My elated feeling of freedom lasted for less than a minute. The weight of what had transpired in the past day fell upon my soul, shattering my blissful mood, quenching the fires of desire burning within me. I had been transformed from being a real nowhere girl, living in my nowhere world, into a vibrant, sexual force of nature; I had also been transformed into an unemployed homeless waif, covered in minor burns and ashen soot. Had I not had several thousand dollars in my purse, several thousand more in the bank with much, much more on the way, and new, designer clothing in the trunk of my soot-covered car, it would have been lamentable. The Christians say that the Lord moves in mysterious ways; they haven’t met Aphrodite.
With my car, a subdued green Cabriolet to match my eyes, developing a brand new thumping shimmy, I steered through town, past suburbia, and into the wealthy, affluent area on the outskirts. My destination, El Tesoro Escondido, was a posh, five-star, luxury resort hotel that catered to the rich, famous, and powerful elite. I had always been tempted to stay there, but could never afford it. The best way to deal with temptation is to yield to it. It was located in the hills, overlooking the city like a Spanish castle overlooking its peasant village.
A winding, a stone-paved drive led its way off the highway, through a lightly-wooded, gardened sprawling ground, up the gently sloping foothills with the mountains as a backdrop, and to the hotel itself. Four stories of stucco with terra cotta, high-peaked roofs, complete with a large bell tower, greeted me. My ash-covered body and matching car with half-melted tires looked plebian, out of place, compared to the shining, exotic, expensive vehicles in the parking lot. A secret hideaway for the rich and famous, El Tesoro was, goddess willing, to be my temporary home.
My dirty, blackened leg emerged from the car, causing the bored and condescending-looking young female valet to jump to attention and fawn over the rest of me. Feeling her desire for me, thus reigniting my own horny passions, I could also feel her struggling with what she obviously felt. She wanted me but also tried to remain professional. Her eyes drank of me, a combination of open lust and shock at my appearance.
“Make sure it doesn’t get dirty,” I giggled to her as I handed her the keys, noting that the dirt and soot on my skin stood out in stark contrast, coal on freshly fallen snow.
Feeling her lusty gaze on my ass, wallowing in her torridly passionate energies that reignited my own, I approached the mammoth, arched double doors of dark, thick wood, bound in ornate, black steel. Suddenly very aware of the musty, smoky odor emanating from my body I boldly strolled through the doors towards the main desk.
The lobby was a true sight to behold. High, arched, mosaic tiled ceilings towered three stores above my head, held aloft by ornately carved, stone-looking pillars. A light marble floor, polished to such a sheen that I could see up my own skirt as I walked, accentuated the rustic-inspired stucco interior, interspaced with intricate tiles and terra cotta wall-accents. The lobby could have fit my entire apartment building before the “Screamer” burnt it down in a banshee-wailing, arsonist’s tantrum.
Ignoring the mixed looks of lust and concern, I collected myself, allowed my sensual energy to flow outwards, put on a seductive smile, and slowly sauntered towards the front desk, smacking dust clouds of ash and soot from my body. High and made of dark-stained wood, the front counter was occupied by a self-important-looking middle-aged man with slicked-back dark hair and a swarthy complexion. True to theme, he looked vaguely Hispanic. His name tag read “Roland, Conserje.”
He was deeply involved with staring at a computer screen hidden just behind the counter, its flickering light dancing on his fine and regal-looking features. His eyes looked up, met mine, traveled all the way down to my soot-covered calves, then back up, pausing at my barely-bouncing, braless breasts. His visage became a mask of lust and his energy felt purple as it flowed into me.
Within a few moments beneath his lust-fueled scrutiny, I had seduced Roland with my feminine wiles, used my post-blaze predicament to my advantage, and finagled a VIP luxury suite. Lusty honey dripped from my voice; my taut nipples pushed through my dress, begging for attention; my ash and soot-covered cleavage hypnotized. All of this was too much for the hotel conserje, Roland; he quickly discounted the room from several thousand dollars per night to a few hundred.
I reached out, touched him delicately on the arm. The jolts of energy I felt shocked my entire body into pre-orgasmic bliss. He responded by moaning and coughing. He struggled, mentally, with something, and then turned his face back to me. He was sweating.
Roland announced, “We at El Tesoro Escondido are not heartless. I shall give you the room, and the VIP treatment that comes with it, for three-hundred dollars per night.” He added in a conspiratorial tone, “so long as we can get a photo and advertise that we helped out the victims of the South Campus fire.”
“Of course,” I sang out. “How about now? As soon as I get to my room I’m going to strip out of this dress, pour a long bath, and soak my naked body in warmth and delight.”
Roland, now stuttering, quickly mentioned the perks of the suite. It had its own private balcony, overlooking the pool area and wooded paths, with a lovely view of the mountains, including a king-sized Jacuzzi tub, a master bedroom as well as a single, and its own living space with a dinette. It also included round-the-clock room service and a Mayordomo.
I was so happy with the turn of events that I kissed him, hot, hard, and heavy on the lips. The conserje moaned into my mouth and shook with delight. When I broke off the kiss I saw that my attentions made him cum in his pants. The shockwaves of his release sent lust-filled passion, its own energy, that of creation, into my essence.
Ringing a handbell, an embarrassed Roland, going behind the counter once more, called out sternly. “Patricia, bring our guest, Senorita Krys, a strong drink. She is to be treated like the queen she is.”
Goddess, I mentally corrected.
“Matthew,” Roland the conserje cried out even louder, commanding in tone. “You are to be the mayordomo for Krys! She is an important VIP guest, my personal guest, treat her accordingly.”
Within seconds, Matthew emerged from behind a miniature version of the front doors. He was tall, ruggedly handsome with perfectly cut, short-cropped, black hair, piercing blue eyes, and a muscular build beneath his stately, pristine Spanish-themed uniform. Giving me the look I had already grown used to receiving, he introduced himself.
“Mistress, I’m Matt. I’ll be your personal mayordomo. Follow me please.” He led me to an elevator and stood beside me, humming, stealing glances at my body when he thought I wouldn’t notice. His barely-restrained desire for me was palpable.
“What exactly is a mayordomo, handsome?” I asked quaffing my whiskey.
He gave a delightful laugh. “It is a service we offer our more prestigious guests, such as yourself. It is a combination of a butler, a personal assistant, and an errand-runner.”
“Not a love slave?”
He laughed once more, nervously.
“I’ve never had a servant before,” I admitted. “I don’t know what to do.”
“It’s easy,” he replied. “For example, I heard that you were in that fire across town. I can go get you some extra towels and bubble bath if you require more, draw your bath, go shopping for clothes if you need some, gas up your car before you leave, or fetch you whatever you need.”
“And handsome, too? Do you give massages?”
“No,” he blushed. “Our masseur is gone for the night, but I can schedule for the morning if you’d like.”
“Have you always wanted to be a moridomo?”
“Mayordomo,” he gently corrected. “It’s a Spanish term because we’re a Spanish-themed luxury resort. It means butler.”
He sighed. “No, this is not my highest aspiration in life. I’m in med-school, studying reconstructive cosmetic surgery.”
“A plastic surgeon,” I mused. “So you can give me bigger boobs, then?” I cupped them, tweaking my hard nipples, just to feed on more of his vigor and energy.
“They’re perfect, I wouldn’t change a thing!” he exclaimed, quickly. He immediately scolded himself internally. I could feel his energies change.
“I mean, no, that’s not what I want to do. If somebody gets disfigured or needs their outer body repaired, that will be my specialty.”
The elevator dinged. “Let me show you to your room and explain the features.”
Matthew steeled himself and tried to remain resolutely professional. His slight vocal inflections, lingering glances, and the raw energies of red, purple, light greens, and silvery tendrils snaking outwards, seeking me, betrayed his desires. My waning energies recharged, warmed by his; I could smell the sweet, musky aroma of my own arousal mixing with the smoky must of the soot covering my body.
“Here’s how you work the television,” he went on. His voice became accented with lust, despite his best efforts to the contrary. I tried to listen, like a good guest, but my eyes wandered over his bulging muscles, his bulging crotch. I envisioned his muscles wrapping around me, pulling me into him, his desire made flesh, consuming mine.
“…did you get that?” he asked shyly, ripping my mind away from what I hoped was a prophetic vision.
“Umm, yes,” I stammered as I felt my skin grow hot and my pussy ignite. “All ratings, use the menu button. I so need a bath! I wish I’d brought up my clothes.”
“There are, erm, robes, in the bath closet.” He said. His face was alight with desire. His youthful vitality poured into me. I almost felt myself once more, recharged. “I’ll go fetch your clothes for you and bring them up. Which car is yours?”
“You will? How sweet! My car is the rusty Volkswagen Cabriolet covered in soot.” I gestured to my sooty chest. “My clothes are in the trunk, but I haven’t washed them yet. Do you have a washing machine available so I can clean them?”
Matthew sighed with a delighted smile on his lips and an impish grin followed. “Mistress, you are a treasured VIP guest. You are not to do your own laundry; I am your mayordomo. I’ll retrieve your clothes for you and drop them off at our in-house dry cleaning service, wash and detail your car, and bring you your clothing when it’s ready. Would mistress like a nightcap and perhaps for me to draw her bath?”
“I think I love you,” was all I could say. I retrieved my purse and fished out some cash to tip him.
“No, mistress,” he waved away my offering. “Gratuities are strictly forbidden here at El Tesoro Escondido. How would you like your bath?”
“I’ll just need to find another way to show my gratitude,” I sang out in my lust-filled voice. My pitch and tonality were perfect, even sending shivers down my own spine. “I want it hot, steamy, and deep,” I responded.
He stared at me, my innuendo not lost. “The bath.”
“Oh, yes, mistress.” I heard the appropriate sounds from the bathroom which was larger than my entire apartment had been. “Bubbles?”
“Lots and lots. I want to feel them all over my skin, caressing my nude body.” I was rewarded for that statement with nervous coughs.
He left shortly afterward, all hardness, muscled sinew, and flushed cheeks. I checked on the bath. He had the temperature just perfect and had even laid out several towels, a soft white robe, and several newly-unwrapped bars of soap that smelled of rose petals, the flower of Aphrodite, herself. The tub was gargantuan, easily accommodating three or four rotund people with room to spare; it would take some time to fill. I scooped up some of the suds, firm and tacky on my fingers, with floral notes to match the soap, and noted dark rivulets running down my hand.
Quickly turning the immaculate, pristine shower into an Alfred Hitchcock homage, I rinsed the soot, ash, and grime from my body.
The tub was still nowhere close to being full so I wrapped my body in the soft, warm robe and turned on the television. The local news was on; my old apartment building came into view. A dyed blond female announcer, dressed smartly, was speaking as my flaming former home was shown on the upper corner.
“A South Campus apartment building went up in flames, earlier this evening, the fire apparently caused by all things, ”she paused dramatically, “a jealous girlfriend.”
“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” I thought to myself as I chuckled and turned up the volume.
“Hell hath no fury, huh Sandy?” the male announcer said with a smile. The blond stared daggers at him quickly, then quickly resumed her professional mode.
“Police have the suspect in custody,” she continued.
The scene changed showing Melissa, the “Screamer”, the oxygen mask now off, being forcefully dragged into a squad car. She was once more living up to her nickname.
“Get your BEEP-ing hands off me, you BEEP-ing mother BEEP-ers! That BEEP-ing son-of-a-BEEP deserved to BEEP-ing die in the God BEEP-ed fire!” Her tiny, buxom frame was shoved into the police car. The censored swearing was almost comical.
“Though she be but little, she is fierce,” I mused.
The scene cut back to the newscasters. The male announcer was smiling with amusement. “She may be tiny, but she’s so fierce,” he misquoted.
Sandy, the blond newscaster, glanced more vileness towards him. “Your Shakespeare sucks, Hank,” she spat.
“In other news,” she continued. “It seems a fire of a different kind is spreading across campus…”
I went to check on my bath. It was just a little over halfway full, the water still slightly-scalding. I was pleased.
“Lilith, Lilith, Lilith,” I heard being chanted from the TV. “Praise Lilith! Praise Lilith!”
I stopped in my tracks and ran the several yards back to the television. It showed a blue-haired young woman, ring through her nose, wearing a “Woman power” shirt with “Lilith” written over it in black electrical tape.
She was talking into the microphone. “She’s like a goddess,” she said. “She speaks truth, she guides us!”
The camera cut to another woman with short-cropped black hair suitable for joining the Marines in a tank top adorned with a button that read “Praise Lilith” pinned to the strap. “We never said it, but Lilith’s words are true! Men are not our equal!” She spun away from the interviewer shouting, “Praise Lilith!”
The blond announcer spoke. She was smiling. “It seems an attendee at the local women’s rights rally has sparked a new slogan and become the unofficial poster-woman of the movement.”
The scene changed to show me, standing there, looking like sex, desire, and passion with the lithe, rally woman staring into my eyes, then at my breasts.
The sultriness of my own voice shocked me, made me hot and wet just hearing myself. “Why should I seek equality? Mere mortal men are not my equal.”
My full-screen image shrunk into the top-right corner as the scene changed. The dark-haired beauty I had fantasized over was back on screen. “Men are not our equal,” she shouted into the microphone.
Chants of “Lilith, Lilith” came in response. The attendees had changed their signs. They now bore LILITH in hastily scrawled markings or “EQUAL” inside of a circle with a diagonal line.
“She guides us with her truth,” she shouted, her nipples hard beneath her shirt. “Praise Lilith, Praise Lilith.”
The blond newscaster looked to her male counterpart with contempt. He was smiling with lust in his eyes.
“Such a lovely redhead, this Lilith,” he said.
“Stop drooling, Hank,” she scolded as she rolled her eyes.
Full or not, it was time for my bath. Turning the television to a music station I found an ethereal-music channel; esoteric-inspired, lilting, soft music filled the suite. Dropping my robe I walked up the steps, reentering the bathroom. Marveling over an in-wall speaker that allowed the music to pipe into the bathroom I lowered myself, moaning with luxurious pleasure, into the bubble-filled tub. Although subdued from the activities of my hectic, busy day, my lust still pulsed through my body. I had no idea of how I wanted to feel over suddenly becoming the unwitting mascot of feminism.
“Praise Lilith,” I laughed to myself, wishing I had asked Matthew to bring me champagne and grapes. I soaked myself for the better part of an hour, practically swimming in the gargantuan tub. Dimming the lights and figuring out the Jacuzzi controls, blessed be the ‘whisper’ mode, I felt the caresses of the Nereida on my body. Eyes closed, my pussy as wet and hot as the water I languished in, I found a perfectly placed jet and pointed my engorged clit directly towards it.
Hands caressing my swollen nipples, cupping my breasts, nails scratching my stomach, squeezing my inner thighs, I reached down, deep into the center of my essence, and spread my soul wide. Struggling to reach the waterproofed controls, I found a pulse setting for the jets. It was perfect.
The oiled bubble bath made the steaming-hot water slick on my skin, slick enough that I easily slid a finger inside my ass to hasten the process of my worship. I recalled Roland, the drooling hotel concierge, called the conserje, and his mottled, perverted power being drawn into me through spiritual osmosis. My thoughts turned to Melissa, how her fiery temper led to the fiery destruction of my worldly possessions as I plunged one, then two fingers inside my drenched cunt.
Thrusting my digits deep into my overheated sex, reaping my ass, my thoughts traveled to Aphrodite’s kingdom and the multi-orgasmic rapture I had felt. Hips bucking to the rhythm of my moans, I thought of Matthew, my mayordomo at my beck and call. His vibrant sexual energy of youth and optimistic enthusiasm had filled me; I had just been too preoccupied to let the desires consume us.
As I neared divine release I could feel his energies swirling about me. I felt a hard, potent red emanating from his well-muscled flesh, his man-flesh in particular. My mind’s eye could feel him, spiritually taste him. I sensed his energy as if he were near. My moans echoed through the large, tiled chamber, sounding like the goddess, herself, in the throes of orgasm.
Hurling my soul outward, in search of his primal energy, my immortal self stopped its quest just beyond the door to my bathroom. In my mind’s eye, I saw his multi-colored energy, leaning against the wall, pumping his cock furiously.
Opening my eyes I moaned out, “I take it you have my clothes, Matthew?” My passion flowed through me. “Oh, uuugh, that feels so good.”
His pulsing energy abruptly stopped, replaced by simmering yellow. His shriek of guilty shock made me suppress a laugh. “I, ah, I, I just got in with them,” he lied, terribly.
“Come in here, now,” I ordered, my voice betraying my overwhelming need for release.
“I can’t. I’ll get fired!” he lamented.
“You’re my mayordomo. If you don’t please me, you’ll also get fired. So come in here and please me. I need it. I need you to fill me with your power.”
“I shouldn’t,” he cried in anguish.
“That only makes it better!” I climbed out of the tub. “Now undress and fuck me. You can’t resist me; you’re under my spell.”
I didn’t give him time to respond. My body dripping from the water, my cunt dripping from my own arousal, I left the bathroom and saw him, just a foot away from the doorway, with his cock out. He had been masturbating to me. The thought thrilled me.
I grabbed him by the cock and led him across the cavernous suite to the soft-cushioned couch. Pulling his pants off of him, I knelt before him and took his young, hard cock into my mouth. Quieting his protests that it was unprofessional, I could feel his energy flowing into me. I was once more revitalized, filled with glowing, heated energy.
Pausing to unbutton his stately uniform, my eyes were delighted to discover washboard abs, well-defined muscles everywhere, and his chest heaving with delight. Straddling him, as his tongue sought my nipples, I fed him my swollen breasts and mounted that large, well-defined muscle between his legs.
Thrusting down deep and hard until it hit the wall of my flowing cunt, I moaned in divine ecstasy, rising back up and slamming myself down even harder. Matthew’s hips bucked upwards to meet my thrusting, his own moans and voice mingling with my sighs and screams of pleasure.
“I love you!” he shouted.
I could feel his muscles clenching, so strong that they nearly catapulted me off his lap, his thighs covered in my juices. His hands grabbed my ass cheeks so hard I felt that he was going to rip me apart from the outside; his cock was so big and hard that it felt like it was going to tear me apart from the inside.
“Fuck me, fuck me hard,” I screamed out as my vision blackened and I found myself heady with energy and power. I floated through the endless void, pushed by our mutual thrusts, until I lay at Aphrodite’s feet, nothing more than an entity of lust and passion with a huge cock driving me closer and closer to lusty deification.
“I’m cumming,” Matthew announced. His hot jizz shot inside of me, sending flashes of smoky light into my core, the colors matching his powerful, youthful aura. His orgasm filled me to overflowing with energy and triggered a glorious seizure in my physical body.
For a brief moment, barely a nanosecond, our souls were joined. I knew him, all of him, his eternal essence mingling with mine. Then I crashed back into the material plane, my body convulsing in an intense orgasm, his magick, life-giving cock spilling its power into me.
When I could breathe once more without hyperventilating, I cleaned his beautiful cock with my burning tongue and lips and kissed away the sweat, my own orgasmic residue, from his flesh.
“Please don’t tell anyone,” he pled. “I’ll lose my job.”
“I needed that,” I sighed. “You saved my life. I was going to die if I didn’t get fucked. My power was waning.”
He smiled and shrugged. “I think I love you.”
“I am,” I crooned out in my most sensual voice, “the goddess of love in the flesh.”
Matthew dressed himself, all smiles, while I drank in his visually pleasing body. He smelled then licked my essence from his fingers, sending shivers of delight through my soul.
“Is the bar still open?” I asked him.
“Yes, mistress, it is.”
“I just had your marvelous cock in my mouth, deep inside me.” I laughed. “With your cum running down my legs, I think you can call me Krys.”
“Yes, Mistre..Krys.”
“When you can get it up again, please fetch me a bottle of whiskey and something to mix it with, then come back up here and fuck me again for a nightcap.”
He did as I bade. The booze was top-shelf, his cock top-notch. I gave all of myself to him, surrendering my power to his manly essence, for it to be returned, amplified with his own vitality. Blissful, dream-filled, sleep overtook me, once more delivering me to the gauzy, comforting orgiastic delights of the netherworld. The luxurious sheets and quality mattress drowned me in decadence as I dreamed.
Awakening to songbirds cavorting on my private balcony, I threw open the doors to let in the sun and morning breeze, taking in the majestic view. Practicing my morning ritual of masturbation on the balcony, my orgasmic moans echoing off the distant mountains, I worshipped. Washing away the cum, jizz, and other evidence of pleasures of the flesh, I chose a flowing handkerchief skirt and loose, scrunched, halter top. A quick call to the front desk, inquiring if they had any makeup for sale in the lobby store, resulted in a small horde of staff coming to my room with delightful choices.
Witchy eyes and wind-tossed hair achieved, I prioritized my immediate goals. I should probably seek gainful employment, find a place to live, restock my life with material necessities, and master my control over my newfound, goddess-given powers.
Powers? Aunt Grace was correct. Reviewing the previous day’s events, I felt that I had more powers than just raw, animal lust. I could somehow connect with others’ souls; I had done it twice. I could somehow put words into other people’s mouths unless the newscaster was pure coincidence. I needed the time and place to study these, to learn them. I imagined the sort of place I’d desire. A job could wait; I had enough money to last me at least a couple years.
A place, though; I needed a place to live, to study, to increase my power. A vision came, unbidden, as a solid picture, formless but somehow solid, in my mind. I imagined a place in the country, a place where my practices wouldn’t be scrutinized, a place suitable for a witch, suitable for an instrument of divine, lusty desire.
I had only slept a few hours but still felt energized, fully alert. The morning staff were bustling about, taking care of other guests, cleaning; they were all beautiful people with matching smiles. I basked in the warm glows of their mutual lust, feeling my own rise to match theirs. Passion fed me; I needed it to continue. Pleasantly surprised that my car was now all shine and chrome, cleaner than I ever recall it being, I sped westward, towards the outlying small towns, mere villages, nestled in the foothills. I hoped to find a place away from the hustle and bustle, the negativity of the urban sprawl that had been my home.
Placing my lips over Captain Flash Rogers, I popped more Pez into my mouth as my car happily thumped and shook in time with the music. My phone rang.
“Go ahead, Stanley, you’re on speakerphone. I was just thinking about you.”
“Good news, my lovely child,” he said in his usual amused voice. “Your money has magically cleared already.”
“Aphrodite provides.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing, sweetheart. How’s that nice long cock of yours? I want more. You were mentioning money?”
“Yes, I was. To what address should I send your money?”
“Oh my goddess,” I exclaimed. “I’m temporarily homeless, Stanley. Can I come pick it up? My apartment building burned down last night.”
“My poor dear,” he said. “I’m home all day, drop by any time.”
“I’m on my way now.”
Turning around, heading back through the city, I made it to Stanley’s home and office in less than an hour. The twin gargoyles smiled at me once more. Stanley was sitting on the wrap-around porch, a book in one hand, a cup of tea in the other.
“My angel,“ he said with delight. “Sit, please. I think I may have a solution for your woes.”
His energy fed my loins once more. It was more serene, peaceful, at ease than the energies I felt from others. His crotch was, regretfully, not responding to my sexual powers.
He caught my glance. “The mind is willing,” he shrugged, “but the flesh is old. Tea?”
The late-morning sun wrapped us in its favor. Butterflies danced for us; a trio of young squirrels chattered their way around tree trunks as they played. We drank in silence for a brief moment, then chatted about some other finds he had acquired.
“I made some calls on your behalf,” he said to me. “You’re such a lovely young lass. I have a friend, an odd friend that might be able to help you with housing.”
“Go on,” I said with some suspicion.
“You may have heard of him, an author, he teaches at the university. Casper Montague?”
“Doctor Montague, the theology and occult studies professor? The kids call him ‘Casper the Ghost’. His books are constantly being reordered where I used to work. His class is always full and in demand, the most popular elective on campus. You should hear the coeds chatter about how sexy he is.”
Stanley chuckled good-naturedly. “The same. He’s a good client of mine, good friend, really; he owns the old Langston estate in Dovefield. Quite eccentric, into the occult and such. Heard of the place?”
“I’ve heard of it. Isn’t it one of the most haunted places in the state?”
“The same, namely for the mining disaster and the reputed haunting of Langston manor. You see,” he continued, his eyes and expression fading into reverie. “Dovefield was never more than a small mining community, little more than a Thorpe. The coal mine caught fire in the mid-1800s, many deaths...” he paused.
“I forget the exact year. Anyway, the mine collapsed, many died. Accusations of witchcraft and such against the Langstons were levied, followed by a mysterious plague that first took the Langston children, then the young ones in the town. Pitchforks were raised, lynching nearly occurred. Then, Mr. Langston seemed to lose his sanity; they found Mrs. Langston dismembered on the grounds, Lord Langston hanging from the rafters. Since then, the entire village has been said to be haunted, the estate most of all. Casper can’t seem to rent out the servant’s cottage for more than a week or two.”
He studied my face as he spoke. “Interested? It’s very out of the way, just a tiny village as far as such metrics go, out in the country. You don’t seem to be the type to be intimidated by ghost stories.”
“It sounds perfect, I’ll call him later.”
“You’ll need to go there, personally, my child. Casper doesn’t use cellphones and he’ll probably be outside all day.” Stanley proudly held up his cellphone. “Even I have a cellphone and I’m almost eighty!”
I smiled at him and plucked his phone from his fingers. I took a picture of my bare pussy under my skirt and attached it to my number. “Call me when that nice cock of yours gets hard again.”
He smiled and laughed with delight. “Aren’t you just touched by the goddess of lust, herself? I’ll get his number for you, and your check.”
My cashier’s check was larger than I had expected; my pussy was wetter than expected. I wondered if Stanley knew of my transformation, being into the occult as well. He had hinted as much. I also wondered if my tires were warning of a blowout the way they thumped, probably heat damage from the fire.
I drove very far away from the city, past the suburbs, far past the gated communities and sprawling mini-mansions of the wealthy, into growing, green fields. I passed woods, went over Drummond’s Bridge, another of the most haunted places in the state, and startled wildlife before I reached Dovefield. Aphrodite may move in mysterious ways, but this one was quite obvious.
Finding the Langston Estate was not difficult. It sat atop a small, flat-top hill, the distant mountains framing it, overlooking the tiny town. Village or Hamlet would have been a more accurate description. Three stories tall, with a corner tower to give it an ominous look, the Scottish Baronial architecture looked more at place in a horror movie, in the highlands, than in a dilapidated mining town of yesteryear.
A rusted iron fence walled off the grounds, as large as an airport, with multitudes of gnarled, bent trees, Ashlar stone outbuildings to match the regal-looking house, a well-tended tiny orchard with rows of grapes growing beside it, and a well maintained, vintage swimming pool. If ever a domicile were to be haunted, this checked all the boxes, more so than Stanley’s ominous home. Ghostly bagpipes echoing off the ivy-covered walls would have completed the impression.
My thumping tires crunched on gravel as I drove through the pillared, metal, grated gate, rusted open, leaning off its hinges. An ancient wagon sat off to one side, decomposing back into the earth, all rust, and wormholes. The gravel gave way to fitted stonework, turning into a proper drive.
I parked my commoner’s car beside a shining black Porsche, the vanity plate reading “N0TS4T4N”.
Large, concrete planters lined the curved walk leading to the once-majestic front porch, the flowers or greenery they once held long gone, overgrown with weeds. A handsome man sat on an ancient rocking chair, rock music playing on a new Bluetooth speaker, shining what appeared to be a dirk. He looked up and watched my approach.
I had seen him before, Casper Montague. He had never noticed me during his forays into the store where I used to work.
Short-cropped, black, curly hair, gray eyes the color of the sky during a thunderstorm, and fine physique revealed why he was voted “sexiest teacher” by the sororities almost every single year. His ragged t-shirt and tight denim pants showed off his physique to great effect. All the coeds fantasized about him, keeping his occult studies classes an entertaining elective, constantly full. His jeans were riddled with holes, worn from work and wear, not some fashionista influencer that operated a mall kiosk. His complexion was tanned to perfection from working in the outdoors and physical exercise.
He looked at home amidst the sprawling estate, slowly giving itself up to the creeping powers of decay.
“As I live breath, what light through yonder window breaks? ‘Tis the goddess, herself,” he said with humor as I climbed out of my Volkswagen. “Praise Lilith!” His arm mimicked the chants of the women on last night’s news. “Come to subjugate me with your superiority?”
“That’s just a huge misunderstanding,” I said with real embarrassment. “Stanley sent me. He said that you might have a place for rent?”
“I can see your legs through your skirt,” he observed.
“Sorry,” I said, feeling my passion begin to grow, overwhelming me with furious, pulsing lust.
"I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” he said still wearing that confident smile. “I just wanted to alert you in case I stared.”
I wanted him. He had to want me! I sent my powers of lust out towards him, feeling the force of my passion-enhanced lust waft through the air, on the plane of desire itself, and caress his manly flesh. The smoky tendrils reached out, probing, and met….a brick wall?
I couldn’t feel his energy, could not draw from it, could not drive him into a sexual frenzy with my own magickal lust! Did I suddenly lose my powers?
I hadn’t lost my power; I could still feel it pulsing through me, driving me into desire-fueled madness. Maybe he wasn’t into women; maybe he was somehow immune.
“You know Stan?” he asked.
“He’s looking out for me; we’ve connected.” I made my voice drip with suggestion, pleasures of the flesh, promises to be collected. No response!
“I don’t know why a pretty young lady would want to live out here in the boonies, but follow me.”
I gladly followed him.
My desire grew so hot that I felt if I dove into the pool I’d evaporate all the water with the heat of my steaming thighs. He led me past the pool, commenting on how he just finished restoring it; through tennis courts in the beginning stages of repair; through the tiny orchard, stating that the pears taste so sweet from the rich soil; and towards a two-story, ashlar stone house with its own enclosed, round tower and fence.
An abandoned well, cut of the same stone as everything else on the estate sat beside the stately building.
“This is the cottage,” he said. I had envisioned a small cottage; this was a huge house, at least two thousand square feet. He opened the door, which creaked eerily. Dust danced in beams of sunlight through wavy, glass, ancient windows, resting now and then on the dusty white sheets that covered antique furniture.
“I’ll remove all the furniture if you want the place,” he said as he showed me around.
A flagstone-floored living room with exposed ceiling beams and a giant hearth looked cozy and inviting. The kitchen was updated with a gas stove and modern appliances, starkly contrasting with the otherwise archaic décor. The round tower at the opposite end of the house featured a wrought iron spiral staircase and was lined with bookshelves cut around stained glass windows.
The staircase wound its way up through the tower, a steel snake reaching towards the sky. The second story, accessed from wide, wooden stairs leading up from the dining room, gave way to a master bedroom on one end, two more bedrooms, and a proper study, lined with handmade, delicately carved bookshelves, an antique claw foot desk in the center with comfortable high-backed chairs placed near the smaller fireplace. A modernized, newly tiled bathroom was spacious and themed to the old rustic charm of the Scottish Baronial style. A cast-iron clawfoot tub, deep and wide, was the centerpiece. Candle holders lined the walls for ambiance, with modern lights to illuminate.
“I’ll take it,” I cried out with delight, almost forgetting that Professor Montague was immune to feminine wiles. “Furniture and all! It’s perfect.”
“Not so fast, pretty lady,” he said. “We need to go over the terms and price, first.”
Following his energized, hasty walk towards the mansion, I couldn’t help but notice his thigh muscles bulging with each elongated step, his buttocks, firm and hard, rocking to his gait.
Entering his foyer, a grand gallery with curving stairways facing me, vaulted ceilings, and deeply stained, ornate woodwork, I smiled at the vacant suits of armor, the torches set into the walls, and a hardware store’s worth of tools and materials. The entirety of the place was being slowly resurrected from a despairing ruin into restoration.
Casper returned bearing a small ream of papers, some ballpoint pens clipped over them, on a silvered tray bearing two diamond-embossed glasses and a matching decanter filled with yellowish, viscous liquid. The papers were wedged between the ornate glasses.
“Scotch?” he offered.
I accepted his offering, once more sending out waves of heated lust, again to no avail, as the alcohol warmed my insides, the alcohol fire in my belly nowhere close to matching the furnace of my desires.
“Before you sign, the warnings,” he said.
He began listing things, as if from an often-repeated speech. “Noise, loud music—especially Iron Maiden—all hours of the night, magic and magick—with a ‘k’—rituals, communing with spirits, fireworks, wild parties, illicit drugs, gratuitous nudity, orgies, sin and debauchery of all kinds, casting of spells, nude people in the pool, open fornication, all the things that would offend delicate sensibilities, political incorrectness, occult practices, demons, lions and tigers and bears…”
“I, I would never,” I interrupted.
He laughed. “Not you! Me!”
“Huh?” That wasn’t me. The goddess put that word into my mouth. She was also stunned.
“You may not know; I’m sure Stanley told you that I was eccentric. I teach a class or two at the university; mainly, though, I am an author and I’ve dedicated my life to unraveling the mysteries of the occult and writing about my findings.”
“I know who you are,” I responded with a giggle. “Professor Casper Montague, of Italian, French, and Argentinian descent. Ph.D. in anthropology, bachelor’s in psychology and theology, author of no less than a dozen books on magick—with a ‘K’—and the occult. We carried your books at Off-Campus books, I read some of them.”
“Twenty-three,” he replied. “Twenty-three books. I live here because it was cheap on tax-sale, I always wanted to live in a grand Scottish mansion, and the place suits me. It’s also far off the beaten path so I can study, write, and conduct experiments as I please. So, if any of my practices or habits offend or annoy you, don’t sign.”
“I’ll fit right in,” I beamed out as I signed the lease.
The terms of the lease were simple. The rent was cheap, only five hundred dollars per month, including utilities, and I paid for the entire year with cash from my purse. Riders to the lease included free use of the grounds of the entire estate, free use of the pool, and other thoughtful things. The final rider stated that if I were to vacate before the lease was up that I would be responsible for paying the balance.
Casper was surprised that the tales of his few previous tenants running away, screaming, in the middle of the night due to pestering spirits didn’t faze me. He readily agreed to allow me to keep the ancient furniture in the cottage.
In two scant days, the divine favor of Aphrodite singed away the last vestiges of my former self and led me, by her sacred bird, the Dove, to Dovefield, where I found the perfect home of solitude, nestled in the hills, with the mountains as a backdrop. I could finally hone my newfound powers in solace. Except for Casper Montague not falling prey to my power, everything seemed perfect.
An uneventful journey back through town, to El Tesoro Escondido to pick up my few sole possessions, a brief trip to purchase a fire-proof safe to store Aunt Grace’s grimoires, and back to my new home. The car’s tires thumped menacingly the entire time. Old, oxidized brass key in hand, I entered and explored my new abode.
Stripping nude, I spent hours cleaning, wishing that I could somehow use my powers to animate the brooms and rags for me. A cleansing ritual, learned from one of Aunt Grace’s inherited books, occupied my time as I washed the sheets. The house cleaned, cleansed, and somewhat organized, it was now time to attend to myself. Walking nude across the vast acreage, I took advantage of the pool and floated in the cold water, the warm sun caressing me.
Feeling the horny, cascading desire overcome me, my hands traveled between my legs, caressing myself, plunging fingers inside of me, probing my clit with urgent need. Release instantly washed over me, my orgasm coming strong and quick. The cool water, the floating sensation, and the heat of the sun over my breasts and stomach added new sensations, hurled my soul into the deep waters of pleasure. It was perfect, blissful, relaxing.
Heading back to my “cottage”, which was actually of a size and craftsmanship to be the envy of every McMansion-owning elitist, I stayed nude, conducted my ritual once more, and decided to begin translating Aunt Grace’s second Grimoire. I knew the instructions on how to harness and control my power; I’d get to that shortly. I wanted to discover what other powers I could attain.
The first line of “crescent and full moon” book two was bookended by comment/ null signs. I quickly translated it with a glance. The text between them was cryptic.
“U Rune Ady.” I didn’t understand.
I knew precious little about runes. I knew some of them resembled the letter “U”, naught else. I pondered poring over rune books to find one that had something to do with “Ady”. Minutes of cursory searching netted me nothing but things to look into later.
Moving forward, I translated the next few lines.
“PyISf V4T9…” Gibberish! Line upon line of gibberish. I pushed on, only finding more gibberish.
The inferno of my frustrations overtook the burning heat of my never-subsiding desires. I went back to the first Grimoire; I could translate that just fine. Feeling impotent, I decided to return to harnessing my power. Ritual mode eluded me in my frustration; my energies were sent but my immortal soul refused to wander in the primal forces of magick and creation. I had spiritually exhausted myself and netted nothing in return. I went back to cleaning to distract myself from the feelings of failure.
Tomorrow, goddess willing, would be another day. The four-posted, feather bed was warm and comfy, the sheets were clean. My dreams took me to the never ending orgy that is Aphrodite’s kingdom. There I felt loved, accepted, and desired.
I rose with the sun, greeted by wildfire, squirrels, fox, deer, hovering in my yard. I sat outside, nude, calmed by their peaceful, balanced, primitive energies. My fingers gave thanks to my Goddess, drumming the rhythm of passion on my clit.
