Fevered Dreams free porn video

The silver van meandered through the sweeping bends of an oldgravel road. Shadows swept and danced through the trees’ towering trunks in the dim early morning haze. The passing headlights disturbed the undergrowth; the creatures and leaves stirring under its gaze and scattering back to the shadow. Tyres crunched over stones, the engine gusting along at a whisper as its driver held his breath and peered through the gloom.

The radio crackled with a quiet white noise; its signal long since lost and forgotten. The clock flashed “07:05AM” at the driver. Both hands held the wheel tight while he stared rigidly ahead.

“Fuckin’ winter, why does it have to be so dark… And where is this fucking place?”

Narrow eyes squinted through every bend, he wished and prayed for a sign of life in the eternal wilderness that encircled him.

The man cursed and the vehicle swerved, stones kicking up against the underside of the van, as a critter scurried across the road in front of him. His grip on the wheel turned his knuckles deathly white.

“One more mile and that’s it, I’m turning back. Fucking don’t need this.”

The words no sooner left his lips than a large wrought-iron gate towered before him. Two tall, ancient pillars flanked the gate, capped with gargoyles, their walls disappearing into the misty gloom in either direction. Disappointed to have arrived, the man slowed at the approach, staring into the lifeless stone eyes that surveyed him. The gates groaned and shrieked, opening ahead of him slowly.

“Fuck. I hope there’s a motor doing that.”

A nervous glance around him sadly gave the man no reason to leave. Against his better judgement the van crawled through the opening and continued through the tunnel of trees.

A distant glimmer emerged through the woodland, finally giving him a focal point; a destination. Meandering his way towards it, the driver watched the dim light grow. The final bend in the road opened into a large courtyard and the house rose above him in the dark.

The driveway swept past the ornate front portico, holding more gargoyles, statues and intricate, slightly faded, sculptings. The road circled a large stone fountain, topped with a figure from mythology holding a dramatic pose. The van pulled into the side, the only vehicle present, and the engine died. Its driver sat staring up at the three-storey mansion presiding over him, its tall, arched windows and pitches capped with elegant buttresses and battlements. The mouths of the gargoyles seemed to scream at him.

“What in God’s name am I doing here? If even He knows about this place.”

Only two upstairs windows faintly shone through the darkness, before the windows that bordered the main door flickered with light. He stared ahead and waited, watching as the large timber door creaked gently open, bathing the stone, moss-stained steps in an unearthly glow.

A figure ghosted into the light, casting its silhouette in shadow, waiting under the stone porch. The man swallowed – nay, gulped – and opened the van’s door. A warning buzzer pinged, stealing his breath and a beat of his frantic heart, before he shut off the headlights.

Stepping out, the gravel grinding beneath his boots, the closing of the door seemed to echo from the walls and trees. A bird’s ominous caw from the woods had his head pivoting as he slowly and unwillingly made his way towards the silhouetted figure.

Glancing back, he pressed the alarm fob on his keys; more out of habit than true necessity. The van’s lights flashed in a silent cry for help, alone in the dark. Feeling sympathetic, he turned and placed his first step on the stone stairs.

Climbing the steps, he squinted ahead. The light snuffed out as a giant man stepped into the door frame, behind the first figure. His massive shoulders and shaggy hair blocked all light and all sign of the other, until the driver reached the door. There, ahead of him, stood a slender woman, backed by a huge beast of a man.

He blinked as he saw the pale woman’s thin, almost gaunt, expression half smiling in his direction. The two looked over each other’s contrasting features. Her long, straight, jet black hair against his short, wavy brown locks; her thin and delicate frame, compared to his broad shoulders and brawny build. He couldn’t place an age on her. Her skin was soft and youthful, but the corners of her eyes held an experience and an age he did not expect. She held herself purposefully and confidently, like a woman beyond her years.

At last he noticed the hand she silently held towards him. The fingers were long, stick-thin and as white as bone. Taking her hand gently in his, he almost expected it to feel cold, but found it pleasantly warm to the touch.

“Good morning, Mr Sykes. Thank you for being so early.” The woman spoke crisply and eloquently. Every word seemed halfway between sung and whispered, prickling the skin down the back of Sykes’ neck.

“N-not at all. Always best to be early, I say.”

The woman’s lips curled in half a smile and Sykes could just make out the purple lipstick set against her pallid skin.

“Not necessarily, Mr. Sykes. I find that I like my men to be come when they’re asked, not necessarily early.” She smiled, her tongue gliding between her lips for a fraction of a second. “Timing is everything, you know. Punctuality is a virtue.”

He frowned, deciphering her words. She smiled, her white teeth gleaming behind the dark lips, and stepped to one side as the large man behind her stepped away, too.

“Please, Mr. Sykes, do come in. We don’t want you standing on the porch until sunrise.”

The dark wooden walls echoed with the thud of Sykes’ heavy work boots clomping on the marble floor. The walls seemed to stretch upwards forever, to a huge vaulted ceiling, once emblazoned with intricately painted designs which were now faded and cracked.

He stepped into the room and followed the narrow blood-red carpet that snaked its way up the winding wooden staircase. The walls were lined in portraits and ancient paintings; all of the eyes staring back at him either threateningly or suspiciously.

The door boomed back into the frame behind him. Sykes jumped, turning on the spot to find the giant man blocking his exit, his back to the heavy door. Sykes felt uncomfortable under the man’s sunken eyes, hooded beneath the bushes of his overgrown eyebrows and his heavy brow.

“Oh, don’t mind Hector,” the woman called, putting one muffled footstep on the carpeted stair. “He helps to …” She paused here, her hand resting on the balustrade, to give Sykes a smile. “… Take care of my needs, around here.”

Sykes managed to tear his eyes away from the giant man and look over to the slender woman, appreciating her in the light at last. She stroked her palm along the balustrade slowly, looking between the two of them.

A flash of teeth showed behind her tight lips, sharp and pristine. Her eyes peered at him from the depths of her dark eye shadow, but their brightness shone through.

The black of her dress stood in stark contrast to her alabaster skin, with a flash of red highlighting the plunging neckline, and the barely contained cleavage that heaved within. The dress’ skirt split elegantly over the slender shape of her pale thigh.

“If you’d like to follow me, Mr Sykes,” the woman turned and began to climb the stairs, the material pulled tight with every step, around the enticing curve of her body. “I’ll show you what needs to be done and you can get started when you’re ready.”

*

The door unsteadily opened, groaning with the effort, to a room filled with flickering monitors. A dozen screens relayed CCTV cameras back to the station. As the woman stepped in ahead of Sykes, the pale glow seemed to turn her skin, unable to be any paler, almost translucent.

‘Finally, something like modern technology,’ he thought to himself.

“This is the main monitoring room.” She turned and half smiled. “Not that Hector and I have much need of it, of course. It’s a remnant from the house’s old guesthouse days, but we maintain it anyway. This room does hold all the electrical connections, though.”

‘Guesthouse?! Who on this Earth would want to stay all the way out here, in this place…!’

She pulled open a large wall cupboard filled with circuit breakers and junction boxes. Sykes was distracted by the blinking screens showing him various corners of the house – including one dedicated to the large gate he entered by.

“A strange guesthouse that places a camera overlooking a shower, isn’t it?”

The two looked at each other for a second before Sykes gestured to a monitor pointed squarely at a large shower-bath combination.

“I wasn’t involved with the guesthouse, I’m afraid I can’t comment.” The woman smiled and snapped the cupboard to with a click, pressing on regardless. “Now this is the main hub, so any problems might be traceable to this room.” She smiled at Sykes, looking at him from beneath her eyelashes. “But I don’t need to tell you this, do I? You’re the handyman after all.”

“Thank you, Mrs…” Sykes waited, unsure whether the woman whose stoic gaze refused to budge from his would even answer.

“My apologies. How rude of me.” She extended her skeletal hand once more with half a smile. “Ms. DuPont. Ophelia DuPont.”

“It’s a pleasure, Ms. DuPont.” Sykes gently took her fingers and kissed the back of her hand.

The woman giggled a little and looked straight into his eyes. “it’s not quite that just yet, Mr. Sykes. Have a little patience.”

She stepped away, her fingers trailing through his until the last second. She stopped in the doorway to look at Sykes once more, her tongue just tickling along her bottom lip.

“Oh, I almost forgot, Mr. Sykes.” Sykes’ raised eyebrows bid her to continue. “We’ve prepared a room for you, it’s the first door at the top of the stairs. You can’t miss it. It’s yours for as long as you require. Enjoy your stay, Mr Sykes.”

Ms. DuPont glided out of the open door, her skirts billowing behind her as she went, without waiting for a reply.

‘A room?’ Sykes thought to himself. ‘How long is this gonna take?’

He turned, again opening the maintenance cupboard. A bewildering array of tangled, knotted wires criss-crossed to and fro, frayed and even broken in a couple of places. He puffed out his cheeks, trying and failing to trace the route of just one cable.

‘Maybe I’ll need that room after all. I’m certainly going to need my toolbag.’

Walking back through the now silent house, the walls seemed even closer. The air felt denser around him, as though his ears would pop. The portraits’ eyes definitely looked to be following his every step, drawn to the rhythmic thud of his heavy boots.

The air was filled with strange odours he couldn’t place, but he felt a fool to walk around sniffing the air like a bloodhound. He stepped at the top of the stairs, glancing over the expansive hall. He stopped, but the footsteps continued, fading slowly to nothing.

‘They’re my footsteps. Just an echo. Just an echo.’

Sykes took the stairs two at a time just to be safe, barging out of the front door and pacing towards the sanctuary of his van.

The lights flashed again, welcoming him back, as he jumped inside and took a deep breath, gripping the wheel.

‘Jesus, Brian, get a grip of yourself. What’s gotten into you? It’s just an old house!’

He looked up at the old and grimy windows, watching the ominous tendrils of the trees’ shadows claw at the architecture. A light blinked into existence on the upper floor.

‘It’s just an old house, inhabited by two unusual people. Get the gear, get the job done, get out.’

Steeling himself, he once again jumped out onto the gravel and gathered his tools from the back of the van, snatching up his food box and closing all the doors. With one long, last look at the safety of his motor he locked the doors with that familiar, comforting flash of light.

*

Sykes placed his heavy bag on the monitors’ desk, clunking onto the wooden surface. He dropped into the chair nearby and pulled himself close, rummaging through his pouch, when he glanced up at the screens.

Black and white pictures of empty rooms flickered back at him, buzzing in the quiet air. Movement on one screen caught his eye. He glanced over, without thinking, as someone walked in front of the camera.

Sykes pulled the chair closer. The camera was fixed in the corner of a guest bedroom, the old-fashioned sheets crisply pulled over the four-poster bed and the room densely decorated with various ornaments. Hector stepped into shot, turning towards the open door as he reached the bed.

Ms DuPont followed him, slowly closing the door behind her as they looked at each other across the bed. She seemed to strut towards him, the low quality camera still showing the sway of her hips. The image flickered and failed, catching up as Ms DuPont stood inches away from Hector, her palm flat on his humongous chest. Sykes brow furrowed, eyes straining at the screen.

‘What’s she doing?’ he wondered. ‘Is she… Stroking his chest?’

He watched, entranced, as Ms DuPont unfastened his huge shirt, her rake-like fingers crawling over his chest. They never looked away from each other as she shrugged the shirt off his shoulders. Sykes could hardly believe the size of the man, covered in a rough hair, almost like fur, which she dragged her fingers through.

Hector’s spade hands reached out, grabbing Ms. DuPont’s shoulders almost possessively. He pulled her closer but seemed to stop halfway. Frowning at the pixelated image, Sykes could swear he saw Ophelia rapping the large man on the nose, almost chastising him.

‘What the fuck is going on…’

Sykes forgot his job; instead he stared at the grainy image of the most unusual couple. Ms DuPont laid her head on the giant’s chest, her hands running over his body as she was held tight in the man’s huge arms.

She stepped back and the two looked each other in the eye as Ms DuPont reached behind for the zip of her dress. Sykes glanced around the monitors for a better angle, but the room had only one camera. Teasingly, he saw the back of her dress slowly open, the shoulder straps slipping down her arms. He could see only the slender shape of her back and shoulders as the dress was pulled slowly down her body.

Hector lurched a step forward as his mistress slowly revealed herself to him. She raised one hand and the huge man stopped in his tracks, still staring fixedly ahead. The dress bunched around her waist and Ms DuPont allowed it to hang, her hands coming up towards her chest.

Sykes’ cock was throbbing. He found his hand pawing ungraciously at his bulge already, rubbing hard beneath the old desk. His imagination was running wild with the image of his host’s hands clawing at her impressive breasts. His hand wrapped tight around the outline of his shaft, squeezing and feverishly rubbing as he wished he could see through Hector’s eyes.

Ms DuPont’s head threw back as her chest pushed forward, her thin lips open in an ‘o’, as Sykes squeezed his manhood tight enough to lose his breath.

‘She must’ve pinched her nipples. God I wish I could see them, I bet they’re perfect, pink little…’

His thought trailed off as Hector suddenly bounded forward. Ophelia looked back in time to see him envelop her in his arms, his huge head dipping towards her chest. Ophelia’s head rolled back once more, arms dropping to her sides. This time, Sykes heard her cry of pleasure down the hall. The sound went straight to his throbbing manhood, demanding his attention.

His hands scrambled with his belt as her grainy image collapsed backwards into the giant’s arms, her occasional whimpers and mewls carrying down the hallway. Her long hair cascaded down her back with her lover’s giant hand wrapped around it tightly. Sykes had his length held firmly in his palm, rocking his hips into his tight fist.

Her hands reached for Hector’s chest. He let go at once, as though stung, stepping back while his mistress straightened up. She looked at him, her hips vibrating with a small, lithe movement. The dress around her waist slipped and pooled to the floor at her feet, revealing a small band of black material for her knickers.

She stood bare before him for a minute, her hands gliding over her smooth skin. Sykes now frantically pumped his needy cock, wishing it were his own hands clawing across her waiting body. He watched her touch herself and writhe erotically, wishing he could feel, smell, touch and taste the beautiful woman down the hall.

One small step took Ms DuPont to within inches of Hector’s solid chest. Her slender neck tipped back to look the beast in the eye before she dropped elegantly to her knees at his feet. Her hands were on his hips, pulling at the thick belt holding up his trousers. Sykes’ hand slowed, watching intently as the woman steadily unclipped his belt, pulled it free and dropped it to the floor.

Hector’s hand wrapped in her hair and tipped Ophelia’s head to the side. Sykes had the perfect view as she tore down his trousers. The material pulled tight around the giant’s bulge, before sliding over his solid cock and springing it free. Sykes watched as the man’s impressive shaft bounced from its confines to smack across the woman’s face, resting there against her cheek.

Hector held her in place as the two made eye contact, his cock draped over her beautiful face. Sykes’ palm swatted hard across the underside of his shaft, imagining his own length lying across her soft lips. Ophelia’s head turned a little, her lips were searching for the swollen head. Holding her in place, Hector seemed to tease her, grinding his shaft against her lips as she squirmed to take him.

He tugged roughly on her hair, her head pulled right back, and the giant man shuffled forward. Looking down at the helpless woman, he lowered his heavy sack into her open, waiting mouth. Hector’s body tensed at once, his head falling backwards, and Sykes knew Ophelia had him where she wanted him.

Sykes cupped his own balls in his free hand, imagining them resting in Ophelia’s thin, beautiful lips; imagining her tongue dancing across them. He watched Hector’s hand wrap around his length as the two men both stroked themselves to the image of Ms DuPont’s slender form pinned beneath her strong lover.

Her slim fingers encircled his shaft, stroking the hard length for a few seconds before she pulled free of his balls, guiding the giant cockhead to her lips and plunging her mouth around it at once. Hector’s howl echoed from the walls as he snatched up her long hair and began to thrust deep into her throat.

Sykes could hardly believe the slender woman could take it. He watched the brute hold her there and fuck Ophelia’s elegant, beautiful face like a cheap whore’s cunt. He could only imagine the spluttering, desperate, gasping sounds she made as that hard rod pounded in and out of her throat.

Hector stopped and the woman dropped to her knees again, her chest heaving for breath. A pang of worry crossed his mind for a second.

‘Is she okay? God, I hope I haven’t just watched…’

She interrupted his thought once more, bounding to her feet, then shoving Hector’s huge frame onto the bed. He collapsed on the edge, looking at the tiny woman that prowled towards him. Her ass swayed perfectly in front of Sykes with every swaggered step. The handyman’s palm was slick with pre-cum and the room full of his moans, but he didn’t care. Sykes just watched the gorgeous woman perform; staring at the round ass she jiggled before him.

She reached Hector and bent delicately at the waist. Her fingers noosed around his manhood, feeding it into her open mouth. Sykes watched as Hector collapsed onto his back; Ms DuPont reached back and hooked her fingertips in the waistband of her knickers. Sykes groaned and fucked his clenched fist hard as she pulled those panties down past her ass to drop to the floor, her slender fingers reaching between her spread thighs.

Her head bobbed on him faster and faster, taking his thick length deeper and faster. Ophelia’s fingers strummed through the assumedly soaking lips of her pussy, tickling her sensitive skin. Sykes swore and cursed aloud the ancient CCTV system, wishing he could better see the undoubtedly perfect, pink, swollen pussy dripping with her juices. His body shivered with the need to enter her.

 ‘She must know,’ he thought. ‘She just showed me these cameras. She must know. She knows I’m watching. Doesn’t she?’

The pale woman stood at last, lifting her knees to climb onto the bed and straddle Hector’s prone body. She shuffled forward, leaning against his chest while she ground her hips back and forth, obviously sliding her soaking sex along Hector’s dick. Sykes’ hand tried to mimic the movement, until he saw her hips lift, one bony hand lightly holding the impressive cock.

Sykes almost willed her on, desperate to see more, as the woman placed the swollen tip of her lover’s meat against the wetness of her cunt and wriggled her hips.

‘Go on. Do it. Take that cock. Please.’

With his manhood throbbing in his hand, he felt as though he would explode. He needed to see her take it. His groans filled the room as he held back his climax, determined to enjoy the show.

Ophelia’s hips rocked one last time, before she turned right around on the spot. Sykes gasped to finally see the perfect, perky shape of her firm breasts on her slender, athletic figure. Her arms reached up, gripping the four-poster’s top rail for support, stretching out in front of the camera for Sykes to see.

Her head flicked up and her eyes looked straight into the lens, staring into Sykes’ soul. She smiled and winked straight down the camera as two giant hands clawed at her hips, then slammed her tiny frame deep onto the aching cock beneath her.

Her cry ricocheted around the walls; a base, drawn out wail of satisfaction which filled the house. Her eyes never left the camera, her mouth pouring the most crude and vulgar expletives. Sykes’ straining ears could just hear the loudest of the cries she let out. Gripping that wooden rail, she allowed her beast servant to pound into the depths of her like a wild animal.

Her elegant voice carried down the hall, carrying the sting of lust and need.

“Oh God yes, I want you so fucking deep in me! Take me! Fuck this hot little cunt like it’s yours! I want you to fill me with your hot fucking load, you big ugly bastard!”

Every word was spat, intoned separately, as though each syllable was an effort. She’d lost the elegant, graceful voice that had greeted Sykes at the door.

Sykes couldn’t hold on. The sight and, at last, the sound of her complete pleasure was too much. He could feel his climax approaching. He tried to stay quiet, listening to every moan and whimper his hostess let ring down the corridors.

“I’m going to cum! I’m going to cum on your big fucking dick! Give it to me! Make me cum! I want to taste it on you! Make me taste my cunt on your thick cock, you fucking animal!”

She began to shake and Sykes could hear her baying vocals. Her shrieks came raggedly and staccato, the desperate breaths of someone seconds from the ultimate release.

She screamed when she came. Unintelligible and primal, she just screamed through the house. Sykes watched her tight body tense and thrash uncontrollably, shuddering on the man deep inside her.

She collapsed on him and Hector wasted no time fulfilling her wish. She was rolled a side as Hector stood, walking around the bed. Sykes could see his massive cock bounce with every step towards her, towards his prey. His large hands seized the panting woman by her hair and hauled her to the edge of the bed.

Sykes watched in profile as Ophelia’s head lay back and Hector filled her throat with his cum-soaked cock in a single thrust. Sykes’ muscles began to convulse and he shook all over, his climax beginning to take over. He cried and whimpered, snatching a rag from his bag to milk the pulsing length of his cock into. Hector roughly fucked the beautiful woman’s throat, holding her there and pounding into her mouth until he too began to growl and quiver.

The giant man shook inside her as Sykes spilled his seed, thrusting and shaking in the chair. He watched Ms DuPont’s tired body spasm and twitch as Hector used it for his pleasure, sliding deep into her one last time and emptying himself down her throat.

He pulled out of her after a minute, the length of his shaft smearing across her face before he dressed again. Sykes watched, panting, as the manservant tidied himself up, turned away and left the room, leaving his mistress passed out across the four-poster bed. The door slammed shut.

‘Fuck! What if he finds me? I need to clean up, quick!’

*

Sykes’ cheeks still held the bright flush of red and his breathing still bordered on breathless. His head was now buried in the electrical cupboard, while he pretended to trace a wire, he glanced over towards the monitors, repeatedly. He worried for Ms. DuPont. She still hadn’t moved.

‘I can’t go in there. She’ll know I was watching. She’ll think I’m weird, walking in on her like that.’ Gnawing on his bottom lip, he stared at the blinking screen, unable to ignore the fact that his cock was still throbbing hard inside his trousers. ‘I’m sure I could just poke my head in the door, right? Just a quick peek, to make sure she’s okay! Just to make sure she’s okay. I don’t want to see anything.’

He looked over to the screens again. There she was, splayed out pale and lifeless. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep. ‘I need to know she’s okay.’

He turned, pushing open the door and marching down the corridor before his legs disobeyed him. He stomped towards the end of the hall, from which he’d heard Ophelia’s cries, and began to open each door.

A store cupboard, a bathroom, two small bedrooms and a nursery proved fruitless, before he pushed open the last door, at the very end of the corridor. The door creaked open, screaming on its hinges. He flinched, only peering through the crack in the door. Ahead of him was a grand four-poster bed, its sheets crisply pulled tight.

It was empty.

Sykes’ eyebrows turned down in a scowl, pushing open the groaning door and stepping into the room. The sun was rising outside, but the curtains were pulled tightly closed, letting only the merest knick of light into the darkened room. He squinted to see more clearly, but the room was resolutely empty.

“Huh.”

“Hello again, Mr. Sykes, can I help you at all?”

The broad-shouldered handyman jumped two feet into the air, clutching himself tight as he spun on the spot.

In the doorway stood Ophelia DuPont, wearing her elegant dress and a questioning expression. The corner of her purple lips betrayed the smirk she desperately tried to hide. Sykes stammered as his client held her expression still, tilting her head a little to allow a shimmering curtain of immaculate hair to fall from her shoulder.

“M-m-ms DuPont! Sorry! I… I must’ve taken a wrong turning, I thought… I mean, I heard…”

Ms DuPont stepped closer, now into the room. The floorboards creaked with every footfall. Sykes matched her every step, in retreat, wringing his hands as he fled from the slight woman filling his heart with icy dread. The room grew darker, the crack of light fading, as the shadows of the walls loomed over him.

“What did you hear, Mr Sykes?” The first word was fired with a sharp, crisp enunciation.

“I… I… I’m not sure, Ms DuPont, I only…”

The woman’s cold, hard stare cut him off like a gag. His lips clamped shut and he seemed unable to move, petrified by the woman’s intense, fixed gaze. Staring into the dark rings of her eyes, he felt powerless. Mesmerised.

Then she smiled. The light seemed to come back to the room and Sykes managed to straighten up once more.

“That’s quite alright, Mr Sykes. I’m sure you had your reasons.” She smiled, stepping closer to him once more, her hand suddenly against his chest. The mere touch seemed to steal the air from his lungs. “Rest assured there’s nothing to be worried about. I’m sure you’ve better things to be doing.”

He nodded, dumbly, and hated himself for it.

“Uh, y-y-yes! I’ll… I’ll get back to it. As long as you’re… Well, yes, okay. I’ll just…”

Ophelia turned and watched the small man scurry away from her, shuffling his feet like a scalded schoolboy, her eyes following him the whole way. Sykes scampered back down the hall, glancing back as he reached the end to see the woman still watching from outside her door.

He dived back into the maintenance room, snapping the door shut and leaning heavily against it, his chest heaving for air.

“How the fuck did she get outside so quickly…” he looked over towards the monitors, now showing the empty room at the end of the hall. “She was still there before… Wasn’t she?”

*

He tried. Lord knows he tried. Sykes stared into the same cupboard he’d stared into for the entire morning, but he’d yet to accomplish anything. His mind raced between what he’d seen on the camera and the meeting he’d had with his secret exhibitionist, his manhood still straining against the material; still aching for more

He shook his head, frustrated with himself, turning to stalk around the room.

‘C’mon, Brian, you can’t leave until you’ve finished and you haven’t fucking started yet, boy! Get on with it. Let’s get out!’

He paced the room in circles, staring at the blank monitors. Occasionally he caught sight of Ophelia or Hector walking around the house, looking perfectly ordinary. Neither of them looked out of place, or even seemed to register the other.

‘Did I dream the whole fucking thing? God, my head’s pounding. Who knows. Maybe there’s a gas leak in this old shed and I’m hallucinating.’

He laid his head in his hands and watched the room swim before his eyes.

‘Have I been drinking? God, what’s wrong with me?’

He looked at the screens again just as Ophelia walked elegantly into the shot, with her back to the camera. He watched as she stopped still in the middle of the room.

‘What’s she doing?’

He leaned closer to the screen, wondering what had made her stop so suddenly. There was nothing around as the woman turned, slowly, as though she’d heard something. Sykes was inches from the screen when Ophelia looked straight at him.

He stepped back, gasping, as she turned to stare through the camera, looking directly into his wide eyes. She moved closer, although he never saw her legs move, until her face filled the screen. He tore his eyes away, covering his face and hiding from her terrifying gaze.

He peeked through the gap in his fingers. The room was empty. Removing his hands from his face, he stared at the screen, blinking repeatedly. He dropped heavily into the chair, holding his head tight as though to keep it from burning up.

‘Am I losing it? Did that just happen?’ He glanced up once more, just to make sure.  ‘I think I need a lie-down. There was talk of a room, wasn’t there? I didn’t dream that. Top of the stairs. Yes. Top of the stairs.’

He bounded from the chair, leaving his things behind, and made his way back to the staircase. The hallway somehow seemed longer than before and the walls seemed to grow around him. He reached the top of the stairs and gripped the banister for support. There, at the top of the stairs, was a single wooden door. An envelope rested on the handle.

Sykes stumbled forward, grabbing the envelope as he staggered drunkenly through the door and collapsed onto the bed at once. He pulled out the letter. Holding it up, he leaned closer to it, then further away as he tried to focus his swimming eyes.

Mr. Sykes,

We have prepared this room for your stay. Feel free to use it as and when you please, it is yours for the duration of your stay. Our home is your home.

You know which room is mine if you have any needs that require seeing to. Don’t hesitate to find me.

I will be with you soon,

Ophelia DuPont.

 

The signature finished with an elegant flourish, but Sykes barely took it in.

‘With me soon?’

That was when the stupor claimed him.

*

A pressure on his chest brought him around. His mouth was dry and tarty. His tongue lashed along his lips and he opened his eyes. Two dark orbs gazed back directly into his.

His heart seized, his muscles locking tight as a single slender digit was draped across his lips. The room was filled with a quiet shushing sound.

“Don’t panic, Mr. Sykes,” Ophelia’s voice soothed him, his prickling skin smoothing out at once. “You’ve nothing to worry about.”

Her finger slipped from his lips to stroke down his cheek, following his neck down to his collar. Sykes lay stock-still, his eyes adjusting to the twilight. Squinting, he saw the slim figure straddling his waist; Ophelia’s curtain of dark hair bathing him in shadow.

“You don’t seem too well, Mr. Sykes. I wanted to check you were okay.” Her voice was a lullaby, holding him half-in and half–out and of his strange reverie. “Just want to give you the once over.”

Her hand burned against his cheek. One hand rested against his bare chest, the clawed fingertips nicking into his skin, as though holding him down. Her touch was delicate, but his skin boiled. Sykes blinked and frowned.

“When did I take my shirt off?” he tried to sit up, but one pinch of the fingernails against his chest kept him down against the sheet.

Again, Ophelia shushed him, softly.

“Don’t worry about that. You’re feeling feverish, it’s to be expected.”

Her fingers soothed his brow, stroking Sykes’ concerns away. Lying beneath her comforting touch, his mind drew blank.

“You’re still very hot, Mr. Sykes.”

The back of her hand caressed gently down his neck and collar. He looked down in time to see her rest a soft cheek against his chest, her fingernails gripping his chest on either side. “Let me help you. Okay?”

He nodded, hypnotised by her big, beautiful eyes looking back at him. Her fingertips scored ten red lines down his chest, but he barely felt it. The vortex of her eyes consumed him and the nip of her teeth against his nipples went unnoticed. She prowled backwards down his chest like a stalking cat, her fingertips slinking across his skin, her lips and flashing teeth darting to and fro.

His nipple burned hot beneath the swishing flick of her toxic tongue. She made no mark but the lash of her tongue seared his skin with every touch. Sykes began to thrash beneath her, bucking and writhing with the touch. His hips launched from the bed as she slithered across his pelvis.

Her lips slid down the length of his bare thigh; grazing the goosebumped flesh. The throbbing, almost dancing, shaft of solid meat lay between them, obscuring the lascivious curl of Ophelia’s thin lips.

Sykes lay paralyzed, silently encouraging the tendrils of her fingers which crawled along his skin, towards his aching manhood. His bottom lip burned with hot pain as he bit down hard, torn between the vacuum of her eyes and the long digits curling around his length.

Ophelia seemed to envelop him; her blanket of hair obscuring all but the two of them; her fingers ensnaring his shaft; her nails clutching tightly, possessively into his skin; her tongue reaching slowly out to encircle his swollen head, dancing across a single drop of pearly precum; and finally the wide open, plunging lips that swallowed him whole and took him to the depths of her throat.

Sykes howled, thrashing around the blazing hot lips that held him deep inside her, his flesh aflame. Her cheeks constricted around him and she feasted. Her lips tightened on his shaft, drawing slowly back before they delved down deep once more, a hungry growl rising from her throat. She was frantic, her hands darting and scurrying over his body, bringing spasms and cries from Sykes’ depths.

Her dark-ringed eyes never left his. Her fingers plucked against his heavy sack, squeezing and stroking, her lips drawing him deeper and deeper, as though milking him; draining him. Sykes felt his breath leaving him, all his resolve and resistance crumbling.

His body began to shake. Her fingers teased across his tender skin, her lips dancing; she played him as she would an instrument, pouring herself into him. Sykes’ mouth lay open, his limbs quivering and his skin tingling with fire as a scream echoed through his mind and the world went black.

*

He awoke, the tarty taste of his mouth now faded; replaced with a sweet, intoxicating flavour. His eyes sprung open, blinking through the dimness once more. His tongue lapped instinctively for more of the delicious taste and a sigh filled his ears.

He licked once more, addicted at once, and the sound returned. His lips closed around something soft and a long, deep moan echoed around him. The sound made his scalp tingle, then throb with pain, the root of his hair tugged tight.

His eyes adjusted and focused. A pale shape towered over him, rippling like waves in time with his lapping tongue. Ophelia cried out and looked down into his open eyes, her fingers grasping his hair firmly. Her slender hips rocked hard against his open mouth, sliding his tongue through the engorged, slippery lips of her sex.

Sykes lifted his head and Ophelia pulled him higher. Together they forced him to the depths of her cunt, where he lapped hungrily at the pool of her sweet tasting nectar. Ophelia shrieked, her thighs tight around his ears as she rode his eager tongue, her folds smearing messily across his lips, coating Sykes’ face.

She clutched him tight, burying him within her until her muscles trembled against him. Her fingernails bored into his skin, mouth hanging open in a banshee’s cry. Ophelia’s climax coursed through them both and she poured into him, flooding his open mouth with a river of that sweetness.

Sykes’ lips and tongue diligently cleaned her up, lapping hungrily at the soft folds of Ophelia’s sex. His tongue found every crease and recess, exploring her wetness until she peeled herself from his searching muscle.

The bed shook, her legs quaking, as she slid down his body, watched the whole way. He tried to lift his arms, but they couldn’t move. He wanted to reach out to her, but she only moved further away. Lying there with his tongue licking hungrily around his shining lips, Sykes watched the pale woman straddle his, her tongue slipping from her mouth, almost tasting the air.

She bent towards him, the shroud of her hair obscuring the world once more when their lips met, Ophelia’s tongue seeking Sykes’. Her muscle slipped inside his mouth, stealing the sweet taste on his lips and tongue, replacing it with the salty taste of her own.

Her hips lowered to his waist, the wetness of her folds shrouding Sykes’ aching manhood in her heat. Ms. DuPont began to grind against him, sliding along the length of his solid cock, guiding her hips. Her hands held his cheeks and pulled his lips towards her once more, pressing his face between the heaving mounds of her breasts.

Sykes’ tongue darted through his lips, tasting the soft, succulent skin of her breast. Every lick, kiss and nibble he placed upon her gave fuel to her grinding hips. Her tight fingers heaved his lips to her solid nipple, pulling him deep onto her breast. His teeth clamped down, cheeks hollowing as he sucked hard on her puckered, stiffened tip.

Ophelia’s body lurched and a cry burst forth, her hips sliding forward before rolling back. At once, Sykes felt the pressure and the heat of her sex as she took him deep inside her with one swift motion. He begged his hips to move, desperately her intoxicating heat, but his body failed him. His eyes looked up, pleading with the dark ones that bore down on him, ignoring the nails that dug into his flesh and the vice-like grip of her quivering tunnel.

Her eyes were cold, but her hips rose up, plunging hard to take him in, completely. She rode him selfishly, clutching him tight and impaling herself on his aching shaft with an endless stream of baying howls. She smothered him again in the depths of her breasts, clutching him to her chest and pinning him tightly in place. Every rock of her hips brought another shiver through her body, another agonised moan to echo from the walls.

Sykes lost track of time, he only knew the intense pressure and pleasure Ophelia brought him. He only knew the ache and need to please her, the satisfaction of her screams. His lips danced across her chest, desperate to please his mistress, desperate to feel her need increase.

The bed shifted and her tone changed. She began to cry and whimper as Sykes’ teeth gnawed around her nipples, pinching down hard her swollen points. Sykes refused to let go, sucking her deeper with every whimper he won.

The room filled with her cries, and the satisfied groan ejected from her open lips. Her body lurched, tearing her breast free of his teeth.

There, behind her, towered the giant manservant, Hector. Sykes panicked, but Ophelia’s grip was too strong. The vice of her legs closed tight around him, her fingers clawing into his skin as she collapsed against his chest. Her hips pushed back to take him deep, but now her moan was deeper, more primal than before.

A masculine grunt above them matched the cry from Ophelia’s throat and Sykes was helpless. She screamed into his ear, the tightness of her cunt doubling at once. Her walls surrounded him, suffocated him, squeezing tight around the length she kept buried inside her.

Her pleasure coursed through him, her cries bringing his ache to an explosive need. Still she rolled her hips and rode him, pushing him closer and closer to that edge.

“Oh fuck yes, you fucking give it to me. You give it to me right now. Drain all that deep inside me!”

Sykes couldn’t hold back. He couldn’t resist her commands. He could feel his need building, feel the wave of pleasure consuming him. He began to shake, swelling deep inside her as the blood surged through his inflated shaft.

“Come in me! Fill me, Sykes!”

He couldn’t resist. With one cry, a single shuddering cry, he throbbed and pulsed inside her, the first thick rope pumping into the warmth of her cunt. Her teeth sunk deep into his neck and Sykes blacked out once more.

*

The sheets were wet. Drenched. That was the first thing he noticed.

The second thing: he was naked, lying bare atop the sheets and spread eagled for all to see.

“Mr. Sykes.”

Strangely, he didn’t feel the need to cover up. His head just rolled to the side. There, standing over him, was a beautiful pale-skinned woman in a black dress. A flash of red outlined the plunging cleavage, flanked by long dark hair.

“Where am I?” His head pounded and his whole body felt horribly cold and wet.

“I’m afraid you’ve not been well.” Ms. DuPont frowned, her lip pinched tight between her teeth. “We were worried about you for a while, Mr. Sykes.”

‘A fever. A fever. I knew it. It’s just a fever.’

Her long, thin fingers rested against his forehead. He flinched, his skin burning from the touch, just as before. Looking up at her with wide eyes, he saw a hint of a smirk play at the corners of her cold lips.

“Don’t panic, Mr. Sykes,” Ophelia’s voice soothed him, his prickling skin smoothing out at once. “You’ve nothing to worry about.”