix.

She heard a dull laughter, old and deep, and shuddered in terror and
pain. She threw herself desperately forward and felt the things give a
little, just enough to tear her aching pussy off the pipe. And then with
an evil chuckle, she heard the thing yank her back, felt the pipe rammed
against her wrinkled anal opening, screamed as it penetrated her and she
felt the warm, thick, oozing liquid spewing up into her bowels.

The cream rose up over her head. She felt the things wrapped around her
thighs and legs and wrists tugging her back repeatedly, using her own
body's weight to rape her with the pipe. Her chest burned and head
pounded from lack of oxygen and twist and pull as she could she could
not pull free. She opened her mouth and the white goo poured into it.

EXTRACT
Karen whimpered as she looked up at the filthy barbarian who swaggered
before her father's throne. Her late father's throne. She was nud before
he and his snickering men, a shocking and humiliating experience for
her, for her life had been quite isolated to that point in time. Next to
her was her sister - Stacie - like her, big breasted and naked, kneeling
in terror, arms bound tightly back at the elbows by strong chain.

The blacksmith came in, and she and Stacie were bent across his block,
screaming as heavy collars were placed around their throats. The man
hammered the thick bolts into the collar, then used a white hot iron to
sodder them firmly in place. The collar would not be removed now, not
without another blacksmith.

One of the guardsmen raised her wrists high into the air, bending her
over a table, and the ropes around her arms were cut. Thick iron
manacles were hammered and welded into place, first around her wrists,
then up higher, around her arms just below the elbows. The same was done
to Stacie, and then they were knelt on either side of the throne as the
conqueror took his place.

As a final act of indignity, her small tiara was placed on her head, and
Stacie's on hers as the doors were open and the frightened surviving
members of the her father's court were ushered into the room. Her eyes
dropped in shame and mortification until the chain bound to her collar
yanked her head up and back.

The courtiers stared in fear at the man sitting on the throne, then at
the two princesses kneeling naked on either side.

Karen felt the same dig deep into her vitals, felt a sense of
humiliation which almost made her vomit - though she had not eaten in
more than a day.

"Here are your princesses!" he shouted. "You can see I have kept my
promise and they are in excellent health."

His men laughed uproariously, and new shame flooded Karen.

"Now you will see that they too have sworn their loyalty to me. Why, so
loyal are they, so eager to make up for the offense caused me by their
family, that they have dedicated their lives and their bodies to
pleasing me and my men."

There were more howls of laughter from his soldiers, while the crowd
shuffled fearfully. Some were frightened, but others were casting sly
eyes on the white faced girls kneeling on either side of the throne,
recalculating how best they could profit by flattering those now in command.

Karen recognized many of the faces, faces which had long smiled upon
her, lips which had flattered her and sought her favour. Young men who
had sought liaisons in hopes of stealing a brief kiss, older men who had
helped educate her on the ways and dangers of the court. There was Sir
Morton, whom she had called Uncle Morton, though he was no relation, and
Lord Conway, with his daughter Sarah, who had been one of her best
friends through her youth.

"They will demonstrate that loyalty for you now," the man crowed.

With a yank on the chain attached to her collar Stacie's head was pulled
into his groin and Karen cringed in horror as the man drew aside his
codpiece and took out a thick, purple haded erection. She saw Stacie
wriggle desperately, then another yank from the chain and suddenly her
lips were around the monstrous thing.

Then her own chain was yanked and she too was drawn around to the front
of the throne, her face pulled into the man's groin.

"Suck on my balls," he roared.

She shuddered in humiliation, for her bottom was now pointed at the
court, and bent over as their view of her private parts was unhindered.
Yet as the man's finger tore at her hair the pain flayed her and the
terror forced her lips down around his testicles even as her sister
sucked and slurped on his shaft. The big man chuckled as he looked over
their heads a the court, and shame made her want to die.

He tore Stacie's lips up and forced her mouth down on his cockshaft. She
sucked, bobbing her head up and down, tears spilling from her eyes as
his foul cock slid across her tongue. Beside her, Stacie leaned in,
closing her lips around his testicles.

They traded places again, as his men shouted obscene comments on their
bottoms and privates, then he hurled them back, chuckling. She groaned
as she saw him drop to his knees, saw him twist Stacie onto her knees,
pushing down so her face was against the floor and her bottom raised.
Then his thick cock thrust into her from behind and Stacie cried out,
her cry lost in the cheers of his men.

Horrified, Karen watched the big man rut into her sister, watched his
cock pounding violently into her small slit while the entire hall looked
on. And then it was her turn, and she felt dazed as she was taken, right
there before the court. Her body was pummelled by his heavy hips, and
she grunted and gasped in pain as she felt his thick organ slicing back
and forth inside her.

She was lifted up by the hair, screaming as she was thrown on her back
on one of the tables. Then Stacie was beside her, an the beer flowed
freely as the crowd surged around them. She stared up in horror at a
dozen faces leering down at them, and cried out as the first man thrust
his cock deep into her belly.

They laughed and jeered at her, hands reaching around him to squeeze and
slap at her breasts and pinch her nipples. Beside her, Stacie was
getting the same, as one man after another hammered his groin into their
bodies and spilled his seed within their wombs.

First it was only his officers, then his soldiers, but then came the
formerly loyal members of her father's court eager to demonstrate their
loyalty to the new order. She sobbed as she saw familiar faces leering
down at her, groaned as they raped her. Even Uncle Morton, sneering down
at her, squeezing her breast together and calling her a whore and a big
teated cow as he rammed his hips into her bottom and pistoned his cock
within her aching sex.

"Whores!" the conqueror shouted, laughing.

They dragged her off the table and onto a bench, and her arms screamed
as she was bent back across it. A fist gripped her hair and forced it
down as rough hands pried her thighs apart. A cock rammed into her sex
even as another thrust into her open mouth. She gurgled and tried to
twist away, but rough fingers closed around her throat even as the cock
thrust deeper. She gagged and tried to scream, but the cock lurched even
deeper, thrusting into her throat.

The raping continued on into the night as the sounds of celebration and
laughter echoed through the hall. When they were done she was dragged
along the floor and hung by her ankles, the drunken crowd gathering
around with eager eyes as a man with a whip stood before her. She
shrieked in agony as the whip cut down across her sex again and again,
then howled as it sliced sideways across her belly and breasts.

Next to her, Stacie was hung by her hair, howling and shrieking and
begging for mercy.

------------------------------------------------------------------------
From the ebook: Haunted House, by Argus
Argus books have been published by Virgin Nexus, Silver Moon, Star,
Olympia, Chimera, and Beeline. His e-books are available at
http://www.ebookblue.com