Haunting Sex Story
 

Hi Everyone, here's a whole new Chapters of Incest & penetration story added:

Haunting Love

Chapter One

The house stood dark in the moonlight, among tangled undergrowth that had once been an expanse of shrubs, carefully tended flower gardens and lawns. Old mossy trees loomed around its perimeter, stretching their bare-looking arms up into the sky as if begging for some release from terrible torture. Smaller trees had volunteered to fill the empty space around the three-and-a-half story structure, which had been built during the American Civil War, over a hundred years now past.

Built in the Victorian style, the house had many gables and a tower that reached into the sky like it was some attempt to reach the stars. While the windows were intact, they were dark and had been dark for more years than most in the little town of Nettleton could remember. Scraps of white showed through the grimy glass, remnants of window coverings that seemed to move in the wind occasionally, even though the wind couldn't reach them. Like sightless eyes, the windows stared out at the world, and hid what might be inside. No paint remained to give life or color to the exterior of the gloomy place and what, in daylight, was a uniform gray, appeared as a mottled collection of shadows in the weak light of the quarter moon.

While all appeared to be lifeless in and around the old mansion, there were a multitude of sounds about the place; creaks, groans and popping noises as if the tired structure was shifting its weight on the stony ground. Tree branches rubbed against each other in the breeze and a number of creatures provided a soft susurration of noise as they struggled to stay alive in their daily routines of hunting food and avoiding predators.

Many in the town that surrounded the Nettleton Mansion believed that its builders, after which the town was named, still roamed the rooms and staircases of the old place, even though they had been dead and buried for over a century.

The fact that four of the exotic old building's residents had been murdered over its long and painful history was responsible for the belief that it was haunted. That, and those flutters of movement in the dark windows, among other things.

One death was an attempt to separate Jeramiah Nettleton from a significant portion of his wealth, in the form of trying to kidnap his 12 year old son. The boy fought and was strangled during the incident. Two men were caught, one of which had the boy's pocket watch on him. Both were hanged from an oak branch on a tree that still grew on the property.



Forty years later Joshua Nettleton's wife, Constance, was found murdered in her bedroom, stabbed repeatedly by an obviously angry and demented person. When her almost decapitated body was discovered, she was naked, and her clothing was neatly stacked on a sideboard nearby. Her gardener was accused of accosting her and, when she tried to resist the rape, he was believed to have killed her in a fit of anger. The gardener was also hanged, though in this case, from a proper gallows in the town square.

And, in 1931 both Roger and Elizabeth Nettleton had been murdered in their sleep. Investigation revealed that the murderers, when they were caught with the family silver, admitted that they had been hired to kill the whole family by Roger's business partner, who would have then inherited the entire mining operation. The men confessed that they hadn't been able to find the children in the house, and had therefore taken what they could carry and taken off. In fact, it was the two children, ages four and six at the time, who had raised the hue and cry by appearing in a servant's room in the carriage house, soaked with blood. That resulted in the bodies being found, and the murderers being pursued and caught. The children couldn't talk very well at that age, and all the questioners could get out of them was that they had been in the tower room and had heard screams. The fact that the only route from that room to the outside led right by where their parents were being killed, and the fact that the children were too young to understand that the reason Mommy wouldn't get up was because she was dead, just made things more mysterious.

That mystery was also solved. The robbers were caught red handed. Technology had advanced by then, and the criminals, to include one Chauncey Fallworthy, the mastermind of the horrific crime, were electrocuted instead of being hanged.

The children were removed from the sad place and fostered until their majority, but in the decades since the murders no Nettleton had returned to the place. It had too many sad and painful memories.

Including the criminals, eight people associated with the place in one way or another had died violent deaths.

But, banks being what they are, managed the already existing trust fund set aside to take care of taxes, and produced the required funds each year, duly transferred to the county. And, county governments being what they are, the funds were received and disbursed. County commissioners didn't care where the tax money came from. They just wanted to spend it.

There were only a very few people who knew what had happened to the Nettleton fortune that had resulted from sharp investments and savvy supervision of a mining empire.

Most of those who knew worked at the bank, but they were not willing to part with that information lightly. There were no heirs other than the two sad children, so people drew their own conclusions.

The property sat and decayed. Various teenagers tried to get in, probably on a dare, or in an attempt to establish a makeout haven, but the wrought iron fence that completely surrounded the property had been made specifically to keep people out. And, after the last murders, someone had gone to great lengths to securely board up the lower windows and doors, foiling casual attempts to plunder or engage in other mischievousness. Various people in town swore they'd seen mysterious lights through the grimy windows in the house on dark nights, over the years and, though there was no data to support it, most townspeople thought of the place as haunted. It was easy for those who swore over the years that they saw movement in the boarded up house to believe that unhappy spirits roamed the dark place.

One attempt at raising the property taxes had been made, years ago, but had failed. The current absentee owner, one Robert Ellsworth Nettleton, who was one of those sad children fostered after his parents' murder, and whom almost no one in town had ever met, fought off that attempt. No one was beating down the doors to buy the place. In that part of the state land ... that wasn't haunted ... was plentily available. The fact that the town had been named for the mining baron who had originally built the house was only a dim memory documented in dusty old papers in a box of historical documents in the basement of the town library.

Over the years, people began to think of "The Nettleton Mansion" as having been named after the town ... rather than the other way around. The haunted wreck was a thing of mild curiosity, mostly ignored as people drove past its nearly invisible rusty iron fence, which was now screened by a tangle of vegetation. Only the imposing wrought iron gates were really visible from the road any more, and beyond them a dim unpaved track that was impassable to vehicles these days due to the three inch saplings that were trying to fill the empty space.

And so the old house sat and waited for something to happen.

In some ways the house mirrored what had happened to Nettleton, the town. When, as the ore veins were cleaned out and the operation began to be less and less profitable, the miners were laid off, a few at a time, until the mines finally closed for good in the late forties. Nettleton lost about half its population in the process, and property values plummeted. While that might have made it attractive to outsiders, there was nothing else in the town to bring them there.

The town, like the Nettleton mansion, slid slowly and almost gracefully into a quiet decline. Once a population equilibrium was reached, people began to decide, on more or less a nationalistic basis, not to let the town die completely. A cold storage company was induced to buy one of the larger mines and turn it into something that generated some badly needed jobs and the wages that they provided. During the fifties a manufacturing plant was built, to get the tax incentives, and several other businesses took advantage of the low cost of living in the area to produce goods that were shipped to more lucrative markets. Things had settled into a workable little place where people liked to live, but which had no hope of ever being in the limelight again.

TBC

Re: Haunting Sex Story
 

Debbie Franklin lay on her bed in her bedroom, staring at the ceiling. She was bored. She lay listening to Petula Clark, singing her new hit song Downtown and scowled that, in Nettleton, there was no "Downtown" to go to for the excitement the singer drew reference to.



It was early summer between her junior and senior year in high school and she couldn't wait to be a senior. Due to her late birthday, she hadn't been able to take Driver's Ed in her junior year like most kids did. While the state didn't require Driver's Ed to get a license, her mother did. The way she thought of it, though, was that when school started again, she'd turn sixteen and be able to get a license. A license meant freedom to Debbie and she yearned for freedom. Living in Nettleton was, she had decided several years ago, punishment of some kind, imposed on her, probably by fate, and probably as a result of the fact that she loved to masturbate. It was 1965 and, despite the sexual revolution under way in America, adults loved to classify self pleasure as a nasty habit that was probably responsible for a variety of personal ailments and social ills.

Debbie ignored all the warnings though. Even though she was classified by her friends and most adults as a "Tomboy", she loved nothing more than the exquisite pain and thrills that her fingers frequently brought to her as they teased the little bump between her slippery pussy lips that she had only recently learned the proper name of.



Debbie thought about masturbating now. But she dismissed the idea. She preferred to be totally naked when she got those wonderful feelings, and it was the middle of the afternoon. While her mother, Ramona, was at work at her job as a teller at the bank, Debbie's twin brother Robby was around somewhere with his friend Mike. He had a bad habit of just walking into her room when he wanted to see her. Privacy was a word he didn't seem to understand. And, while she wouldn't have minded her brother finding her gyrating on the bed with her fingers stuck up in her, she sure didn't want Mike to see that.

Debbie sighed and got up off the bed. She wandered to the window and looked out at the forest beyond their yard. Her eyes were drawn to the tall round tower with its conical cap that topped the old Nettleton mansion next door.



Unlike ... and unknown to ... most people in Nettleton, she was intimately familiar with that old house. Having lived next door to it their whole lives, she and Robby had naturally explored the dark forest surrounding it. They had never heard the stories that caused most adults in town to avoid the place and, to them, the forest was a magical place. The house was too, though it was a bit daunting and dark and ... scary somehow ... at first.

She thought back to some of the things that were imprinted indelibly in her memory about the mysterious place next door.

It was when they were about ten, and were playing in the forest that they found "the secret". There was an old root cellar behind the house, off to one side of the sagging carriage house that had once held horses, and still held an old carriage with only three wheels and rotted leather seats. Their tentative exploration of the overgrown cellar entrance was the result of a fantasy that there must be gold in there, since it looked like a mine to them. Instead, when they had snitched a candle from home and illuminated the dark hole, they had found that it had walls of brick, covered by wooden shelves, which themselves were partially covered with glass jars containing something dark and gelatinous that they knew had been food at one time. Their fantasy morphed into pretending that the gold had been hidden in these jars of muck, since no one would think to look for it there. They only opened one, though. The stink convinced them that this particular daydream wasn't worth pursuing.

But they had made the cellar into a hideout, where they could evade various imagined bad men, or police seeking trespassers, or just be in a place that was theirs alone, and which nobody else knew about. They fixed it up with old furniture found in the carriage house, and pillows and blankets from home ... a small hidden nest where they could disappear into when they wanted to.

And they kept it a secret from everyone. They somehow knew their mother would disapprove in the strongest terms if she found out they had found a place they could slip through the fence that surrounded the Nettleton Manor, as they had renamed it.

But the cellar itself wasn't "the secret." It was while they were moving things around in the root cellar that they had discovered "the secret." Robby had been tugging on a tall rack of shelves, trying to break off a piece of wood that he needed to put under an old overstuffed chair which had only three stubby legs. But instead of the board coming loose, the whole shelf unit had, with a creaking groan, swung outward from the wall, exposing a dark tunnel behind it.

More candles were smuggled into the hideout and the tunnel was explored. It was featureless, a tube of old, crumbling brick that led nowhere for sixty feet to an oaken door with a thick iron ring on it instead of a knob. Neither child, at only ten years of age, had been able to figure out how to open the door. It seemed to be stuck fast. But their dreams of hidden treasure were re-awakened and, for a week, they examined the obstacle, which was solid as a rock. The close fitted planks of the door were held together by thick iron straps with huge rivets holding them to the door. Hammers and screwdrivers, which were all the tools available to the exploring siblings, made only dents and scratches.

Debbie was the one who solved the mystery when, in frustration, she hit one of the thick rivets with the hammer and the door made a grating, popping sound and moved a quarter inch.

It took the combined weight of both kids to pull on the ring and get the door to move more. Their excitement, aided by a little adrenaline, caused the door to suddenly creak open, dumping both youths on their butts. They stared at the wooden steps beyond the door ... steps covered in a thick coating of dust ... steps that led up ... into the Nettleton Mansion.

Fighting bouts of continuous sneezes brought on by dust that hadn't been disturbed for decades, brother and sister held hands and climbed the steps. They found themselves in a hallway of sorts, so narrow that they couldn't walk side by side. The expanse of wall, made only of boards butted together and nailed from the other side of the walls to studs, extended beyond the range of the two candles they had.

They crept forward, afraid now for some unknown reason, until they came to another door with a ring in it. That one opened fairly easily when they both pushed against it and they found themselves in a room that looked startlingly like the root cellar. Its walls were covered with shelves, and they recognized it as a pantry. The back of the door had shelves on it, like the one in the root cellar. These shelves too were cluttered with old cans and jars. There were traces of what was left of sacks too, but mice had feasted on their contents over the years and all that was left was their droppings and tatters of cloth.

The discovery of the secret tunnel and what turned out to be a secret corridor inside the house which gave either visual or physical access to almost every room in the mansion, changed the lives of the twins. Now their private world had been expanded a thousand fold. Over the next five years they roamed the old house as if they owned it.

Almost everything had been left behind, but little of worth was left. The good dishes were gone, leaving behind mismatched bowls and plates probably used by children and servants. The same was true of utensils. Furniture was still there, but most looked to be in bad shape. There were still paintings and portraits on the walls, but they were dark with age and dust, and it was difficult to tell what, or who they portrayed. Anything made of, or covered with cloth had deteriorated and faded.

Everything exposed to the air, that was.

There were chests made of cedar wood that had preserved their contents remarkably well, and some drawers had contained some kind of pungent smelling substance that had also kept the rigors of time and mice at bay, mostly. There were beautiful gowns and suits packed away that the children gasped over. There were hats and shoes and umbrellas made of lace. There were shirts and things that looked like a ballerina’s tutu, but which hung down to the floor instead of sticking out. There were old smoking pipes, carved into the likeness of fishermen, or a tiger's head and some decorated with tarnished silver, or simply plain. They found a few scattered coins, which were immediately identified as part of the treasure they forever sought.

Because the only things they found in reasonably good condition were the clothes, they played dress up together. Debbie gathered too-big dresses around herself and paraded back and forth while Robby put on a top hat and tails that hung to the floor, one of the pipes clamped in his jaw as he struck poses for his sister. It was in this way that they kept on discovering their bodies after their mother, for some unexplained reason, established separate bath times for them.



During dress up play, Debbie unashamedly stripped out of her street clothes to don a gown while Robby watched with interest, noting that, as time went by, her breasts began to push out from her flat chest and then got bigger and softer looking every year. She watched as he skinned out of his clothes too, to don some fancy vest that, at first, covered him like a jacket, but as he grew, left his growing genitals exposed.



They pretended to be lords and ladies of years gone by, each one with their own wardrobe, and they had these characters interact with each other, requiring frequent changes of costume. So they saw each other naked almost daily as they grew into puberty.

TBC

Re: Haunting Sex Story
 

It was Debbie who developed pubic hair first ... mere wisps of golden strands that sprang from her skin almost overnight, or so it seemed. Then there were more and suddenly Robby could see them.

"You have something on you," he pointed out that first day he noticed.



She looked down at her pubescent mound with its tightly closed lips that covered up the little bud she already knew all about by then. She'd never told her brother about what she did in her bed at night. They shared almost everything in the world, but that was one thing she instinctively wanted to keep for her own secret.

"That's my hair," she said, as if it were obvious, which to her it was.

"When did you get hair?" asked her brother.

"I don’t know. One day it was just there."

Robby bent over, examining his penis. "I don't have any," he said, disgruntled.

There was some competition between them. Their father had died in an accident when they were little and their mother had never sought another husband. They got by on her salary at the bank, but there was no extra money for frills. As a result, whenever something did come into the house, ownership was heatedly discussed and quite often things were portioned out. If it was a food item, like a box of candy, each got his or her portion. If it was something else, each claimed a certain percentage of the use of the item. It was mostly a game, because they shared everything they had, but establishing ownership meant that they could then choose to share, which was somehow important to each.

For her to have hair, and him not ... seemed unjust somehow.

"Do you have those singing things too?" he asked.

Debbie paused, her pert young breasts with their soft pink puffy nipples hanging a little as she bent to step into a gown of forest green.

"What?" she asked.

"You know, what we heard about in health class" said Robby. "Those singing periods where you have blood ... down there." He pointed to what was already covered.

"Menstrual periods?" she asked. "What do they have with singing?"

"Didn't minstrals go from place to place in the old days and sing songs and tell stories and stuff?" he asked. "I never could figure out what that had to do with girls bleeding, but I'm sure that's what they said."




"Dummy!" she laughed. "I have men-stral periods, not min-stral periods." She giggled. "I sure don't feel like singing when they come around. I'll tell you that!"

"It all sounds the same to me," sighed Robby, who took no offense at being labeled a 'dummy'. "But you have hair and you have ... those thingy periods. Doesn't that mean you can have a baby?"

"I guess so," said Debbie, unconcerned. Her mother had simply explained that periods happened to girls as they grew up, and it was something they had to put up with. She understood the remorse and tears in her mother's eyes as that was said when her mother made her put the thick pad between her legs that soaked up all that blood. It was awful! The pad rubbed her legs and was uncomfortable. But if she didn't use them it ruined her panties and even the jeans she loved to wear, so she ... put up with it.

Later that night, back home, she found Robby with the textbook they used in health class, reading avidly.

"It says here that boys grow hair later than girls. When that happens semen will start coming out of my penis," he said.

"Well if it's anything like my menstrual periods, don't be anxious for that to happen," she said darkly. "Periods are a pain."

"I don't see why. It already feels good if I rub it," he said, looking up.



Debbie was astonished. At thirteen, she thought she was the only teenager in the world who disregarded the stern warnings about masturbation that seemed to come from everywhere. It had never occurred to her that her brother might do the same thing.

"You rub your penis?" she asked.

A guarded look came into Robby's eyes.

"You know ... in the shower ... when I wash it."

Debbie wasn't buying it. She knew her brother too well and he couldn't lie to her.

"You masturbate?" she whispered as loudly as she could without drawing the attention of their mother, who was in the house somewhere.



"SHHHHH!" Robby's eyes darted to the doorway. "I didn't say that," he whispered.

Debbie knew she had an advantage, and she pressed it mercilessly.

"You masturbate ... don't you. You can't lie to me. I'm going to tell mom!"

"No!" he whispered urgently. "She'll kill me if she finds out. Come on Deb, it was an accident. I really was just washing it and it got to feeling so good I just kept washing it and then it got hard and it felt so good I just didn't want to stop. Don't tell mom ... pleeeease?"

"I don't know," said Debbie in her carefully practiced but completely fictitious voice of thoughtful worry. "I heard it makes hair grow on your palms if you do it more than just a few times."

She watched with glee as Robby immediately looked at his palms. Then, with puzzlement on his face he looked back up to see his sister holding in a laugh.

Robby was much more mercurial than his sister. He jumped immediately to hot anger as he realized his sister had tricked him.

"Get out of my room," he said in a low voice. "Tell mom whatever you want."

Debbie knew when she went too far. She had done it hundreds of times, teasing her thin-skinned brother. She also knew how to deal with him when he got mad like that.

"Come on you goof," she said in a jovial voice. "I was just kidding around." He was still surly and she knew she'd have to give him something in return. She thought about her own secret, so carefully kept over the years. Knowing that he did it too it didn't seem so dark any more. She held out her palms to him. "I do it too."

Debbie knew her brother well. He was instantly intrigued.

"You do?" he whispered. "Really Deb?"

She blushed, but nodded, dropping her hands. "Yeah, a couple of years now."

She saw his eyes widen and his mouth drop open.



"And I'm not insane, and I don't have warts or any of that stuff." She folded her arms, like she'd settled some big debate.

"How come you didn't tell me?" he asked.

"How come you didn't tell me?" she shot back.

"Oh ... yeah," he said. He looked thoughtful. "How ... often ... do you do it?" he leaned toward her as he whispered.

Debbie's skin had begun to go back to its normal pale color, but she blushed again. She wasn't so sure she wanted to admit just how often she rubbed her clitty.

"Ummm ... a lot," she settled for.

He slumped a little. "Me too," he said, his voice normal, but low. "Sometimes I take a shower when I don't even need one ... just so I can ... do it."

Debbie had always thought she was the smarter twin. It was at times like this that she felt justified.

"You don't have to be in the shower to do it," she said patiently. "I do it in bed, after everybody's asleep."

Robby's forehead wrinkled. "Really?" he said. "I never thought of that." He looked at his lap. "Boy, just thinking about it makes me want to do it now."

Debbie had never really been all that interested in boys, at least not as sexual objects. She had her little secret that she did in bed and which satisfied her, and that was fine. Other girls went on and on about boys and kissing and all kinds of things that sounded pretty yucky to Debbie at the tender age of thirteen. Her way of conquering a boy was to beat him at a footrace, or make it to home plate without being thrown out.



"Well don't do it when I'm around," she sniffed.

They hadn't talked about it again, but after that, when they went to the Nettleton Mansion to explore, if they dressed up, each one was more than a little interested in the other's body. They still had an easy unconcerned manner about themselves as they got nude together.



It was almost a year later that Robby, while he was putting on a formal kind of suit that had a shirt with no collar, and which had begun to fit him a lot better than it had in years past, said, "I'm getting hair too."

TBC

Re: Haunting Sex Story
 

Debbie, who now had a nice collection of honey gold hair above her pouting pussy lips wanted to see, so Robby bared his adolescent prick and she bent over to look. Sure enough dark brown hair was beginning to sprout all around his penis and the sack that hung under it. That sack suddenly looked much more full than Debbie remembered it being ... larger. As she stared the penis moved all by itself.

"I can feel you breathing on me," said Robby in a strained voice.

"Your penis is moving!" said Debbie.

"I think it's getting hard," said Robby.

"Why?" she asked.

"I don't know. Sometimes it just does that," he replied. "When it does ... that's when I want to rub it."

Debbie's mind set about such things had undergone not a little transformation in the last eight months. Her breasts were now huge, from her own perspective, though they were only the size of a softball, roughly. The nipples, which had been puffy and soft for a long time had begun to get firm, especially whenever she rubbed herself in bed. They tingled too, and she had found that it felt very good to rub them and squeeze them gently as she rubbed between her legs.

"You want to masturbate now?" she asked, standing up. "Why?"

"I don't know," he said. "I told you it just happens sometimes. Whenever it gets hard I know it will feel really good to rub it."

"Could I watch while you do it?" she asked, a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach.



"I thought you said not to do it around you," he remembered.

"I changed my mind," she said with the certainty that all women have, and which is based on the fact that all women somehow know they have the ultimate and uncontested right to do so.

"I'd feel pretty weird doing that here," he said, looking around the dusty bedroom they were in.

"Why?" she asked. Debbie felt completely at home in the Nettleton mansion by now.

"What if the ghosts watched?" he asked.

They had heard some of the stories about the house by now and had decided long ago that the Nettleton mansion was, in fact, haunted. Things got moved around ... little things ... and there were noises. But, after fleeing several times in abject panic, they had always crept back in. Eventually they came to the comfortable agreement that, while there might be ghosts in the house, they weren't apparently unfriendly ones. They spoke to the ghosts a few times, proclaiming loudly that they weren't there to take anything, or destroy anything, and that the ghosts were welcome to do whatever they wanted to do, since it was, after all, the ghosts' house.

"Why would ghosts care if you masturbate?" asked Debbie.

Debbie threw out "the challenge": "I'll do it if you do it."

"The challenge" was a time honored way in which they talked each other into doing whatever it was that one of them was worried about doing, but which the other one wanted to do. They had issued "the challenge" to each other so many times in the past that the result was almost always an immediate, if still somewhat nervous acquiescence to the suggestion ... whatever it was. Basically, responding to "the challenge" was a habit they'd both fallen into, and it was ingrained in them ... as normal as hunger.

"Okay!" Robby stuck out his jaw and his hand went to his penis. He immediately began stroking it, and it got even longer and harder than it had been.

"Hold on!" complained Debbie. "Give me a minute here." She dropped the gown, just naturally getting ready to do it like she almost always did it ... naked.

Then she went to the bed, which still had a musty cover on it. Pulling that off she scooted up onto the sagging mattress and lay back, sideways to her brother. Her fingers went automatically to her clit and she began rubbing it in circles.

"Okay," she said. "You can go on now."

Robby, unlike his sister, had been interested in the opposite sex for some time now. His friends also told tales of kisses and groping sessions and other more involved things that he always pretended to know all about, but actually knew very little of. He had never actually thought of his sister like he thought of other girls. Sure, she had breasts and all the other things girls had, but he had seen them so often he just took them for granted.

Until now.

Now, she was a girl, and she was naked, and she was doing something sexual right there in front of him.

He felt something in his balls that he hadn't felt but once before. That one time he had been stroking his soapy penis in the shower. Usually he just stroked, and it felt good, and he just assumed that was all there was to jerking off. His mother usually came along yelling at him to stop wasting water, so his stroke sessions never went on as long as he'd have liked them to. And, when he started doing it in bed, at Debbie's suggestion, he'd experienced much the same thing. He concentrated on the feeling of his hand, and what it was doing. He'd never thought about a girl while he was doing it ... at least not in any specific way. He hadn't quite connected what he was doing to what his penis could do ... with a girl.

As a result, Robby had never actually had an orgasm.

Now, however, seeing his sister's fingers busy at the juncture of her legs, he stared. And he suddenly realized that where her fingers were moving in more and more rapid circles, the lips under her fingers were puffing up and beginning to gape open, exposing the very area where his health teacher had told him that a penis was designed to fit into.



The strange feeling in his balls increased until it was almost painful. He was jerking faster now, much faster than he'd ever done it before. He was a little freaked out, because while it was painful ... it was a good kind of pain somehow. He didn't know what was going to happen, but he didn't want to stop.

Debbie was watching, her eyes half closed, her lower lip caught between pearly white teeth. She moaned and the sound bore into Robby's heart like a dagger.

Then she stuck one of her fingers into that dark opening and it disappeared up inside her. The connection between what was in his hand and where her finger was exploded into Robby's mind and the pain in his penis became unbearable. He had an instant of panic that he'd hurt himself when he felt a soothing rush of ... something ... racing through his sensitive penis. To his astonishment, a long stream of milky-white fluid arced up and out of his cock. It seemed to hang in the air for the span of a single heartbeat, which he could clearly feel in his chest, and then splatted wetly on the edge of the bed and the floor.

Debbie knew instinctively what that liquid was, and seeing it shoot out of her brother's penis gave her a feeling deep inside her that was almost as scary as what Robby had felt just before he ejaculated. She pulled hard on the finger deep inside her, mashing her clit and her own orgasm crashed down on her like a ton of bricks.

"Awwwwwwmmmmmmm" she groaned, curling up into a fetal position, her finger still buried in her as the sensations wracked her young body.



Meanwhile Robby was staring as more and more of that fluid leapt out of his cock. It suddenly stopped, and he felt a dull ache in his balls. It still felt good to hold his penis and he did so tightly. When he finally let the pressure off a big bubble of white oozed out of the tip and hung, swinging gently as he panted, before dropping between his feet.



It was quiet, the only sound the panting of two teenagers. Debbie finally opened her eyes and stared at her brother, for whom she suddenly felt feelings that were more intense than she'd felt in the past. That was saying something and she knew, somehow, that everything had changed between them. It was a good change, though, as far as she was concerned. They had always been close, but now they shared something they felt with no other person on earth.

"That was awesome," she sighed.

"I squirted," he said, amazement clear in his voice.

"You sure did. It almost got on me," she said, unfolding and stretching.

Robby watched as her naked body stretched, long and slim on the bed. He had a sudden urge to squirt some more, even though his balls ached and his penis felt dead. He realized he was still holding it and let it flop down.



"I never squirted before," he said, unnecessarily.

"You said you would some day," she pointed out.

"Yeah ... I guess I just wasn't expecting it." He stood there uncomfortably. "Is that okay?"

Debbie sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her leg felt a wet spot and she rolled to see she'd put it right on a glob of his spunk.

"Ewwww," she said as she wiped at it with her hand. "Do you have to get it all over the place?"

"I'm sorry Deb," he said, his voice tragic. "I didn't mean it ... honest."

She stood up, looking at her brother's face. He was obviously upset that she was upset.

"It's okay. You're supposed to do that. Just try not to get it all over the place next time."

Robby's response caught her off guard. Wearing only an unbuttoned shirt he stepped forward and hugged his naked sister.

"Oh thanks Deb, I promise. I'm so glad you're not mad."

Debbie was shocked by the feel of his chest against her breasts, and something poking into the area she had just been rubbing, also warm and soft. Before she could process that strange feeling of naked skin against her own naked skin he backed up. The look on his face was of pure joy. She wanted to laugh because he was so eager to please her. She felt a rush of warmth in her chest.

"I love you, you goof. You could never really make me mad," she said. "Now come on, I want to be Lady Nettleton." She retrieved the green gown that "Lady Nettleton" always wore and stepped into it, pulling it up to cover her nakedness. It fit her a lot better these days too, and she smoothed it into place at her waist, turning so that Robby could button the numerous tiny buttons up the back.

"I love you too Deb," he sighed, as his fingers strained to deal with the small pieces of round bone that closed her dress.

Then he put on his formal suit and they got the mismatched porcelain tea service out of a cupboard in the dining room and pretended to have tea. Robby commented on how beautiful she was, and how well the crops were doing, and how well she was supervising the servants. She curtsied and spoke about his bravery in running off the latest raiders, and how handsome he was. Then they danced, pretending they were at a ball they were hosting, with hundreds of people all around them. Robby "introduced" Debbie to their imaginary guests, calling her "his beautiful bride, Edwina" and, because they didn't actually know the real names of the semi-fictional Nettletons they were pretending to be, she introduced him as "My handsome husband, Beauregard".

They had pretended to be Beauregard and Edwina many times before this, but this time, after sharing something so intimate, the mood was different. To the surprise of both of them they slowed in their dancing and were suddenly kissing each other, standing still, their lips clinging to each other's.



Debbie's eyes were closed and, while she was imagining herself kissing the mythical 'Beauregard', she realized that her brother's lips tasted sweet and good.

Robby had forgotten all other women, and the feel of his sister's lips against his was hot and electric. He felt his penis begin to stiffen again.

He pulled back. "My penis is getting hard again!"

She looked at him sternly. "We don't have time for that again. Come one. Mom will be wondering where we got to."



Ten minutes later they were climbing up out of the root cellar, dressed in their own clothes, just normal looking teenagers, as they slipped between the trees back to the real world.

Robby and Debbie, for whatever reason, did not take their newfound sexual intimacy back home with them. It was something to be shared only in the Nettleton Manor. While each still masturbated at home, neither sought to be with the other while they did so. Perhaps it was that both knew, on some level, that what they had done would be frowned on most horribly by any adult who found out about it. Or perhaps it was because that secret sharing of their passion was so precious that it must be restricted to their secret imaginary world. For whatever reason, there was unspoken agreement between them that, if they were to do that again - and both wanted to do that again - that it would only take place in the faded rooms in the forlorn house that harbored so many other secrets so well.



And, perhaps because that sharing was so intense, they both regarded it as a treat, or luxury, and as such, did not increase the frequency with which they stole off to explore and pretend in the house. No doubt there was an unconscious desire to protect, for as long as it could be protected, their secret hideaway. If they went too often, someone would eventually notice them, or find them, and everything would be ruined.

Over the next couple of years they grew more mature, though, and while the house still held fascination for them, they played dress up less often and turned more to exploration of the secrets the house might still be protecting.

They explored the secret passageways extensively, finding places where holes had been made in the walls so that a person in the secret passageway could peer into the various rooms of the mansion ... including the bedrooms. Most of these peeking holes were so cunningly constructed that they were incorporated into the whorls of woodwork that adorned the fancy trim of the rooms. Two were designed so that they looked natural as gaps in the mountings of old gas light fixtures.

The bedrooms held fascination for them too. One had obviously been a little girl's room, with the remnants of dolls and tiny dresses that were the match for the larger ones that older women had worn. Another was littered with wooden toys, carved horses, and an intricately made wagon ... boy's toys. Then there was the big bedroom, with its canopied bed, the canopy hanging in tatters of rotted cloth, but still grand in its faded way. This room held the chests filled with gowns and formal mens' wear that they loved to put on.

Still others were almost bare of furnishings, and smaller, as if people less important had slept in them. Those rooms, they noticed, all had peek holes that viewed primarily the beds.

And, when they felt the urge, instead of dressing up ... they dressed down, stripping off their clothes to tease each other with their nakedness, strutting and posturing, exposing their sexual parts and, when their passions had been raised as high as they could stand it ... masturbating in ways that inflamed themselves and each other.

It was inevitable, in a way, that each time they did this, they got closer and closer to each other, until, one time, Robby's spurts of semen splashed on his sister's skin. He had ignored her admonition "not to get it all over the place" simply because he didn't know how to avoid "getting it all over the place." And she said nothing, because she loved watching those streams of spunk fly through the air so much she didn't press the issue. It always dried by the time they returned, so all she had to do was avoid stepping in it when it was fresh.

And this time, when it splattered across her stomach as she lay, legs spread as wide as she could get them, hand frantically shoving a finger deep in her pussy, she didn't complain about it because of the surprise that it was so hot where it touched her. Her only experience with touching it was that first time, when she sat on a spot that had had time to cool in the air. So, without thinking of where it came from, she'd always thought of it as being cold. But now, where it made a streak on her stomach and one arm, it was warm. And somehow warm wasn't at all yucky.

Her orgasm that day was hotter than ever.

Robby, though, was horrified.

"I'm sorry Deb," he gushed, backing up as his prick continued spurting wildly. "I didn't mean it." Robby, being a boy, had a long history of yelping, "I didn't mean it."



His sister shushed him though, to his great relief. He watched in amazement as she brought the hand away from her pussy and scooped up a glob of his spunk, rubbing it between her fingers.

"It's not so bad," she said. "It's really slippery!"

Perhaps, because she was intent on calming her brother down, or because she was concentrating on feeling the stripe of his spend across her stomach, she habitually returned her spermy fingers to her clit and rubbed it gently in the afterglow of her orgasm. She was slippery enough already that she didn't notice the added slip as her brother's sperm was rubbed into the top of her pussy split.

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TBC in next Chapter

Re: Haunting Sex Story
 

Good start TS, please continue

Re: Haunting Sex Story
 

Chapter Two

The incident in which her brother's semen had splashed on her skin had just been a few days ago. Debbie thought about it as she stared out her window at the roof of the tower where she had played princess, while her brother, the knight, fought all manner of monsters and beasts for the privilege of getting to see her rub her naked pussy while he jerked that lovely slippery stuff out of his prick.



She sighed again as Petula Clark sang the last chorus of Downtown and the announcer promised that the new Beatles hit would be coming up soon. She couldn't go find Robby and ask him to go to the manor. With his friend there that wouldn't work. They hadn't told any of their friends about their secret place, because all their friends would want to go and see it. Then it wouldn't be theirs alone any more, and they wouldn't be able to masturbate there either, since they'd never know if some friend was going to sneak in like they did.

She opened the window to get some air into her room, which seemed stuffy. It was then that she heard the noise coming from the Nettleton Manor next door.

It was a motor noise, that much she could tell, like a truck. There was a clanking sound too, but it came and went, while the motor noise was more or less constant. But that was impossible. There was no way to get a car or truck onto the property. She saw a cloud of black smoke drift upward above the trees and begin to dissipate in the light breeze.

Panic seized Debbie's heart. Fire! Something was on fire over there!

She ran, screaming for Robby.

Robby and Mike were in Robby's room. Each was working on an AMT plastic model, and each was bent over, carefully and intently painting very small parts with tiny brushes. Debbie's screams electrified both boys, whose hands jerked, causing paint to smudge off onto upholstery in one case, and armor plating in the other. She was yelling something about a fire and both boys jumped up and charged out of the room only to run head on into Debbie. She slammed into Mike, who had been closer to the door, and both landed in a heap on the floor while Robby screamed for information.



Debbie was crying by now and her sobs made it difficult to understand her. They heard "Fire ... Smoke ... and our place", but couldn't make any sense of it. Then she pointed toward the Nettleton mansion and Robby paled. He ran outside and stopped to stare at the forest next door. He heard the same motor noises, but saw no smoke. Debbie and Mike skidded to a stop behind him.

"Where?" asked Robby. "I don't see any fire."

Debbie, who had expected to see walls of flame and a tower of smoke, stopped crying when she saw only what the others could see ... basically nothing.

"I saw smoke!" she said. "From my window upstairs."

"What's that noise?" asked Mike. "It sounds like a tank or something."

Robby started for the place in the fence where he and his sister in the past had almost walked through to get on the property, but now had to squeeze through. Then he remembered Mike and his habit of keeping the secret was so strong that he stopped. The fence led down to the street and turned a corner to run almost a block to the big iron gates.

"Come on," he yelled, and took off running for the corner of the fence.

Minutes later the three youths stopped and stared. In all their lives those massive wrought iron gates had always been closed, with a heavy black chain and a huge old padlock with the key hole on the front of it keeping them that way.



But now the gates had been flung wide, the chain lying on the ground with the old padlock, now broken, lying forlornly beside it. A big flatbed truck and trailer were parked on the street, with heavy ramps leading down from the trailer. Where there had only been a choked track through the forest behind the gates, there was now an eight foot wide swath of destruction, making a flat, open expanse to drive on. There were tread marks in the exposed topsoil.

Without a thought the three ran up the newly cleared track. A hundred yards later the motor noise was loud and the teens slowed and left the cleared track to enter the woods. They lurked from tree to tree until at last they could see what had happened.

There was a big yellow bulldozer pushing a huge pile of trees and shrubs that had been growing in the old driveway, but were now a mangled collection of destroyed vegetation. Other than the man driving the bulldozer, only one other person was visible.

He looked at first like what all three kids thought a hermit would look like. He had long, raggedy black hair, with a wild unkempt beard that was at least a foot long. He was wearing a black overcoat, regardless of the fact that it was eighty-five degrees outside. His arms were gesticulating, guiding the man on the bulldozer ... showing him where to push the big pile of cleared plants. As it moved the bulldozer sent a huge plume of black smoke up into the air out of its smokestack. Debbie recognized it immediately as what she'd seen before.

Her relief at finding there was no fire though, was completely overcome by finding strangers on the property ... her property ... her secret property. She stood up and moved from behind the tree she had been hiding behind and started marching toward the scene of destruction.

TBC

Re: Haunting Sex Story
 

Robby saw her and intuited what she was going to try to do. His mind reasoned that, without knowing who the crazy looking man was, all that would probably happen was that Debbie would get in trouble. He lunged forward and grasped her slim waist, pulling her behind a huge old oak tree. She struggled against him, her yells overcome by the noise of the bulldozer as it strained to push the huge pile of debris a little further. In the end he had to put his arms all the way around her. His hands inadvertently were filled with her breasts as she strained to get away from him.



Mike looked on in astonishment as his two friends struggled. What was Robby doing grabbing Debbie's breasts? He had the flash of a thought that he wished he could be doing that. Debbie was a good looking chick and he'd tried to get her to go out with him lots of times, but she didn't go on dates. Neither did Robby.

Now Robby was yelling in her ear and she finally stopped struggling. Her hands came to his and dragged them off her breasts. Then she turned around and hugged her brother, burying her face in his chest. Mike could tell she was sobbing, but he couldn't figure out whether it had to do with her breasts, or what was going on that short distance away.



The motor of the bulldozer suddenly went quiet ... so quiet that it seemed to the kids as if they had gone deaf. All three held their breath, Debbie less successfully as she gasped a sob now and again. The driver was getting down and his feet made noises on the metal parts of the bulldozer. The sounds were so clear that the kids suddenly thought any sound they made would be clearly heard by the two men.

The hermit yelled, as if the motor was still running.

"That's fine for now. I can get a truck in here at least. There'll be more work later, but I have to make plans."

He walked over to meet the driver, digging in the pockets of his overcoat. They saw him pull out a wad of money that would choke a horse and he peeled bills off of it, handing them to the driver.

In a softer, but clearly audible voice, the hermit said, "I thank you, sir, for your prompt service. I assume cash will be sufficient?"

"Cash is right fine, mister Smith. And I appreciate the bonus. I can use it. Running one of these beasts is right costly. But they sure do short work of things. When I was a boy we'd have had to do all that with horses and it would have taken a week. But for your bonus it wouldn't have hardly been worth taking her off the truck."

Mister Smith smiled through his thick brush of fur and waved. "I'll get the gate."

With that the driver got back on his iron beast and it roared to life, the blade lifting like some monstrous guillotine, ready to destroy something else.

Debbie flinched. She had been darting looks at the house, and the pile of debris, and the hermit, trying to assess what all this meant. The noise of the bulldozer unnerved her. She saw with her own eyes what it could do. She feared at first that he was just going to make a long sweep back to the gate, destroying more of their precious magical forest, but the thing, with a groan of metal and the screaming of the motor, making huge clouds of sooty black smoke, spun as if it were light as a feather and lumbered off back down the smooth track it had made. With the blade raised it moved much faster than it had before.

The hermit stared at the pile of brush and trees and gave a little shake of his head. Then he turned and just looked at the mansion, hands on his hips, staring, as if he could see something the others could not. The noise of the bulldozer got more and more distant and then there was a grinding noise made by the treads on the big metal ramps leading up to the long, low trailer. The noise cut off and it was quiet as a tomb again.

The three teens stood, stock still, watching the stranger watching the house.

After what seemed like an interminable time, there was the sound of a truck motor starting, revving up and pulling away. Mister Smith turned his head toward the newly cleared driveway and then turned his body and began walking down to the gate.

Silent shadows flicked from tree to tree ... three shadows ... as the teens cut through the forest on a soft carpet of dead, moist leaves. One of them stepped on a branch that cracked like a gunshot to their ears and the other two shot dark looks, raising fingers to their lips. They crept on, arriving just in time to see mister Smith leaned against the one open half of the gate, pushing with all his strength to close it.

"Gonna have to get some oil on these hinges," he muttered.

He moved inside and pulled, getting the two halves closed as much as he could. Then, digging into another pocket of that strange greatcoat, he pulled a shiny new lock from it. Bending he gathered up the old chain and draped it through the iron bars of the gate, pulling on the loose ends until the gate closed even more. He fumbled with the ends and then stood back. The new lock was securely fastened. He nodded, turned on his heel, and began trudging back up the drive toward the manor.

The three kids looked at each other, staring open mouthed.

They were locked in.

Mike started to say something, but Robby shushed him quietly. He held up a hand, standing still, his head swiveling, watching the stranger until the number of trees between watcher and watched got so numerous that they could only catch glimpses of movement. Robby waited longer and then finally dropped his hand. He turned to his sister and friend and beckoned them toward him.

"What are we gonna do?" whispered Mike anxiously. He looked up at the sharp spikes that topped each upright iron bar in the fence that, as far as he knew, completely surrounded the property. The bars were only six inches apart. There was no way to go through, or over the fence.

"We know a way out," whispered Robby. Debbie shot him a look but he shook his head. "We used to play in the woods. Follow me."

He took them along the fence, back toward the corner they'd run around ... not right by the fence, but ten or fifteen yards inside the undergrowth, as if he were afraid someone outside the fence might see them. To his credit he made it look as if he were searching for something, though he knew exactly where the wide spot in the bars was. It took them fifteen minutes to circle the mansion. When they got there it was obvious that there was a trail leading from the fence toward the house.

"Look!" said Mike. "Somebody's been using this!"

"Game trail," said Robby confidently. "You know, rabbits ... deer ... that kind of thing."

There were deer in these parts, though none of the teens had ever seen one that hadn't been shot by a hunter and hung up to butcher. Mike nodded. His primary concern was getting out. There was no way he wanted to go knock on the door and face mister Smith to get that gate unlocked. He saw the gap in the fence. Someone had gone to great lengths with some kind of heavy force to bend the bars apart. What none of them knew was that this was the entrance point that kidnappers had used decades before to gain entry onto the property.

That wouldn't have mattered anyway. Now all three youths squeezed between the bars. As soon as they were out all three ran like the wind toward Debbie and Robby's house.



They were out of breath when they arrived, pounding through the door and into the kitchen where they stood, poised for further flight for some reason. Debbie had a wild look in her eyes. Her hair, which had been in a pony tail, had come partly undone, perhaps from brushing a tree branch, and her hair flew off in several directions. Her heaving chest caught Mike's attention. He could see the dents in her shirt that he knew were made by nipples.

"What was that all about?" he asked, breathlessly.

"I don't know," said Robby, sitting down. Then he stood up again and went to the fridge, pulling out bottles of Royal Crown Cola for them all. He couldn't find an opener, digging through the junk drawer under the counter. Debbie took hers and dug the edge of the serrated cap into the aluminum strip that went along the edge of the counter. She raised it fractionally and then jerked downward. The cap sailed and she tipped the bottle up, drinking thirstily.

"You know mom doesn't like that," chided Robby. "It marks up the aluminum."

Debbie let the bottle fall back, half empty. She let out a long burp and wiped her mouth with her forearm. "That's not important right now," she said edgily. "We have to stop that man."

"Why?" asked Mike, trying to do the same thing he'd seen Debbie do, but unable to make it work. "Maybe he bought the place."

Debbie jerked the bottle from his hands and opened it for him expertly on the edge of the counter, like she had her own. She handed it back to him.

"He can't buy the manor." She unconsciously slipped into her common name for the Nettleton Mansion.

Mike took a gulp of pop and tried to burp. It was a short one and he looked disgusted. "Why not? If he's crazy enough and has the money he can do what he wants."

Debbie was about to hotly exclaim that he couldn't buy the place because it was hers!, but Robby shot her a look that made her mouth snap shut.



"He doesn't look like he has that kind of money," said Robby hurriedly.

"He sure pulled a bundle out of that coat," insisted Mike. "And he paid that guy on that bulldozer. Maybe he's some rich crazy guy or something. He'd have to be crazy to buy that place. That's for sure." He went back to trying to work up a respectable belch.

"We have to tell Mom!" said Debbie urgently. "She'll know what to do."

"Why do you have to do anything?" insisted Mike. "Who cares?" He took another swig of RC Cola. "I can't wait to tell my parents," he said, exhibiting just who he thought would care.

"Yeah" said Robby. "Go home and tell your parents. I need to ... ah, mow the lawn anyway."

Debbie could tell that her brother was trying to get rid of his friend, which was fine with her, because this was an emergency and they needed to do something. Mike, not having any of the urgency that was seething beneath the surface of both twins, kept trying to work up a burp. His eyes fell to Debbie's chest again.

"Hey, I just remembered something," he said.

The other two looked at him anxiously.

"When we were out there, watching them, and you tried to go do something ..." he addressed Debbie, "and Rob stopped you? Remember?"

She nodded, wishing he'd just leave so she and her brother could discuss what to do.

"Rob touched your titties," announced Mike.

"No he didn't," she said hotly.

"Yes he did! He had his hands all over your titties," insisted Mike.

"What's your point Mike?" demanded Debbie.

"Well I was wondering if maybe you'd let me touch them too." Mike had known the twins for as long as he could remember, and he'd spent hours playing baseball with them, or riding bikes or playing Monopoly. He'd always accepted Debbie as just another friend ... not a girl. It was only recently that he'd noticed her as a member of the fairer sex.



"What kind of pervert are you?" Debbie leaned in close to him.

"I'm not a pervert!" yelped Mike. "He did it! So why can't I?"

"Mike, buddy, I didn't grab her boobs on purpose, you idiot," said Robby. "I was just trying to keep her from running in front of that bulldozer. It was an accident."

"Oh," said Mike with obvious disappointment, looking down. He then looked back up, hope back in his eyes. "What did it feel like? Were they soft?"

"You really are a pervert!" squealed Debbie.

"No I'm not!" defended Mike. "Guys do that all the time. If you like a girl you're supposed to touch her titties."

"So you like me?" asked Debbie, not at all sure how she felt about that possibility. She had too many things on her mind right now to think about that.

"No!" blurted Mike. "I mean you know ... not like that. I think you're cool and everything. I just never got to touch a girls titties before."

Debbie folded her arms under the titties being discussed, framing them nicely, though that wasn't her intent.

"Well you're not going to be feeling mine any time soon. I can't believe you Mike Sumner! I should tell your mother what you just asked."

TBC

Re: Haunting Sex Story
 

Mike reacted just like her brother would have, groveling and begging and promising anything if she'd refrain from getting him in trouble. It was a lesson Debbie would remember. Up to that point the only male she had any real sway over was her brother, at least in terms of using extortion and blackmail to control a boy. But she took it easy on him. All she really wanted right then was for him to go home so she could talk to Robby about the manor. So she told him to go home and think about what he'd done, about how he'd hurt her feelings. She even worked up a tear and managed to look sad and confused about how a friend could sink so low.



Mike escaped while the escaping was good.

Once he was gone Debbie's demeanor changed instantly from a weepy teenage girl to a young woman deadly serious about attacking a real problem.

"What are we gonna do Robby?" she asked him worriedly.

"I don't know," he said, just as worriedly.

"We could call the police," she suggested.

"If he hired somebody to take a big machine like that in there he's not trying to hide anything," reasoned Robby. "I mean he's not trespassing or anything."

"What's he doing there?!" cried Debbie. "That's our place Robby! He can't just take it away from us! That's not fair!"

"What about our stuff?" asked Robby.

Over the years they'd taken small personal items to the house. The nest that had been in the root cellar had been moved to one of the bedrooms that they adopted as their own. There wasn't a lot other than a few smuggled pillows and one blanket.

What Robby was talking about, however, was their treasure trove. An old hand-made wooden jewelry box had been found and, while it contained nothing of real value that they could see, they had made it into the place they put all the treasures they did find in their explorations. The two coins were there, along with a heavy salt shaker that they thought was made of silver. There was a polished comb of bone, intricately carved, that Debbie used to pin up her hair when they played dress-up in the past. And, their prize possession, a gold pocket watch they'd found stuffed into a hole in the mattress of what appeared to have been a woman's bedroom. The watch still worked and it was beautiful.



"We have to go get it!" whispered Debbie, even though they were the only two people in the house.

"We can't do that. He'll catch us," whispered back Robby.

"We'll wait ‘til he leaves and then get it," reasoned Debbie.

"He locked that gate from the inside. What if he's not leaving?" reasoned Robby.

"He has to leave sometime," said Debbie firmly.



In the end, they couldn't think of anything to do, and each subsided to think while they waited for their mother to get home. Both instinctively believed that she would somehow know something that would somehow make everything okay again.

Indecision reigned for half an hour as Debbie and Robby tried to divine something to do. Debbie was probably more upset about the changes in their world than Robby, until she pointed out that they no longer had a place to go to ... play. As that sunk in Robby got more and more upset until he was as frantic as Debbie.

"I'll go down to the bank and talk to Mom," he suggested. "You stay here and watch the house." They both knew he meant the mansion, and not their own house.

For lack of a better plan, Debbie agreed and, after Robby pounded out of the front door, she stood in her window and stared at the dunce cap roof of the tower next door.

Perhaps it was because Debbie had always been self confident, afraid of very little, that she decided she needed to watch the new goings-on from closer. It wasn't a conscious decision that led her back to the fence and their "private entrance", and through the woods to the rear of the carriage house. But that's where she found herself, peering through a tangle of brush at the back of the mansion. There wasn't, of course, much to see. The house sat there, like it always had, lonely looking, run down and forlorn.

She had settled into a comfortable squat, holding on to a branch to keep her balance, when sudden movement at the back door of the house caught her eye. She was suddenly struck by the fact that the boards that had kept that entrance from being used were gone, and the door had opened.



But the man who came out of that door and began walking directly toward her was not the hermit she had seen before. This man was younger, slimmer, without the trench coat. And his face was smooth shaven, with a thatch of brown hair above it ... not the dark and ominous beard and black hair of the hermit. He was wearing shorts and a T shirt that was dark with sweat around the neck and armpits. The man looked gray and she realized he was covered with dust.

About the same time it registered in her brain that he was walking toward her hiding place.

TBC

Re: Haunting Sex Story
 

Panic seized her and she froze, not breathing as the man stalked closer. Then he veered to his right and approached the little wooden shack that sat alone in what had been the far reaches of the back yard. The kids had examined that little shack, puzzled at first when all they found inside was a low shelf, like a floor mounted cabinet, with a round smooth-edged hole cut in the top, and a dark, empty pit under it. Then Robby remembered seeing something like this at their grandfather's farm when they were little. It was an outhouse. Once that had been determined, they had forgotten all about the little building. If they needed to use the bathroom they simply went home.



But this man went to the shack, now leaning a bit because of the growth of a big sycamore tree that had grown up right next to it. He went inside and the door slammed shut.



Debbie moved then, getting further behind the bush she was hiding behind. She was amazed to hear singing coming from the outhouse, snatches of an old rock and roll tune from the fifties. He stayed in there for what seemed a long time to her, and she jumped as the door banged open and the man came out, zipping up his shorts. He was still mumbling the words to the song, and he even broke into a dance of sorts as he trudged along the path that led to the structure. When he got to the back door of the mansion he turned around and his head swiveled as he surveyed the carriage house and the woods around it. With a shake of his head he turned on his heel and re-entered the house, slamming the door closed behind him.



It was the normality of his actions that troubled Debbie the most. He acted like he had every right in the world to be in the house ... to have removed the barrier to entry ... to use the outhouse. On impulse Debbie backed out of her hiding place and retreated deeper into the woods. She then began circling the mansion, taking special care to see if there were any other changes that had been made. With a sinking heart she noted that the front door was also uncovered, as were the windows at the front of the house. It looked different somehow, more like a house, though still disheveled and morose in appearance. Some of the windows didn't look as grimy and fly-specked as she remembered them.

It looked like the man ... or men ... were planning to stay.

But there were still so many questions. Who was this new man? Where was the hermit, and who was he? Why had they come to ruin things? What were they doing in the house? Were they searching for treasure? Debbie thought of her and Robby's little stash of recovered valuables. It was lying in plain sight in the bedroom they'd decided was "their" bedroom, which had once belonged to a little girl. Had these strangers found that stash?



It was the desire to get answers to these questions that drove Debbie to the root cellar, and through the tunnel, to attempt to open the secret door as quietly as she could. It made a horrible racket, the hinges squeaking as she slowly pulled it open. It had never made that much noise in the past ... had it?

She didn't have a candle ... hadn't thought to bring one ... but by now she knew the secret passage like the back of her hand and didn't really need a light.

Slowly, taking extra care to step quietly, she crept up the stairs, wincing at each creak her footfalls made. The first peep hole gave her a view of the kitchen, but no one was there. Then she tried the dining room, also without success. As she approached the upper part of the house she began to hear faint noises. She struck pay dirt in the little boy's bedroom. The man ... the second man ... was in that room. She peered through the peep hole and watched as he moved a broom along the floor. She wondered inanely why he wasn't using a vacuum cleaner and then remembered there was no electricity. The bed had been stripped and the decayed mattress was standing, half leaning against one wall as it tried to settle into a lump. What little furniture was in the room had all been shoved to line one wall, leaving the floor open for the man to sweep. He was humming.



She was closer to him now and could examine him better. She judged his age to be about that of her mother's. He was deeply tanned and had obviously come from someplace where he was in the sun a lot. His face was strong-jawed and lined, as if he had spent a lot of time in the weather. He wasn't skinny, but there wasn't an ounce of fat on him either. His leg and arm muscles were well defined. He looked like he was in good shape and used to working hard. His hair looked wild and unkempt, but only in the sense that it looked like he'd lost his comb or something. He needed a haircut, or her mother would think he needed one anyway.

Debbie realized her muscles were cramped. She had been staring through the holes at the man for a long time and hadn't moved. She backed up and then had a frantic thought that her brother must be back by now and wondering where she was. She turned and made her way back down to the root cellar, trying to be quiet, and astonished at how much noise her passage made. Once she had stuck her head up out of the entrance to the cellar and made sure the coast was clear, she ran like a deer, dodging between trees and bushes, squeezing through the fence and arriving at her house panting and sweating. She slammed through the back door calling her brother's name, but got no answer.



The phone rang suddenly on the wall right by her shoulder and she jumped.

"HELLO!" she shouted into the handset, and then relaxed, thinking how silly she was acting.



"Honey?" came her mother's voice. "Are you okay?"

Debbie sighed. "Yes Mom, I just had to run to get the phone."

"Oh" said a confused Ramona Franklin. "It only rang once."

"Um ..." mumbled Debbie, trying to think of something to say. "It rang a whole bunch of times here," she lied.

"Well, never mind. Honey, Robby was here. Don't do anything! Do you hear me? Don't worry about anything. I'll explain it when I get home."

"Mom!" complained Debbie. "What's going on?"

"I'll explain when I get home. Don't worry about it, Okay? Don't you go over there and bother that man. Do you understand me Debbie?"

Her mom's voice held an anxious concern, as if there were something terrible going on and she was afraid. It didn't help things at all.

Debbie's take-charge attitude bubbled up. "Mommy I want to know what's going on!" she pleaded. "Who is that man? What's he doing over there?" She almost told her mother what changes had been made to the place and then remembered she wasn't supposed to know anything about the mansion.

"Don't be scared, honey," said her mother's voice in her ear. "I'll explain everything when I get home. I have to get back to work. I'll see you in a few hours. Bye bye."

The phone went dead and Debbie moved the handset to where she could look at it, like she could will her mother to come back on the line and answer her questions. She slumped as she hung it up and leaned against the wall. She was still breathing heavily.

Debbie gave out a little shriek as Robby barged in the back door and almost ran into his sister. His hands gripped her forearms. He had ridden his bike to the bank and was as out of breath as she was. They stared at each other for a few seconds, trying to decide what to do or say.

"Mom said not to worry!" Robby barked as Debbie said, "I went over there!" at the same time.

Then there were the inevitable "What?!"s as they got control of themselves and deciphered what each had said.

Debbie took center stage, though, as Robby stared at her astonished that she'd gone over there to spy by herself. As she described what she saw he got more and more upset.



"Anything could have happened!" he shouted, getting red in the face. "You could have gotten caught! He might have hurt you!" He was shaking, still gripping her forearms, his knuckles white, his fingers digging deep into her muscles.

She shook him off "You're the one hurting me!" she yelled, trying to shake free of his grasp. "Let go of me!"

His grip relaxed suddenly and she fell backward, against the wall. She rubbed first one and then the other forearm.

"I didn't get caught!" she said, her voice forced.

Robby felt weak suddenly. He was thinking about the amorphous man catching his sister. His imagination showed him slaps, her blouse tearing, her breasts exposed to the stranger ... He shook his head to stop himself from thinking more.



He gripped her hands this time, more gently. "But you coould have gotten caught. Deb he might have done things to you," he whined. "I couldn't live without you."

Debbie felt a flush of warmth in her belly at his words. Her anger melted. She felt an overflowing gush of love for her twin brother.

She slammed against him, her arms going around him as he hugged her back instinctively. Her grip was fierce ... possessive.

"You're so sweet," she mumbled into his chest.

All their surprise ... their fear ... their anxiousness ... all the unanswered questions and the tension that went along with everything that had happened ... it all burst forth in each of them in that embrace.



This ... this embrace ... this intimacy, was something they did understand ... something that made them feel safe and warm. All the emotions they felt were suddenly channeled toward that intimacy and the embrace became sexual.

They both felt each other's bodies pressed against the other. Debbie's face came up and her lips sought her brother's. It was a crushing kiss, a bruising kiss, a kiss filled with urgency to do something they both were comfortable with.

They'd never done anything sexual at home together. It was an unwritten, almost unacknowledged rule. What they shared was reserved for the manor, that little girl's bedroom, with the ghosts looking on fondly as something loving was done in the house that had so many terrible memories staining its old walls.

But the urge was so strong that that prohibition was blown away as if by a tornado. Still kissing, still hugging, they fumbled with each other's clothing, he unbuttoning her blouse and she tugging at the fastening of his shorts. His hands roamed across her breasts, his palms scraping her sensitive nipples as her hand snaked into his shorts to grip his suddenly stiff prick. The strangeness of their contact - they had never touched each other before ... only watching the other as they sated their passions - that strangeness didn't seem odd at all. Too many other strange things had happened and what they wanted now was something to make them feel good, and happy.



Standing in the hallway by the kitchen, though, wasn't what Debbie wanted. She wanted to be naked ... on a bed. She wanted an orgasm naked and on a bed, and she pulled him, gasping and panting to the short stairway that led to her bedroom. He held her hand with one hand and held his shorts up with the other as he staggered along behind her.



No words were necessary and they both stripped out of their clothes efficiently and quietly. He got naked first and stood there, his prick pointing at her like an accusing finger. As soon as she dropped her panties she melted against him again, though, that hard cock pressing into her abdomen. She shivered, even though both were sweating still, from their exertions and excitement.

Since masturbation was what they knew, they gravitated naturally toward that as Debbie pulled him to the bed and gasped, "Touch me."

They ended up lying side by side, kissing each other with long, breath-stealing kisses as his fingers fumbled at first between her legs. She raised one leg and draped it on top of his to give him room. Her hand gripped his cock and slid sensuously along its length. Then, because they had watched each other dozens of times, their hands took on familiar rhythms. Her stroke was the same speed he used when he started, and his two fingers found her electrifying nubbin and began circling it, scraping sideways across it occasionally. Almost naturally, as she speeded up and his prick began to weep its sticky essence, his fingers moved in faster circles. She moaned as she felt her orgasm within a hair's breadth away and jerked him even faster.

"Oh Robby!" she gasped. "Pinch it for me Robby."

His slippery fingertips found the bump and he tried to grasp it, slipping off again and again. But that squeezing mashed it delightfully and she tumbled into an orgasm harder than any she'd brought on herself. Her tenseness, her whining voice as she made nonsense sounds, and her hand, still whaling on his prick, brought Robby off and his cock delivered its heavy load between them, getting on their stomachs, her breasts and her hand and arm as she kept pulling.



"Uhhh ....Uhhhh ...Ahhhhh," groaned Robby as his seed erupted satisfyingly. Her hand left his prick to grab his own hand, stopping him from abusing her clitty any longer. It was too sensitive now and she didn't need any more stimulation. She sagged, her face rolling into his chest as her hand came to the mess between them and spread its warm mass up to her breasts and over each nipple.

"Oh Robby," she sighed.

There was no shame or remorse. What they had shared was something priceless, to be remembered and savored many nights when they weren't together.

It had also drained them of their anxiety and worry.

"I made a mess," said Robby, rolling away from her.

"I don't care," she said, still stroking her breasts and belly with her spunk-covered hand. "We can clean it up before Mom gets home."

"I really liked that Deb," he sighed.

"Me too," she sighed back. "Why didn't we think about doing that before this?"

"I don't know," he said. He rolled back toward her for a kiss, disregarding the wet between them. It was worth it to taste her lips again.

Eventually his spend cooled, and got uncomfortable for both of them. They rolled apart and bounced up off the bed, suddenly energized by the task of getting the bedspread into the washing machine and using warm wash clothes to clean each other up. Robby paid special attention to the fluff of hair between Debbie's legs and she laughed and pushed him away.

"Stop!" she giggled. "You'll get me going again."

"So?" he asked.

"Mom will be home soon," she chided. "I don't think she'd approve."

"You got that right," he sighed. "Is what we do wrong Deb?"

"I don't think so," she said firmly. "It feels too good to be something bad."

"What are we going to do now?" he asked. They both knew he was talking about the loss of their private place.

"I don't know. Mom said she could explain it. All we can do is wait and see what she says." Debbie sounded sad.

TBC on the next Chapter......

Re: Haunting Sex Story
 

Very nice, please continue bro :)

Re: Haunting Sex Story
 

Chapter Three

Ramona Franklin's emotions were almost at as high a peak as her childrens' had been as she drove home from the bank. She'd known this day might come. She'd dreamed that this day might come. But another part of her had dreaded this day coming. It was all tied up with her past, a past she'd tried to leave behind her like a bad dream. She'd gone to college, looking for and hoping to find a man to share her life with so that her life could be normal. Up to that point in time her life had been anything but normal.



Ramona had found a man, whom she had fallen in love with, and who had presented her with two beautiful, normal, happy children. That he had been someone she knew long before she ever stepped upon a college campus was as much a surprise to her as it was to him. They had gone to High School together, but had traveled in different social circles. She tried to fade into the background and he was involved in every extra curricular activity he could fit into his schedule. She had gone home to study each day, doing extra work on the weekends, while he dated all the popular girls.



When they bumped into each other at a Freshman mixer at Welsley College, she was amazed to see him. It was an exclusive school, so small that most people didn't even know it existed. He had been from a blue collar family, with limited means. And he had smiled at her.

"Hey, is it a small world or what?" he said, walking up to her.

She hadn't thought he'd recognize her. "I didn't think you'd even know who I am," she replied.

"Are you kidding? It's great to see a familiar face. I thought I was going to be all alone here," he said.

Their chat had turned into a pledge to study together. He had obtained an academic scholarship and needed to keep high marks to maintain it. He was also the first person in his family to go to college, so a lot of hopes were riding on him. His manner was so easygoing that Ramona had pushed away her fear of letting someone close to her.

By the time they had finished the first semester they were not only study mates, but they were lovers. He never questioned why she had no virginity to make their first time uncomfortable, or that she seemed to know what to do, perhaps even more than he did. She never talked about her past, and he never questioned her about it, seeming to know that she didn't want to that subject broached.

They married while they were seniors, when it became apparent she was going to have his baby despite the precautions they had taken. Both welcomed the marriage and the baby. That was what young people were supposed to do. His family welcomed her into their lives. She had no family to ask questions, and her guardian was happy to see her married so that he could begin to finalize certain arrangements and his task would be complete.

When Richard had taken her back to Nettleton, to show her their new house, a time she should have been overjoyed, she was almost crushed. She couldn't believe it was right next to the house that inhabited her bad dreams, the house in which her parents had been slain, the house that she never wanted to see again in her life. Right next door to the Nettleton mansion.

Her husband didn't know, of course, because she hadn't told him. All he knew was that her parents were dead in a tragic incident. He didn't know she was Elizabeth Nettleton, or that, upon marriage, she would receive her portion of a trust fund that would make them wealthy beyond almost anyone's wildest dreams. He didn't know because Ramona didn't want the money. She wanted a normal life, free from her past. The irony of having to live next to the one place on earth she never wanted to see again was almost palpable, but she didn't say anything. She didn't want him to know. And when she was summoned one last time to her guradian, who handed her the legal letter informing her that an account had been established in her maiden name, which she was now free to draw upon at her will, she burned the letter, and the account number with it.

Her mind drifted, against her will, to the history she wanted to forget.

When Ramona and her brother had first been carried out of the crime scene, there had been chaos for a while. They had been separated at first, having been placed in an orphanage where boys and girls were not allowed to mix, whether they were related or not. Most four-year-olds don't remember much about what happened to them at that age, but the changes in Ramona's life were so tumultuous that they were imprinted in her mind forever.

It had taken six months for her father's will to be found and executed. That will had very specific provisions in it about who would take care of the children, and provided funds from the estate to do so. Ramona's reunion with her brother was joyous, but relatively short-lived. The woman her father had specified as guardian only had charge of them for a year before her tuberculosis wasted her away. The court then gave over their care to another family, a family that the judge classified as "temperate and stable" and which made their living by fostering children such as the two.

Ramona's life had been good with the woman, and her relationship with her brother had been close. Their new guardian sent them to boarding school, paid for by trust funds established in their father's will but they saw each other rarely, in arranged formal "sitting room" meetings, where they were expected to drink tea and have light conversation.



The house and grounds in which they had lived was also put into trust, to be turned over to Robert upon reaching his majority. Money was set aside to ensure that the property was maintained. Other funds were put into trust for the children, but conditions were attached. For Ramona, she would receive access to her trust when she married, or finished college, whichever came first. For Robert, his trust could not be touched until he graduated from a university.



Roger Nettleton had planned well, and his will had been very detailed and specific. But, without an advocate keeping a close eye on things and, people being what they are, things didn't always go as he had planned. The money was guarded by banks and the law, and though people tried to get at it, they failed, for the most part. Their new guardian didn't care about the house. He signed off on authorizations for its upkeep, but didn't actually check to see what was happening. Those funds were skimmed and pocketed most of the time.

The boarding school presented inflated bills and expenses associated with the Nettleton children, and the finite amount of money legally set aside for that purpose, which should have taken care of their education through High School, was depleted by the time they were in the eighth grade.

When their guardian couldn't find a way to extract more money from the estate, he was forced to take them into his own home, where they were, for the most part, unwelcome mouths to feed. The other fosterlings in the house had an established hierarchy of "rank". Ramona and Robert were at the lower end of the scale, getting only hand-me-downs and the last helpings of food.

Their new guardian had had some success in the past at getting money by having the children take his name. It wasn't adoption - that would have ended outside financial compensation - but sometimes a child's trust fund could be penetrated in the legal twists and turns of such a procedure. Ramona, in a vain effort to exorcise the horrors of her past, accepted that suggestion, adopting her middle name and the last name of her guardian.

Robert did not.

While the man's dream of getting access to Ramona's trust failed, she was glad for her name change when they entered the public school system. As they went through school, teachers always perked up when the Nettleton name was called in class. No one paid any attention to Ramona Shanks, though, and she preferred it that way. People knew she lived in the same house, and that there was "another Nettleton child", but never put the two together.



Robert, knowing the travails of bearing the Nettleton name, did not publicly acknowledge that Ramona was his sister. He protected her as best he could at "home", where they shared a room that was big enough for one child. They both tried to keep a low profile, both at home and at school and, for the most part, succeeded.

TBC

Re: Haunting Sex Story
 

There was a price to pay, however, and that price was that the only people in the world who loved the Nettleton children were ... each other. Their forced proximity at home, sleeping in the same bed well into puberty, and their reliance on each other for all of their emotional needs, led to a closeness between the siblings that polite society would have been horrified at.

Their guardian, a man with zealous religious convictions, was not aware of their relationship and the effect that entering puberty had had on that relationship. He worked ceaselessly to convince Robert that service to mankind as a missionary was the only way to extinguish the evil that had hounded the Nettleton family in the past. He tried to convince Ramona of that as well, encouraging her to become a nun. There was, in the back of the man's mind, the thought that if she never married, and Robert never went to college, all that money would remain in the bank, and he might find some way to get it.

Ramona had resisted the man's brainwashing.



Robert had not.

He was tortured, not only by their family history, but by the fact that the only real joy he experienced was when he was in his sister's welcoming embrace, as they writhed naked in the dark of night, performing their sinful dance of lust together. The thought of receiving forgiveness for what he couldn't control drove him to follow their guardian's plan. After High School he joined a group of missionaries, turning his back on wealth.

He hadn't told Ramona of his decision until the night before he was due to leave. She didn't know this was the last time she'd feel his weight pinning her to the lumpy mattress as he probed her depths with his manhood and she felt the warm rush of his love spewing into her womb.

He gave her that one last moment of bliss before he turned her world on its ear once again.

Then, he disappeared overseas somewhere, being chased by his own demons.

She cried bitterly for weeks after he left. Her loss was assuaged to some degree by the letters he sent, addressed to her through their guardian.

And she responded to those letters. The letters were forwarded to him by the people who administrated whatever mission he was assigned to at the time. When she went to college he was able to send his letters directly to her, but she still had to respond by routing her letters through the mission center, because many times he could collect his mail only every six months or so. She told him, over the years of her new life, college, Richard and her children. She informed him her desire to keep her past secret from her new husband. She knew he was in Africa somewhere, after having been stationed in several other exotic locations.

His letters grew fewer and fewer, and hers to him as she found love and emotional support from Richard replacing that of her distant brother. When she and Richard had moved into their new home, and she no longer had a private mail box in which to receive letters from a man her husband knew nothing about, she made the gut-wrenching decision to stop writing. She had cried about that for weeks too.

They had not communicated for the past five years.

She had tried to ignore the unhappy place next door to her new home, and concentrated instead on loving her husband and raising her twins. She hoped that Robert could find some happiness too.

Then, as if the dark miasma of her former home had sniffed around and found her, seeping through the iron fence to continue its assault on normalcy, her husband was killed. A truckload of paper products was too heavy, and the brakes of the truck failed as it came down the mountain side. Richard had seen what was happening and drove for the shoulder. The truck driver, thinking to avoid hitting any cars, also headed for the woods at the side of the road. Neither could adjust and Richard was killed instantly.

Had her twins not been there ... not needed her ... she would have taken her own life. But she had to go on. There was only one other person she could turn to ... her brother Robert, but the one human in the world who might be able to fully understand how she felt was beyond her reach. She didn't even know where he was any more. The thought of what it would take to write a letter, which might not even be read by him for months, caused her to leave pen and paper lying unused.



She got a job at the bank, ironically the same bank that still guarded a fortune that was hers, but which she still thought of as blood money. She was aware that, while he was involved in his missionary work, Robert had somehow obtained a college degree. Access to personal accounts gave her the information that he drew from his own fortune from time to time, but not in large amounts. He used less than the annual interest his account earned. She took comfort in seeing those small transactions, though, because that told her he was still alive.

Life had eventually settled back down for Ramona. Her twins and her job filled her days for her, as well as her love of reading and quilting. She made a half dozen intricate, huge quilts that adorned the beds in the house and filled several storage containers.



In honor of her brother's life work, she made a large number of plainer ones that she donated to Robert's missionary headquarters to be sent wherever they were needed. She also gave them to the Salvation Army, dropping them off as simple donations packed in paper sacks recycled from grocery shopping. A woman who worked at the Salvation Army center had wanted to know her name, but she demurred, simply saying "These are for whoever needs them."



Toiling over the quilts gave her satisfaction that she was doing something worthwhile with the time she had wanted to throw away when Richard was killed.

And she was proud of her children. They were smart, and strong and happy, untouched by the ugliness of their heritage and unearned wealth that might have corrupted them. She knew she'd have to dip into her unwanted trust fund to send them to college, but that was for a good cause too, and she didn't want them to have to scrimp and work, like she had breren forced to do, herself in school. True, her tuition had been taken care of by the trust fund, but her living expenses she earned herself, never responding to letters asking how much she needed for such things.



She had been tempted, when, after Richard died, her guardian contacted her and suggested he knew worthy charities that could benefit from the money she wasn't spending, but she ignored him. He was a cold and loveless man, who dominated his wife mercilessly, as if she were chattel. His attitude toward the children under his care was also cold and distant. She had suspicions about where the money would have gone. Even though he had been handsomely paid for his duties under the court appointment that gave him dominion over the Nettleton children, he had made it quite clear that he deserved more, and they deserved nothing.

That she didn't want her children to ever face such a life was a lesson she learned the hard way. Her will was up-to-date and even more specific than her father's will had been when he was murdered in his bed.



All had been mostly serene. She found happiness in her children, and the things she used her time for. There was an emptiness in her heart since Richard had been taken, but that pain was less severe than others she could recall.



There had been overtures from men from time to time. She didn't consider herself to be beautiful, though many of those men would have disagreed. Their attention had appealed to the little vanity she had left in her ... had made her feel warm and good. But the idea of laboring toward a relationship that was more than just dinner now and then, or that included passion, was something she avoided. There had been too much loss in her life to risk more. Nothing gained meant nothing could be lost, as far as she was concerned. That passion still lurked in her, she knew. She tried to keep a lid on that, succumbing to her infrequent sexual yearning only in-so-far as using her fingers to bring release now and again.

She convinced herself it was enough.

Yes, life wasn't so complicated that she couldn't enjoy it, all things considered.

Until she received a registered letter, in her married name, addressed to her at the bank.

It was from her brother.

She had no idea how he had tracked her down, but he had. She had read it so often that its contents were committed to memory now:

"Dearest Rami,

I have done what I could to comfort the bereft wherever I found them. I have missed you more than I would have thought possible. Living among the needy has illuminated my own emptiness.

I have decided to return to our house ... to restore it to its former grandeur, and try to make of it a place of happiness and light. I know you want nothing to do with that sad place, but this is something that is driving me. I know not what I'll do with it once its darkness is expelled. I know I may not even be able to do that. Perhaps I'll donate it to the county as a museum. But I know this is something I must do.

I want to see you again too, dearest sister. I know you are happy with your husband and family, and I will not intrude upon that happiness. Please find it in your heart to let me see you again when I return, if only briefly and in secret, and then I shall retreat again, leaving you to your well-deserved wonderful life.

The image of your face in my mind has lifted me from despair on more occasions than I could count. I know I was never a good brother to you, but I have learned much about the world and myself in my years abroad. I'm not the man you knew so long ago.

I don't know exactly when I'll be done with this commitment. I'll contact you when I return.

All my love"

His signature was simple script, spelling "Bobby"

That had been a rough day for Ramona. Memories and fears had come rushing back, affecting her so much that another employee had become alarmed, asking if she were okay and offering to call for help. She had folded up the letter and gotten control of herself, stammering that everything was fine ... that it was just a bit of unsettling news. She had thrown herself back into her work, concentrating on each of her customers as if they were the only people alive at the time.



Later she had re-read the letter, and many times since then. Her emotions had undergone a roller coaster-like journey within her mind. She was filled with questions. How could Robert want to have anything to do with the mansion? True, he owned it, according to the provisions of their father's will, but how could he want to restore it? Could it even be restored? What did that mean for her and her children, living in the shadow of the place? How would she feel when she saw him? What would she say? How would all this change her life?



And then, there was their former relationship to think about. As children they had clung to each other, orphaned by cruel circumstance, living in a cold and loveless place with foster parents who cared but little for them. They had naturally bonded much more closely than most siblings ever did. That bonding, over the years, had led to things their guardian would have raged at ... would have called an abomination. He had never known what they did together. Those times were the few memories Ramona had that were joyous and happy. She loved her brother and he loved her, and nothing could take that love away. There was bitterness there too, though, for the fact that their love could not be consummated publicly. Society forbade that. Never mind thousands of years of historical precedence. Never mind that their love was true and pure. Never mind that they could be happy together. That was not to be ... not if the powers of "propriety" had anything to say about it.

And, knowing that, Robert had foresworn their love and separated from her, tearing her heart from her chest. Once again, the only love they had known was ripped from them by events beyond their control, leaving wounded, bleeding survivors to make their way in that hostile world as best they could.

And now ... that wound would be reopened. Robert made it clear that he didn't intend to interrupt her life, but he didn't know of the changes that had taken place since her last letter to him. He made it clear that their former relationship was a thing of the past, and that he didn't intend to resume it. But Ramona's feelings on that point weren't so clear.



All in all, Ramona was as upset about the "stranger" who had opened the gates of the Nettleton Mansion after all these years as her children were. Ironically, their fears were remarkably similar. Their lives had been turned topsy-turvy, and the result was an emotional storm of doubt, fear, and anguish over forbidden love.

She pulled into her driveway, stopped the car, and laid her head gently against the steering wheel as she wept quietly.

Ten minutes later, providence preventing her children from realizing she was home already, the woman who entered the Franklin household was a completely different woman.

"I'm home," she sang, expecting and getting an excited welcome from her children.



"Thank goodness you're home!" Debbie said excitedly, skipping into the living room, where her mother was dropping her purse and keys on the sideboard where she kept them.

Ramona held up her hands. "Be patient a little longer. We're having a visitor for dinner tonight. All will be explained."

"But Mahhhhhm" came the drawn out protest. "You have to tell us what's going on!"

TBC

Re: Haunting Sex Story
 

Ramona, had she stopped to think about it, would have recognized that her daughter's response to the current "crisis" was out of proportion to what it should have been. As far as Ramona knew, her children lived next door to, but had no interaction with, the sad property next door. To them, it should have just been a moldering old house with a mysterious past, quietly rotting away in the midst of an untended forest of unruly vegetation.



But her own emotional state prevented her from recognizing that her children were much too interested in her old home. She had never told them about her past. When they asked about grandparents she simply reported them dead and buried long ago. She had never mentioned the uncle they didn't know they had, or the fact that Nettleton blood flowed in their veins. She assumed they were curious about who had re-opened the Nettleton place in the same manner as the rest of the town would be when they learned of it. The gossip would fly ... no doubt about that.

And so, lacking a plan to inform her children of everything she had omitted from their family history, she had decided just to let Robert explain it. Thankfully, he had called her at the bank when he got to town and began hiring contractors.

Just hearing his voice had made her so weak she almost couldn't have a conversation with him. He'd wanted to see her, but at that time she couldn't trust herself to be able to stand, let alone conduct civilized verbal discourse. Instead of trying to bring him up to date, she had just invited him to dinner. She anchored her hopes for rational behavior in the familiarity of preparing a meal in her own house, with her children nearby. There would be hours in which they could figure out what to do and how to explain all this to the twins.



She hoped it would work. She had no earthly idea whether it would or not, but she hoped events would take care of themselves and that she wouldn't burst into tears or have a complete breakdown.

Now, though, she faced her daughter, who was by then backed up by her son. "I have to fix dinner. Our guest will be here at seven. In the mean time you two need to pick up the house. It's a pigsty and I won't have guests in our home with it looking like this."

There were moans of discontent, but she insisted on keeping to her "plan" as it were.

Part of the moans were because the house was already spotless. Oh, there was the odd magazine lying here, and an empty glass sitting there, but Ramona kept a trim ship all the time, and had required her children to do the same. In truth that was one reason they were attracted to the manor. There was no hope of cleaning that place up and, while there, they could relax and be as comfortable as they wanted to, leaving things lay wherever they wanted to. Their mother's training had sunk in, though, and they had, unthinkingly, slowly straightened and dusted things, at least in a few rooms, and they usually removed any trash they generated from food waste they brought into the place.



So, while they went through the fruitless motions of "cleaning", which mostly meant picking things up from where they belonged and then putting them right back where they belonged, the teens tried to communicate without words about what they thought might be going on. Anyone else would have thought it was comical to see them miming and mouthing things at each other as they did things that didn't need to be done.



They noticed that dinner was going to be special. Their mother was making Lasagna in that special way of hers that meant it was for somebody important. Then there were hot rolls, also a special occasion food. Finally there was asparagus, which was expensive, and there was a relish tray with black olives too, along with tiny sweet pickles, and carrot sticks and even deviled eggs. She was going all out and that raised the bar as far as how important this dinner guest was.

Debbie tried again, while offering to help in the kitchen. "Who is this mysterious man?" she asked casually.

"I told you to wait until our guest gets here. He'll explain everything."

"No, not the man next door. Who is coming to dinner?" Debbie prodded, not having any idea that their guest was the man next door.

Ramona smiled to herself. "I don't recall saying our dinner guest was a man," she said.

"Oh come on Mommy," wheedled Debbie. "Okay, who is the mysterious woman who's coming to dinner?"

"I don't believe I said our guest was going to be a woman either," said Ramona, enjoying her teasing.

Debbie's ire was as instantaneous as it was explosive. "Mother! You tell me right now who's coming to dinner or I'm going to scream!" she screamed.

Ramona turned to her daughter with shock on her face. Debbie didn't act like this. These were unusual circumstances, but why could she care that much who was coming to dinner?

She started to question her daughter, but Robby danced in and pulled at his sister's arm.

"Come on Deb, I need your help in here for a minute."

Debbie shook off her brother's grip and took a breath to make her demand again. She was frowning horribly, obviously upset.

Ramona was astonished to see Robby grab his sister firmly by the waist and pull her bodily out of the kitchen as she slapped at him and tried to turn around.

"Drop it, Debbie!" he commanded, his voice suddenly deep.

Ramona was astonished as much by his assertiveness as she was by the fact that Debbie deflated and let him pull her out. She started to go after them, but the sauce began to boil and she had to stop and take care of that.

Outside the kitchen Robby shoved Debbie up against a wall and, instead of reasoning with her, he kissed her, pinning her to the wall between his arms, pressing his chest against hers. She tried to turn her head and he bit her lip gently. Then as she said "Ow!" into his mouth he let her go and stepped back. She looked at him with amazement and a little fear.

"What are you doing?" she hissed in a whisper, looking at the doorway to the kitchen only ten feet away.

"Stopping you from doing something stupid," he whispered back, leaning toward her. "Leave it alone or she's going to know something's up."

"Of course something's up you idiot!" whispered his sister, but the shock of what he'd done had robbed her of her anger and she slumped.

"Come on," he mouthed, reaching for her hand. She followed him, almost stomping, lifting her whole hip to let her leg swing forward, rather than just walking. She was pouting.

He took her to the living room and pushed her down on the couch.

"It's only forty-five minutes. What's done is done and you can't force anything to happen," he lectured her.

"You're not my boss," she said in a sulk.

"No, but I'm big enough to spank you," he threatened.

"You wouldn't!" she yipped.

"Yes I would," he warned.

"You can't," she reasoned.

"I will if you don't settle down." He leaned toward her and she shrank back from him. His hands kept coming though and he started tickling her.

She shrieked and twisted, her hands flailing at him, trying to tickle him back and they ended up laughing as their mother, done with things in the kitchen long enough to investigate her children's strange behavior walked into the room. Ramona stopped and stared at her completely normal acting children as they tusseled with each other. She shook her head, checked her watch, and, with a harried expression, turned back to the kitchen.

The twins had seen her out of the corner of their eyes, and when she went back in the kitchen they both felt a rush of relief. Robby snatched at his sister's breasts and squeezed them once before jumping back as she charged up off the couch, her hand low and open in a claw, obviously going for his jewels.

Now he ran to the kitchen, where she couldn't grab him in the place she intended to, laughing as she chased him.

"Mom! Debbie's being mean to me," he whined as he ran to his mother and tried to get between her and the counter.

Ramona's hands were covered with flour and her son's actions startled her. She spun in a circle as Robby got behind her and gripped her waist. He used her as a shield. Debbie tried to reach around her mother to pinch her brother and was laughing as Ramona stood, not knowing what to do, her hands out.

"Children!" she yelled.

TBC

Re: Haunting Sex Story
 

They stopped, and she looked at Debbie, who was grinning. It was a moment where prior bonding asserted itself. As Ramona said, "Behave!" her daughter flowed against her for a hug. Then her son added his hug to it and they were suddenly a Mommy sandwich ... a group of hugging people.

Ramona was overcome with a sudden rush of love for her children. As their fears had evaporated during a sexual act, hers evaporated during a loving act and she hugged Debbie fiercely. Then she turned to gather Robby into one arm, while she gripped Debbie with the other.

"It's going to be all right," she said, her eyes almost overflowing with tears of mixed joy and apprehension. "Everything's going to be fine."

Debbie, her eyes also wet, said, "I love you Mommy."

Ramona returned it. "I love you too baby. I love you both more than anything in the whole world."

"I'll be patient," said Debbie.

"Thank you," said Ramona, unnerved by how much she meant that.

"Especially if you'll tell me who's coming to dinner," said Debbie, grinning and kissing her mother on the cheek.

Ramona barked a laugh and slapped her daughter on her behind, leaving a ghostly white handprint. "Now get out of here and get ready. It's somebody special. That's all I'm telling you. Go on now." She gave Debbie another whack as they disentangled themselves.

"And don't wear anything dirty or wrinkled!" called their mother as they left to go to their rooms.

Debbie stood in her room dressed only in panties. She was trying to figure out what to wear. Her mother's actions made it plain that whoever it was that was coming, he ... or she ... was somebody important. So that meant Debbie should wear something nice. She chose her favorite blouse, and a pair of hip-hugging slacks. She didn't want to wear a bra, but put one on anyway, since nice girls wore them. Looking in the mirror she frowned. Her hair was a mess. She grabbed a brush and a rubber band. A pony tail would have to do.



Ramona put the final touches on the dishes she had prepared. Her stomach was full of butterflies and her knees felt weak. She had a clear vision in her mind of her brother, but it was his image at eighteen. She knew he had to have changed, as she had. The last time he'd seen her she had mere swells for breasts, and was thin and bony. Good food and children had changed her body, making it full and rounded. Her breasts, swollen with milk for her babies, had stayed full, even when she stopped breast feeding. She knew there were a few wrinkles on her face too. She wasn't fat, by any means, but she didn't look anything like she had the last time her brother had seen her.

She hung up her apron and started for her own bedroom, where she intended to dress in a dark blue sundress that would be both comfortable and, she hoped, pretty. It only had spaghetti straps, so she wouldn't be able to wear a bra, but her breasts didn't sag too much. She thought it would be okay.



Ramona had taken only three steps when the front doorbell rang. He was here! He was early! She was a wreck!

Before she could make any decision about what to do Debbie flashed past her at a dead run.

"I'll get it!" she yelled excitedly.

Robby was close behind, shuffling down the stairs in that light bouncing way that only young people can descend a staircase.

"He's early!" squeaked Ramona.

The world went into slow motion for Ramona. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. She wanted to be the one to open the door, to usher in the man her children knew nothing about, to introduce him, dressed nicely.

"Wait!" she screamed.

Debbie skidded to a stop by the front door. Her face turned, questioning to her mother.

"I'm not ready!" said Ramona, her voice shaky.

"We can't just leave him out there!" said Debbie reaching for the knob.

"But ..." started Ramona, as Debbie turned the knob and pulled the door open.

Ramona's eyes widened and her jaw dropped as she gasped.

Standing in the door was a disheveled looking man. He was stooped, as if old. He had a wild nest for hair, and a long black beard. He was wearing a trench coat. He looked like a bum, searching for a handout.



"Hello," said the man in a modulated voice, somewhere between bass and tenor. "I'm Mister Smith."

The reactions from the members of the Franklin family were remarkably similar though slightly different.

Debbie gasped and stepped back from the door, away from the man.

Ramona gasped and stood stock still.

Robby gasped and took a step forward, his protective instincts on sudden alert.

Mister Smith appeared to smile beneath his beard. "Your mother has graciously invited me to dinner this evening. I'm afraid I'm a little early. I hope this does not inconvenience you too much." He spoke with a strange accent, like he wasn't from America, but spoke English fluently.

Ramona recovered first. The man's voice was the same one she'd heard on the phone, and recognized as her brother's. His appearance was completely unexpected and ... wrong somehow.

"Mister ... Smith," she said, her voice trembling a little. "Please come in. I apologize for my appearance, but ... as you said ... you are a bit early. Children!" she barked. "Get Mister Smith something to drink and take his ... coat." That seemed odd to say in the middle of summer.

Debbie, staring at the man in horror, chose to go to the kitchen, leaving Robby to step toward the man, his hand outstretched for the coat, which was still firmly settled on his shoulders.

Instead Mister Smith gripped Robby's hand and pumped it with vigor.

"I'm very happy to meet you," he said. "And your name is ...?"

"Robby" said the boy with a dry throat. The man's grip was firm and warm, what Robby had been told was a "good" handshake.

"Robby as in Robert?" mused the man, still not taking off his coat.

"No, just Robby," said Robby. "Your coat?"

"If it's all the same to you I'd just as soon wear it," said the strange man. "I have a condition ... it's not catching, mind you ... but I'm more comfortable with it on."

Debbie appeared in the entrance to the living room, a glass of iced tea in her hand. She held it out from across the room, as if she hoped he could extend his arm like rubber to grasp it and she wouldn't have to come any closer.



"What a beautiful young woman," said Mister Smith admiringly. You are the very picture of your mother..." the sentence was strangely cut off, as if he had been about to say something more, and then decided not to.

"Thank you?" Debbie's voice came as a question.

Ramona came down the stairs. She was wearing her blue sundress and she looked fabulous in it. She had left her hair in a pony tail too, out of necessity and to save time. She'd put on a touch of lipstick and wiped at a dab of flour on her face as she turned away from the mirror. All she'd done was smear the flour into a long oblong.

"A vision of loveliness," sighed the scruffy stranger.

That caused both teens to turn and look at where he was looking, to see their mother.

"Mom!" said Debbie. "You're barefoot!"

Ramona looked down at her bare feet as if they belonged to someone else. She looked up blankly. "I guess I forgot my shoes."

Mister Smith laughed. "Ah, but it is summer anyway, is it not? And bare feet are perfect for summer."

Ramona's plan to announce their uncle had been put on hold. Ramona, while she changed, realized that her brother was wearing a disguise for some reason. She couldn't imagine why, but he had, so now she didn't know if he wanted to be identified or not. She needed a few minutes alone with him. Her heart was fluttering as she slipped on the dress. By the time she got to the bottom of the stairs her heart was pounding.

"Children," she said weakly. "Would you please put the food on the table while I have a word with Mister ... Smith."

Neither child wanted to leave the room, especially Robby, but their mother stared at them until they left. Standing there to make sure they didn't come right back in, she watched the entryway for a moment and then turned to find "Mister Smith" standing only a foot away.

"Bobby?" she whispered. "What are you doing?"

"Rami, you're so gorgeous," he breathed. "I thought I remembered your beauty, but I can't believe how you've changed. You take my breath away." Then he jerked. "I don't want anyone to know who I am right now. I'm posing as the caretaker for the house ... to get things started before the ruckus there will be when people find out I'm back. There have been legal claims filed against the estate ... vultures who think they can take what is not theirs. I don't want to talk to reporters, even if the only ones that show up are from the local newspaper."

"The kids ...." she said. "I was going to tell the kids about you ... going to let you tell them about you," she said helplessly.

"I didn't think you wanted your husband to know about me," he said thickly.

"He died Bobby," she whispered urgently. "I didn't have the strength to find you ... to tell you. I'm sorry," she said, her mouth turning down.

He reached out to touch her arm. "It is I who am sorry. I have neglected you and our family name in the pursuit of a mad dream. I'm so sorry to hear of your sorrow ... your loss. But I need to remain anonymous a little longer. Can I do that please? Would your children tell people who I am if they knew?"

"I don't know. It's going to be a shock to them. I never told them about you Bobby. I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. Hearing your voice now ... I feel ..." She broke off, wiping an eye.

"What am I going to tell them now?" she asked frantically. "They want to know who you are and what you're doing!"

"Why would they care so much?" he asked, puzzled. Then a gleam came into his eye. "Unless it is they who have been using the house!"



"Using the house?" asked Ramona. "What do you mean? What are you talking about?"

"Someone has been using the house ... being there I mean. They haven't bothered anything really, but I found a small collection of valuables, or things that children might think were valuable in one of the rooms. And some clothing has been unpacked ... our parents' clothing."

"What?!" came Ramona's astonished reply. "No! It couldn't be them. I'd know. They never go there. No one ever goes there Bobby!" she gasped.

"Well then, it is someone else. No matter, as I said they haven't bothered anything. If anything they have kept things in order, somewhat, and cared for things to some degree. There has been no vandalism, as I feared there would be."

"But what do we tell them?" she asked.

"Let me handle that," he said. "I won't stay long."

"But I wanted to see you!" she moaned. "To talk to you."

"I'll be right next door from now on," he said. "You can come and see me any time you like."

"I can't do that!" she said. "What if somebody saw me?"

"You work at the bank. I'll just request that they assign you as my personal teller ... to handle all my accounts ... to assist me in my mission."

"They won't do that!" said Ramona with a gasp.

"Dear Rami, my sweet" he said in natural closeness that was somehow easy to revive, "In the years that have gone by, the inheritance our father left us has grown much. They'll do anything I ask to keep my account in their little bank. Did you waste all your money?" he asked gently.

"No, I've never touched that money," she said breathlessly. "That money is tainted."

"Then my dear beautiful sister, you are rich beyond your wildest dreams. And the original money is long gone, returned to the treasury or dispensed to persons. That money is yours. You may do with it what you wish, but it is yours. Our father provided for us. What harm can there be in that? Think of it as his last gasp of love for us. He loved us, you know, he and mother both."

Ramona's eyes misted and glazed as she recalled one of her dimmest memories ... the tall brown haired woman who had sung to her and dressed her in frilly dresses, taking her for walks in the sun ... in the beautiful gardens. "I remember," she whispered.

"Then let us to dinner, to answer your handsome children's questions. They are beautiful, Rami ... your children."

"Yes" she said firmly. "They are the loves of my life."

"I used to be the love of your life ... long ago," he said softly.

"I remember that too, Bobby," she whispered again. She wanted to hug him, to cling to him, but his appearance was so strange and wrong that she couldn't.

"Come," he said. He held out his hand. She took it, feeling the calluses of the work he'd done for many years with his hands, and the strength in them too.

Debbie and Robby had tried to eavesdrop on the adults in the other room, but could hear only murmurs of conversation. They heard their mother exclaim something, but couldn't hear what it was. They labored mechanically, transferring dishes to the table, getting the silverware their mother had absent-mindedly forgotten to put out. She had used the good dishes and crystal glasses that they had eaten on perhaps only a dozen times in their life.

And for this stranger?!

TBC on the next Chapter........

Re: Haunting Sex Story
 

Camping for next chapter :)

Re: Haunting Sex Story
 

Chapter Four

Having been unable to hear what their mother and the strange hermit-looking man talked about, curiosity consumed the twins and they waited impatiently when the mumbling stopped and yet, the adults still didn't appear. Debbie craned her neck, trying to peek around the corner without being seen. As the adults suddenly walked into view, Debbie saw that the man was holding her mother's hand. He dropped it and then looked directly into Debbie's eyes.

This stranger looked ... stranger and stranger.

They sat, Ramona at the head of the table, with her children on each side of her and Mister Smith at the other end.

As dishes of food began to be passed around, the man spoke.

"Your mother tells me that you two are curious about what is happening next door, at the old Nettleton place. This is true, yes?"

His accent caused Debbie to stutter.

"Y..Y..Yes." The bowl of asparagus slipped from her fingers and thumped on the table, but didn't spill. She blushed. "Sorry," she said.

"Well, that is a simple thing to answer," said the man, scooping out a huge helping of Lasagna. He held the last spoonful to his nose and drew in a great breath. "This is smelling divine to me," he said.

Ramona scrunched up her face, somewhere between happy and trying to tell him that the accent was too heavy.

He passed the bowl to Robby who stared at it. It was a third empty and Smith was the only one who'd been served. He blinked and took some, unconsciously taking less than he usually would have.

Debbie had been waiting for Smith to go on, but he didn't, choosing first salt, then getting three hot rolls, and then asking for butter.

"Well?" she asked impatiently, leaning toward the man.

He looked at her through his wild hair and bushy eyebrows and grinned with startlingly white teeth. Debbie noticed there was a stick of some sort stuck in the hair at the top of the man's left ear, like some carpenters wore a pencil. The end of the stick looked like it had been smashed, leaving tiny slivers of wood bunched together. She stared at it and he saw where her eyes were. His hand reached up and felt the stick.

"This is a makeshift toothbrush," he said amiably, "Such as they use in the country I have come from. I have not yet had time to purchase a new one here in your delightful town."

Debbie's mouth hung open. Who used a stick as a toothbrush? Who went anywhere without a toothbrush? She shook her head and frowned.

"You are having some impatience, yes?" prodded the man, grinning.

Debbie blushed more, her face going sunburn red.

"Sorry," she mumbled again.

Smith laughed, and his voice sounded warm and nice, not at all like he looked.

"I should not tease you," he said. "That is bad manners." But then he took a bite of the lasagna, getting sauce on his moustache and beard, which he seemed completely unaware of. It was disgusting.

He smacked his lips and leaned back. "I work for the Nettletons," he said. "It is wished for that the old family house be restored. I am to oversee that process."

Had he said a comet was going to smash into the earth and kill everybody, the impact wouldn't have been any more profound.

Debbie gulped for air and ended up hyperventilating, getting dizzy and wobbling in her chair. Smith was out of his chair in a flash, catching her before she fell, while her brother and mother stared, uncomprehending.

"I need a bag," he barked, the accent suddenly much diminished. "Something she can breathe into."

Ramona jumped from her chair like a rabbit jumps when it's been shot, and scurried to the kitchen. She came back with a lunch sack and handed it to him.

Debbie was flailing weakly and Robby was ineffectually trying to get the disgusting man to stop touching his sister, but she was almost unconscious as her lungs spasmed.

"Hold her" he said to Ramona and he prepared the bag, slapping the open end over her mouth and nose. "Hold this to your face little one," he ordered.

Debbie's hands came up and pressed the bag to her face, half crushing it, but her head cleared almost immediately as she rebreathed air poor in oxygen.

Smith stepped back to his chair, sat down, and began stuffing lasagna into his mouth, alternating with bread and asparagus. He made noises of appreciation while Debbie got control of herself and her mother hovered over her.

"I'm fine Mom," she said, disgusted that this foul stranger had helped her. "Go sit down and eat." Her appetite was gone, and she sat, staring at her plate.

Smith paused, speaking with his mouth full, his words mushy. He picked up the conversation right where it had left off, as if nothing had happened.

"This renovation displeases you?" he asked, reaching for tea to wash down the food.

"You can't," said Debbie in a small voice.

"Debbie!" came her mother's astonished voice.

"Well ... he can't!" shouted Debbie. "It's not right!"

"Deborah Jean Franklin!" said her mother in a too-loud voice. "Where are your manners?!"



Smith held up his hand. "There is much passion in this beautiful almost-woman," he said, looking at her with piercing eyes. "This is America, yes? In this land you speak freely, is that not so?"

"Yes!" blurted Debbie. "And I say you should go back to wherever you came from and leave us alone!" she ended in a shout, her face red again, this time from anger.

"Debbie, you are excused to your room," said Ramona, her voice cold and sharp. "Freedom of speech does not mean you may be disrespectful to our guest."

Debbie's eyes were stricken and she ducked her head. Then it snapped back up, her eyes blazing. "I prefer to go to my room right now mother!"

She stood and stiffly turned to stalk out of the dining room toward the stairs.

Ramona watched her go and then her eyes went to her son, who had sat mute and stiff throughout the whole exchange.

"Would you like to tell me what's going on here?" she asked in a voice that made it clear she expected to be told what was going on.

Robby didn't know what to do or say. He couldn't just admit that they'd played in the mansion for years, that they felt ownership of the dilapidated place. That would lead to consequences that couldn't possibly be happy.

"It's haunted," he blurted. "The ghosts will be unhappy. They might do things," he suggested vaguely.

Ramona, whose own spirit had been dampened many times by thoughts of that old house and the pain it had seen, but who had never thought even once that she might be "haunted" by an unhappy ghost, laughed, her voice at the edge of panic. Then her giggle box fell over with a silent thump and uncontrollable giggles gushed out of Ramona's mouth until she was gasping for breath, almost like her daughter had been. She tried to take a drink of tea and choked on it. Now she was trying to laugh and cough at the same time. Twin dribbles of tea dripped from her nostrils.

Again Smith was on his feet and pounding her back lightly, helpless to do anything else.

Robby just stared.

TBC

Re: Haunting Sex Story
 

All the tension Ramona had felt building, and only partially released by her earlier crying session in the car, flooded out with her laughs. It was a catharsis she needed badly and, even though she was afraid she'd fall out of her chair she was ecstatic at the feel of all that unwanted tightness flowing out of her body. Then she thought of what she'd look like falling over, lying on the floor, tea running out of her nose, and she laughed even harder. Her brother ... her dear sweet brother was there. He was going to be here next door for a long time ... maybe forever ... and that thought made her feel even better. She drew in a racking deep breath and finally got control of her diaphragm. Now all she had to do was pull in more air and she'd be fine.

Smith stood up, staring down at the woman. "All the women in this family have these breathing problems, yes?"

That made Ramona laugh too, but this time it was a short, normal laugh. She wiped her eyes and cheeks with her palms and, then grabbed the napkin to rub under her nose. With her cleared vision saw that Debbie had returned to the bottom of the stairs and was staring curiously at the scene in the dining room.



Ramona pointed at her. "You!" she said. "If you've found your manners you may return to the table." Then, a few more giggles chuckled out of her mouth.

Debbie turned and went back up the stairs.

Ramona felt sad at that, but waved Mister Smith back to his chair.

"Ghosts," she said, and giggled again.

"I'm thinking there are no ghosts," said Smith, beginning to eat again.

Robby, flushed with shame and anger at his mother's laughter, just sat. His appetite was gone too.

"Lots of people think there are ghosts," said Robby sullenly.

His mother heard the anger in his voice, and she calmed. "Robby, I wasn't laughing at you. Not really. I think I was just laughing because I needed to laugh. I don't think you’re silly or anything like that," she said. "But I also don't believe in ghosts."

Robby, his heart sinking, knew beyond his years that nothing he could say would undo what was going on.

"I'm not really hungry," he said. "Can I go?"

Ramona's first instinct was to say "No," but she heard the sadness in his voice and nodded instead. He got up and walked heavily to the stairs.

When his footfalls were gone, Robert Nettleton, looking ridiculous in his sauce-smeared false moustache and beard, looked helplessly at his sister.

"What was that all about?" he asked.

"I don't know," she answered truthfully. "They shouldn't care so much about what happens over there. Nobody else does. I don't understand it." she said.

"Are you sure they don't know?" he asked. "About who you really are I mean?"

"Bobby, I've never told them anything. Just that our parents were gone. I avoided talking about it, not wanting them to be affected by ... our past."

There was more meaning in her voice than that associated with the house and grounds of the Nettleton Mansion. Robert wanted to tell her about their mother's jewelry box, that he'd found in the wrong room of the mansion, with things in it that had been put there by someone other than their mother, including a watch that had to have been their father's. He was distracted by the pain in her voice. It reminded him of his own pain.

"I missed you so much," said Robert.

"I wanted to die at first," said Ramona. "But then I met Richard and it wasn't so bad. And then when the twins were born I was happy Bobby ... really happy."

She looked at the strange apparition at her table and then looked away. As long as all she did was hear his voice she had a picture of 18 year old Bobby Nettleton in her mind.

"Didn't you ever find a girl? To love?" she asked.

"Oh, there were girls, I suppose, but none to claim my heart," he said. "My work was such that there was no time or place for romance anyway."

"That's so sad," said Ramona, her heart going out to him.

"I'm young," he said. "And I'm rich. I won't be alone for long. Not in the good old U.S. of A."

"I'll have a talk with the kids," said Ramona. "I'll try to find out what's really going on." She stole a peek at him. "I'm glad you're back Bobby. I missed you too."

He grinned. "Come over and see me sometime. Bring some more of this delicious food. I won't have electricity for two more weeks, and then I can get some appliances in there and begin cooking for myself. Man, I've missed food like this."

"When do you think you'll go ... public?" she asked.

"There are six liens filed against the place, from contractors who say they have been doing upkeep. That's preposterous and I don't want them to know they're dealing with me. All they are doing is grubbing for money. More will probably come out as soon as the word gets out that I'm back. I have several court appearances to make as Mister Smith and then I should be able to throw away this horrible hair.

Ramona giggled. "It is horrible. Couldn't you have gotten something nicer?"

"I thought it gave me a colorful appearance," he said, wounded.

"Yes, but the color is so ... " she was searching for the right word.

He finished the sentence for her. "Crazy?"

She blushed. "I didn't say that. you said that."

"Well, I won't wear it when you come to call." He dug in the pocket of the coat he was still wearing and handed her a shiny brass key. "This goes to the padlock on the gate. I oiled the hinges and it now works flawlessly. I don't lock the house. Haven't gotten around to finding the right locksmith. The ghosts will keep everybody else away," he said grinning.

"What will I tell the kids?" she asked, a flutter in her stomach at the idea of going back to the house she'd stayed away from for so long.

"Bring them along," he said. "I have a feeling the disguise idea was a bad one ... at least with them. Who knows? I probably didn't need a disguise at all. Who around here would recognize me anyway? I think I only used it because it was such an exotic idea."

He stood up. "Now, I'd better go. You have two unruly children to deal with. If they give you too much trouble come get me and I'll come back and scare them half to death." He grinned again.

"I'd kiss you goodbye, but I'm not going near that mess you have on your face. I hope you have water over there," said Ramona.

"Water I have in plenty. The old well is still good and the pump worked fine once I replaced the leather gasket. It's cold, but I can always warm up some for a whore's bath on the wood stove. As for the kiss ... I'll save it for you..."

Ramona blushed. "That was a long time ago Bobby," she said.

"I know," he said back. "I really missed you Rami."

Then he went to the door and let himself out with a wave over his shoulder. Ramona stood and just tried to decide how she felt.

It took quite a while, as she turned the shiny brass key over and over in her fingers. Finally she went upstairs to talk to her children.

She found them together. They were in Robby's room. Robby was lying on the bed, while Debbie paced back and forth. She stopped when Ramona stepped into the room. Her eyes were puffy and her cheeks tear-stained.

"Why is that old place so important to you two?" asked their mother.

Debbie slumped. Like Robby, she just couldn't confess to what they'd done for so many years. It was their secret. It wasn't their sexual play that was uppermost in Debbie's mind. It was the length of time the secret had been kept from her mother. She knew her mother would be hurt by the truth.

As they say, the best defense is a good offense.

TBC

Re: Haunting Sex Story
 

"Mom" said Debbie, her voice under control now. "You treated that ... man ... like he was somebody special. You fixed your best dinner. We used our best dishes. You were excited, Mom. But when he got here you acted like you'd never seen him in your life. Who is he?"

Now it was Ramona who had a fifteen year old secret she'd kept from the two people she loved most in the world. And she had no idea how to tell them about that secret, and all the other secrets she had kept for their entire lives ... even beyond their entire lives.

"He's somebody I knew a long time ago," she sighed. "He looked differently than I expected him to and it surprised me. He was very important to me back then. That's all I can tell you about him. I want to tell you more ... but I can't. Not yet. In a few weeks, maybe." Her voice was defeated. She knew her children would not stand for that answer. "It's very complicated."

"How could you have known him long ago? It's obvious he's from some foreign country. I don't understand." Debbie's voice was defeated too.

"Mom?" came Robby's voice.

"Yes sweetheart," she said back.

"Do you trust us?"

That surprised Ramona. "Of course I trust you. I love you," she said.

"Okay, we trust you and love you too," he said. "How about this? How about you trust us when we tell you we really care about that house. We can't explain why, but it's true. And we'll trust you when you tell us that you know that man, and that he's not a bad man. He's not, right?"

Ramona smiled tiredly. "No, he's not bad. He's a very good man."

"He scares me," said Debbie.

"He would never hurt you for anything in the world," said her mother.

"Okay, if you say so, but he's still scary. That hair ... the way he eats. He eats like he's starving, or has never had good food in his life. It's just weird." Debbie went and sat on the edge of the bed, by her brother.

"He said he's going to restore the house. What does that mean exactly?" asked Robby.

"There used to be beautiful gardens all around it," said Ramona, her voice going soft as she remembered. "And the house was painted and the tower roof was covered in shining copper shingles. And there were beautiful rugs and servants and music. It was a beautiful place then," she said.

"How do you know that?" asked Debbie, her imagination fired by the description.

Ramona jerked, coming back to the present. Her words had been dangerous. "I ... ahh ... talked with Mister Smith about it. Back then he lived there." She folded her arms. "I think Robby's idea is good. I'll trust you two, and you trust me. In a few weeks there may be enough changes that your questions will be able to be answered. Maybe mine too. Okay?"

There was a duet of sighed "okay"s from the bed.

"Now, let's all go down and clean up together. I'm too tired to do it all by myself. For calling it such a special meal you two sure didn't eat much of it. I could warm some up if you want ..."

As if on cue, Debbie's stomach growled and she giggled. The rest of the evening was spent much more happily than before as they all put the old house out of their minds and were just a family.

The next day, though, after their mother had gone to work, Debbie charged into her brother's room, where he was still sleeping. She jumped on top of him, tickling him mercilessly.

"Wake up lazy bones!" she squealed. "Let's go see what that horrible old man is doing to our house!"

Robby tried to defend himself by grabbing his sister's breasts and squeezing them. It didn't work. All she did was lean into his hands.

"Mmmm that feels nice. I should have let you touch me a long time ago."

"I don't recall asking to touch you," he said, moving his hands in opposite directions and then back again, making her braless breasts bounce sideways. They were too firm to hit each other though.



She sat up and pushed his hands away. "So, come on, let's go!" she said excitedly.

"You're crazy," he said, his hands moving to her thighs. She was astride him like she was riding a horse. "We can't go over there any more. That man would probably chop us up and cook us on a campfire."

"No he wouldn't. You heard Mommy. She said he'd never ever hurt us, not for anything."

"That doesn't mean he'd be happy to see us. Besides, what are we going to do, just walk up to the place and say, 'Hi, we just thought we'd drop by. Seeing as how we yelled and screamed at you last night we thought we'd be all friendly today.'"

Debbie put her hands on top of his hands, which were on top of her thighs. She stroked the back of his hands with her fingertips.

"No, silly. We're going to spy. From the secret passage. Through the peep holes. I just want to keep an eye on him and see what he's doing. Besides, if our stash is still there maybe we can get it while he's in some other part of the house. Don't you want your watch?"

"Didn't mom say he used to live there?" asked Robby. "Maybe he knows all about the secret passages."

"Of course not," said Debbie firmly. "That's why they're called secret passages, because they're secret. Those were made when the house was new, and there's no way Mister Smith could have lived there more than what ... twenty or thirty years ago maybe? He's not old enough to have lived there before that. And he'd have had to be a little boy too if he lived there back then." She stopped and thought for a moment. "You know what? I bet he and mom went to school together or something like that. And they played together, or he was her boyfriend, like when they were in forth or fifth grade or something. And he lived in the house and Mom lived wherever she lived ... where did mom grow up?" Debbie was getting animated by her imaginary assumptions.

"I don't know," said Robby. "But I'd rather stay here and play naughty with you. Maybe they played naughty when they were little," said Robby, his hands sliding up Debbie's thighs and onto her waist, moving ever upward toward her breasts again.

"Robby!" Debbie was scandalized. "That's our mother you're talking about." She screwed up her face. "Ewwwww, can you imagine mom with that ... man?!"

She jumped up, eliciting a grunt from Robby as her firm hard butt bounced on his stomach.

"Come on, get up, let's go!" she demanded.

Robby got up and unabashedly stripped off his PJ bottoms, showing his morning woody to his sister while he pulled on a pair of shorts. She stared intently at it, but didn't move to touch him.



"Maybe we'll play naughty later," she said, and then danced out of his reach toward the door, teasing him. She pulled her T shirt up, showing him her naked breasts and backed out the door.

"Come on baby, you want these?" she teased. "Come on, just follow little Debbie and maybe she'll let you play with them." She had to turn and run to avoid being caught and laughed as she ran out through the back door and into the yard.



Though she had run outside, Debbie didn't head for the fence to the Nettleton Mansion. Instead she ran around the house a couple of times, staying just ahead of her brother, teasing him. She ran like the wind and loved that he couldn't quite catch her. When he finally slowed down, panting for breath, she slowed down too, still walking, until they got to the back of the house, where no one in the neighborhood could see them.



Then she let him catch her. She tried to kiss him, as consolation for besting him in the race, but both were breathing too hard for it to really work. They waited until they were sure their mother wasn't coming back home because she forgot something. Then they walked to the fence where their "private entrance" was and slipped through.

As they penetrated the dense forest, they began to hear noises that were foreign to ears tuned to the normal silence of their fantasy play place. Instead of going to the root cellar, which meant they'd be exposed for the few seconds it would take to get to the entrance and down the stairs, they stayed to the woods and did a circuit of the house to see what was going on outside.

They were astonished.



There were trucks and vans everywhere, parked all over what had, at one time, been lawns and gardens. One had a sign on the side that indicated it was from a plumbing company. Another one was an electrical contractor. There were two from the local garden center, and they had a tractor with a bucket on the front that they were using to clear swaths of weeds and bushes away from around the house. There was a truck with no sign, but two men who wore white coveralls spattered with spots of color, suggesting they were painters. Another truck was from a roofing company. There was a tractor looking thing that had a long arm on the back, with a scoop on the end, and it was digging a long trench from the house toward the street. They winced as they realized if it kept going more of their cherished forest would be destroyed.

There were ladders up against the house in several places, and men on them, taking things off the house and others putting things on the house. The whole place looked different already, though most of that was just because of activity, and not substantive changes to the appearance of the house itself.

Still, it was obvious that the appearance would change. Already the house looked like it stood straighter, without the sag it had always seemed to have, like it was coming awake after a long slumber.

As they watched a truck left, and another one came. It was met by Mister Smith, still wearing his long black trench coat, his beard and hair only a little less tangled. Debbie thought she'd see old crusted lasagna sauce in that beard if she were close enough. She shuddered.

Smith was flitting from one place to another, talking to this man, or that, pointing and gesticulating. The tractors made too much noise for them to hear what he was saying, but it was obvious he was issuing directions to the contractors.

The great double front doors stood wide open, letting sunlight into the foyer, which had not seen such light in decades. Two men were climbing twin ladders, set only a few feet apart, and were carrying something square between them, up the ladder. Whatever it was it sparkled and glistened in the sun, in vivid colors of red, green, blue and a golden color that could only be called yellow by a blind person.

"It's stained glass!" whispered Robby, close to his sister. The men stopped at an open hole in the side of the house, where a window had been removed. Carefully they fitted the new window into the hole and did something to make it stay.

Another truck arrived, a larger one, with a flat bed heaped with all kinds of things. There was copper piping, and boxes marked as containing toilets and sinks. There were coils of black that looked like wire of some kind. Men got out and began carrying things into the house.

Yet another van arrived, this one marked as the delivery service for a dry cleaning establishment. Two people got out of it with folded boxes and went into the house.

Robby noticed that Debbie was panting, as if she'd run. He moved and saw tears running down her cheeks, dripping to the forest floor.

He reached out to touch her arm and she turned her tear streaked face to him.

"They're changing everything," she sobbed, melting into his arms. "I hate him!" she screamed.

Robby hushed her, but there was really no chance her cry had been overheard. He hugged her to him as she sobbed. Finally he let her go and took her hand.

"Come on," he said. "There's nothing we can do here."

He was just about to lead her back home, when a car drove into the chaos of vehicles littering the yard. They stared at the car.

It was their car.

Their mother was driving.

TBC

Re: Haunting Sex Story
 

Crouching down in the bushes they watched as Ramona got out and stood in the open door, staring at all the other vehicles, and at the house. She didn't move for a long time. Then, reaching into the car and removing a leather briefcase, she took a few tentative steps toward the house.

"Maybe she's got something in there to make them stop," whispered Robby.

That hope was dented a little when Smith saw their mother and hurried over to her. He started to embrace her, plain as day, but then dropped his arms and stood back, looking over his shoulder at the contractors scattered around the grounds. He took her elbow and led her into the house.

"What's she doing here?" asked Debbie, puzzled.

"I don't know," said Robby, puzzled himself.

"We've got to get in there!" said Debbie, standing up.

"We can't get past all those people!" said Robby.

"The secret way, you Dodo," she said, looking at him like he was daft.

"I don't know Deb," he said uncertainly. "What if we make a noise or something? They could hear us and then what would we do?"

"There's no way they could hear us with all that noise going on," said Debbie. "You're chicken! Aren't you!"

As anyone knows, that's probably the best way to get a fifteen year old boy to do just about anything he probably shouldn't do, and it worked just like it would have on any other fifteen year old boy.

Debbie had to run to catch up to her brother, who was stomping through the woods in an arc that would bring them to the back of the root cellar.

"Be careful," warned Debbie, afraid she'd made him so mad that he might do something stupid.

"What's the matter? he growled. "You turning chicken?"

"I'm sorry Robby ... come on ... you want to know what she's doing in there don't you?"

He stopped and turned as she almost ran into him. "If we get caught, I am going to spank you. I promise!" Then he turned and went on.

They waited briefly in the bushes, watching the back of the house, but there was only one man on a ladder there, and all his attention seemed to be on where some boards had been removed from the side of the house.

They made the dash to the steps and skipped steps getting down into the cellar. Without waiting to see if anyone raised the alarm, Robby jerked open the secret door and they ducked into the tunnel. Again, they had forgotten to bring a candle, but again, they both knew the tunnel so well they could negotiate it in the pitch black with no problem. Still, Robby went first, while Debbie held on to his waist.

Robby pulled gently at the door. They had used it so much that it opened easily now, though the hinges squeaked. They had never thought to oil them, since whenever they were there they were alone.

There was a little light in the secret passage, coming in from the peep holes. While it would have seemed dark to most people, after the pitch black of the tunnel it was a little like being outside in moonlight to the teens.

There were thumps that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once as they stepped gently up the staircase. They saw nothing at the first peepholes, and then a painter at the third. Going on up a level, where the bedrooms were, they went to the peephole that led into "their" bedroom. The room was empty. Their box of treasure was still sitting where they had left it before.

They struck pay dirt at the big bedroom, with the four poster bed.

The teens peered silently into the big bedroom where they had played dress up so many times.

Smith and their mother were in that room, along with one of the people who had gotten out of the Dry Cleaner's van. Ramona was standing along one wall while Smith instructed the man on what to pack into the box. The hangings from the four poster went into one, and the curtains from the windows went into another.

"And everything in those chests." He pointed to the cedar chests where the clothing Robby and Debbie had worn for years was packed. "But you can get those another day. Do you think these can be repaired and cleaned?" he said lifting up a drooping corner of cloth from inside one of the boxes.

"They're pretty old, but I'd say they're in fair shape. I have to tell you though, Mister Smith, this is going to be expensive. We'll have to re-weave a lot of the holes, and finding fabric - genuine period fabric - will be expensive too. It would be cheaper to just have new ones made."

"No!" barked Smith. "Only if something is too deteriorated to save. I want to save as much as possible. Expense is not an issue."

"Well, it's your money..." said the man, packing up the boxes. The other man came in and helped him carry the boxes out.

Debbie and Robby had to trade off using the peep hole. They whispered to each other as to what they were seeing. The voices were faint, through the wall, but there was only lath and plaster between them and the people in the room, and they could hear through that fairly well.

Debbie watched as Smith looked out of the bedroom door and then closed it. She heard the thunk of a latch being thrown.

"I told you they'd assign you to me if I wanted them to," he said to their mother.

"It was amazing!" said Ramona. "I got called into the president of the bank's office and he instructed me that I was to do anything you wanted me to."

Smith stood, looking at their mother. "Anything?" he leered.

"Bobby," said Ramona, "I'm here on business."

Bobby? thought Debbie. His name was Bobby?

"All work and no play makes ... Bobby a dull boy," he grinned.

"Do you have to keep that horrible thing on your face all the time?" asked Debbie's mother.

"Not when we're alone," said the man, and, to Debbie's astonishment he reached up and pulled off his hair.

Debbie gasped, stepped back and ran into the wall on the opposite side of the secret passageway with a thump.

Robby was at the peephole instantly, just in time to see the man throw a black, hairy mass on the bare mattress of the big bed. There was smooth brown hair on his head. Then he pulled at his beard and Robby saw sticky strings of something that had glued it to his face pull away. He tossed that on the bed too and stood, looking at Ramona.

"Is that better?" he asked.

Ramona was staring at the man, the briefcase hanging from her hand.

"You look so different," she said softly.

"It's been a long time Rami," he said.

"You're so handsome," she said.

"Not as handsome as you are beautiful," said the man who called himself Smith. He stepped toward Bobby's mother. "I missed you so much Rami."

Then, to Robby's astonishment, his mother rushed into the man's arms, into a kiss that was obviously voluntary and as heartfelt as when Robby kissed his sister.



Now it was Robby who staggered away from the peephole, running into his sister's soft body. She held his waist with her hands to stabilize them both.

"What's going on?" she whispered.

"He kissed her," gasped Robby.

"What?!" said Debbie, her voice like a shout in the confines of the narrow hallway.

"Shhhh," said Robby instinctively. "She kissed him," he corrected himself.



Debbie shoved him to one side and pressed her face to the holes.

"They kissed each other," whispered Robby.

That kiss was still going on as Debbie's eyes focused on the adults. That, and a whole lot more. The now brown-haired and clean shaven man - the same man she had seen before when she peeked the last time - had his hand cupping her mother's breast, and Ramona's arms were wrapped around his neck.

Ramona pushed him away. "We can't Bobby," she said. She didn't make him remove his hand, which stayed right where it had been, lifting the breast, and squeezing it.



Debbie's mouth was hanging open. Robby tried to move her but she pushed at him with one hand.

"Is there a man in your life sweet Rami?" asked the man.

"Of course not," said Ramona. "But there are all kinds of people around."

"I locked the door," he said.

"The drapes are gone from the windows," said Ramona.

Debbie couldn't quite get her mind wrapped around the conversation. It almost sounded like they were talking about ... sex. But that couldn't be!

"No one is working on that side of the house. I'm on fire for you Rami."

Debbie bit her lip. This man called her mother by a pet name. Rami was obviously short for Ramona. Who was he? Why had he come to their house wearing a fake beard and moustache.

"You left me," said her mother, her voice accusing. She looked at the briefcase in her hand as if she'd forgotten it and set it down. Debbie's unbelieving eyes saw her mother's fingers go to the buttons of her white blouse and begin unbuttoning them.

"I had to, my sweet," said the man. "I thought I could save the world. Only that could have taken me away from you."

Ramona unbuttoned her blouse, as if she were alone in her own bedroom.

"I cried for you Bobby," said Ramona, pulling the blouse apart and out of the waistband of her skirt. She bared her lacy white bra to this stranger.

Debbie stepped back again, her hand covering her mouth. What her mother was doing made no sense of any kind ... in any way. It was like watching a dream, that couldn't be true, but that you were having anyway, and you couldn't make it stop.

Debbie's place was immediately taken by Robby. He gasped and his two hands went to the wall, making a small sound. He saw his mother turn and look directly at him.

"What was that?" she asked.

Robby stared at her flat naked stomach, and the bulging bra cups, with their deep cleavage showing milky white skin. The man was staring at his mother's breasts too.



"This house makes many noises," said the man. "Seeing you again makes me want to make a little noise too."

Robby watched, his brow furrowing, as his mother laughed.

"I haven't had a man in a long long time Bobby," she said, removing her blouse and folding it neatly. She bent over and placed it on top of the briefcase. Then, as if it were the most normal thing for his mother to do in the whole world, she unclipped and unzipped her skirt and bent over, stepping out of it. It joined her blouse as she stood before the man in only panties and bra.

"Oh sweet baby, I've waited so long too," the man said, tearing at his clothes.

Robby watched in stark disbelief as his mother reached behind her and the bra fell down her arms to reveal her soft breasts. She had brown nipples Robby had never seen, or could never remember seeing. They were much bigger than Debbie's pink ones, thick, and they looked firm, sticking out from her slightly sagging breasts. For some crazy reason Robby found himself noticing that those nipples didn’t' point straight ahead, like Debbie’s did. Instead like eyes with something wrong with them, they looked in slightly different directions.



Robby's eyes went to the man, who had somehow become naked, his penis standing straight out from a fluff of brown hair that was as wild as the man's wig had been. That penis looked long, but bent. The man was uncut, like Robby himself, but he was so hard that the glans of his penis seemed to press forward, like it was trying to escape being confined by his foreskin.



"Shit" said Robby under his breath.

"What's happening now?" came Debbie's plaintive soft cry.

"They're naked," he whispered.

Debbie shoved him sideways, and he pushed off the wall to keep from snagging on one of the upright boards that the lath was nailed to.

"Hey!" he whispered loudly.

"I want to see!" she whispered back, pressing her face to the wall.

Technically, "they" weren't naked yet, since Ramona still had on her panties. But Debbie's eyes were drawn to that long fleshy lance that was pointing at her mother. The only other one she'd ever seen was Robby's, and they looked the same and vastly different at the same time. Her eyes flicked to her mother, whose clothes seemed to have magically vanished since Debbie last saw her. Debbie sucked in a breath as her mother bent over and slipped her panties off. She stood up, holding them hanging off of her index finger, and let them fall lightly on top of her folded clothes like she had practiced doing that for years.



"You're so beautiful," said the man, stepping toward her mother.

"It's been so long," replied her mother.

Then they embraced, and that long thick penis slid naturally between her mother's legs as the couple kissed what was obviously a kiss in the French way. Her mother leaned forward into the man's body, her hands pulling him against her. Debbie was numb from the shock of what she was seeing. Children never see their parents as sexual beings, particularly not with complete strangers who are somehow vastly too familiar to be strangers. It almost made her head hurt.



Still, the curious girl inside her body wanted to see what would happen next. That part of her mind held her steady, her eyes staring through the peep holes, while another part of her brain railed that this was wrong, that she must do something to stop what was happening, that the man was not only destroying her house, but he was destroying her mother at the same time.

If Ramona was being destroyed, she didn't appear to mind much. She broke the kiss and stepped past Smith, pulling his hand, leading him to the bed. The mattress that had been sagging against the wall when Debbie was last here, was now back on the bed.

"I'm sopping wet for you," said Ramona.

Debbie gasped.

She saw her mother lie down on the bare mattress, uncaring that there were no sheets on it ... that it was dusty ... and assume what could only be called a pose of invitation, her legs spread wide, and her arms outstretched.



Smith sank down on her mother and Debbie saw her own mother's hand grasp his manly gristle and bring it to her pussy lips. She watched in horror as that tip of that hard thing penetrated her mother's sex and began to slide into her body.



Debbie stepped back a third time, her hands coming up to cover her eyes, as Robby crowded in front of her to look. He gasped too, because what he saw was the opposite. He saw the man on top of his mother, at full penetration, drawing slowly out until his penis left her, a string of white connecting them, before lowering his penis almost tenderly to kiss and then penetrate his mother's nether lips again.

There was a duet of moans, clearly heard in the secret passageway, of two people enjoying themselves to the utmost.

Then, before Robby's unbelieving eyes, Smith fucked his mother. There was no other word for what they did. Smith lunged and thrust hard, his buttocks clenching hard with each thrust, and Ramona's body shook, as if with punishment. Robby believed it was rape at first, and was ashamed that he was rigid in his own pants, and unable to break down the wall to save his mother.

But her hands came to Smith's back and caressed it, sliding to his buttocks and, as they clenched for another assault on his mother's pussy, her hands pulled, digging her fingernails into his ass, clearly encouraging the man to plunder her sex.



Now there were grunts from the man and little yips and squeals and soft wails from their mother, sounds that made heat bloom in Debbie's loins, despite her attempts to crush those feelings. And they made Robby's prick jerk in his pants and begin to leak. They were the sounds of real, live, honest-to-goodness sexual intercourse taking place between two people who were having a wonderful time engaging in that intercourse.

Decades later, there would be a popular slogan aimed at convincing kids not to take drugs, and not to have sex. It would be called "Just say no!"

Now, in this time, the sounds the teens could hear their mother and this stranger making very clearly said "Just say yes!"

Debbie leaned weakly against the wall behind her brother. She couldn't watch any more. The sounds were more than enough to make her feel helpless. She tugged at Robby, but now he brushed her away, staring at the tableau before him. Smith was wild now, his buttocks rising and falling at an astonishing rate as Ramona wrapped her legs around him.

"For you my sweet!" the man roared and he drove in one last time and stopped suddenly. His balls went from flopping all over the place to hanging straight down in that way that only happens when it's very hot. Then those balls jumped three times in a row ... not much, but enough to be noticeable ... and the man gave a long groan of almost despair. Then he pulled out and began to slide in and out of his lover again, slowly, as she took up the groan that got louder and higher in pitch until it was a whine that sounded like she was in awful pain.



Robby stared as he saw a ring of thick white build up around the man's penis where it went into his mother.

The man had ejaculated in her.

Robby's knees almost failed. At the same time he had to clench to keep his own penis from spurting. It was insane!

Ramona's whine of release ended in a gasped, "I love you so much Bobby," as the man collapsed on top of her and they were still, except for Ramona's hands, which slowly and gently slid all over Smith's back.

"I missed you so much, Rami," came Smith's muffled voice.

"Please don't leave me again," came the voice that Robby's ears told him was his mother's voice, but which he couldn't put with her face. It was just too unreal.

As Robby pulled his eyes away from the holes, Smith said "I'll never leave you again, my darling."

TBC

Re: Haunting Sex Story
 

How the two teenagers got back to the root cellar they could not have told you. One moment it seemed as if they were in the dusty secret corridor between rooms, and the next they were standing at the bottom of the stairs that led up and out of the root cellar into the sunshine.



Brother and sister blinked, looking up into the bright light. Their emotions were in a turmoil, something they should have been used to, in the sense that their emitions were often at peak levels in this place, but they were unable to fully process what they'd witnessed.

As they squinted at the bright light outside, both had an unconscious desire to stay in the root cellar, where it was safe ... where they had hidden from imagined perils in the past, and now wanted to hide from something that seemed so strange that it felt ... dangerous. They had lived with their mother for their entire lives, but the woman they had seen through the peep hole acted nothing like the mother they knew. Her actions had been so casual, so blatantly sexual, in a way that looked as comfortable as what Debbie and Robby themselves had shared so many times. But that was insane! In all the years they'd lived with her they had never seen her exhibit one iota of sexual behavior.



Their mother obviously knew the man from the past some time ... some place. That much they knew. But the fact that he wore a disguise derailed their thinking. Why would he do that? Their mother had been expecting the brown-haired man for dinner. He was the special guest. And the disguise had thrown her too.

"What should we do?" whined Debbie, her voice small. She felt small in a huge strange world right now, like a small mouse who didn't want to expose herself to the hawk she knew was drifting on the wind somewhere up in that bright sky outside.

"My penis is hard," said Robby. He felt the need to say something, but couldn't think of anything else.

"What!?" asked his sister, turning to look at him.

"I got hard watching them," he said, his eyes wide. "Having sex," he added unnecessarily. Part of his mind was trying to cope with the knowledge he now had of what his hard penis could be used for. It was no longer theoretical. He'd seen what it could do ... what it would do someday. And the only woman he could imagine his penis doing that with was standing right next to him.

Debbie put her hand on the front of her brother's shorts. There was a big hard lump there.

He jumped as he felt her hand on his erection. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said.

They were both so confused that even something relatively normal for them seemed odd somehow. she took her hand away.

"What should we do?" she asked again.

"Go home?" suggested Robby. "I don't know what to do."

"Why would mom do that with ... him?" asked Debbie.

"I don't know," grumped Robby. "She acted like she loved him."

"How could she love him? Where did he come from?"

"I don't know that either," sighed Robby, remembering the way his mother had touched the man ... gently ... lovingly ... welcoming him into that intimate embrace.



"But she does love him," he convinced himself. He just couldn't understand her actions unless they were based on love.

"Maybe we could talk to her," said Debbie uncertainly.

"How are we supposed to do that?" scoffed Robby. "What do we do? Do we just say - Hey Mom, we happened to see you boffing the fuck out of that strange guy who showed up at dinner, and we were just sort of wondering why in the fuck you would do that?"

"Don't curse Robby" scolded Debbie automatically. "It's vulgar."

"Let me get this straight," said Robby, turning to her full on. "You're upset because I said the word, and meanwhile our mother is in there doing the word!"

"Well don't yell at me," she said, getting even more upset. "I'm not the one in there on my back with my legs spread!"



That image shocked Robby so much that his mouth opened and closed several times, like a goldfish in a bowl.

"Let's not fight ... please," she pleaded. There were tears in her eyes, glistening in a shaft of light coming from above.

Robby hugged his sister and she melted against him. Once again, their passion for each other insulated them from the strange and troubling thing they'd just seen. They felt safe holding each other ... a sense of normalcy. That passion flared in each of them and the hug turned into a kiss as they fed on each other's emotion.

Debbie pushed him away. "Let's go home. Mom went there on bank business. She'll have to go back to the bank. She won't be home until tonight."

TBC ......in next Chapter...

Re: Haunting Sex Story
 

Thank you for nice story. Pls continue...

Re: Haunting Sex Story
 

Chapter Five

Debbie's unspoken insinuation about what they'd do when they got home spurred Robby and he climbed the steps, carefully peeking outside. When he didn't see anything he reached for her hand and they bolted up and out of their haven. Seconds later they were in the woods and running, still hand in hand, for the fence. They slipped through the gap as if their bodies were greased and dashed for the back door. Not stopping they pounded up the stairs to Debbie's room, which was the first bedroom they came to. They had unconsciously transferred their feeling of safe haven from the room they could no longer play in, to the next best thing ... her bedroom, the only other place she felt like she owned.

Then it was more long tongue swapping kisses as they fumbled to undress each other. Their routine led them to being naked together on her bed, her hand firmly grasping his prick as she stroked him. His fingers strummed her clitty and she writhed beside him. She bucked her hips, and one of his fingers slipped between her plump pussy lips to dip into her. On instinct he let his finger go further until she moaned.



"That hurts," she moaned, but kissed him even more vigorously.

Robby remembered how that the man had sucked at his mother's fat, brown nipples, and he ducked his head to fasten his lips around his sister's pink one. She squealed and bucked her hips again. His finger felt resistance, but he pushed anyway.

"AHHHHOOOOWWWW," she cried and went rigid, rolling away a little, pulling her nipple out of his mouth with a "plop".



Robby knew he had hurt her, and he immediately pulled the finger out of her. He looked at it and it was stained a dark pink. She was bleeding!

"Oh baby I'm so sorry," he cried.

She hushed him, kissing him more now that the pain was gone. "It's okay" she said. "I think you ruptured my hymen. But I don't care. Kiss me Robby ... rub me. I'm so close."

She had never let go of his stiff cock, and she still stroked it. He went back to rubbing her bump in little circles, but took care not to hurt her again. She made happy noises and went stiff again as she came. Robby felt his semen begin its short journey. Because he had rolled apart from her when he hurt her, her hand was pulling on him as she stroked, and his penis was aimed at where his hand still stimulated her.



His sperm rocketed out and splashed on his fingers. That made her even more slippery and he rubbed his spunk into her clitty, speeding his fingers back and forth as her cum was extended by a follow-on orgasm. The rest of his spend painted his hand and her mons, making her pubic hair a mess of slippery white. Debbie let go of his rod and rolled away from him, splaying her legs wide, and his fingers slipped down to rub her pussy lips, one finger sliding between her swollen petals. He rubbed more slowly now ... just stroking her, knowing her clit would be too sensitive to stimulate directly. He stared at her, drinking the beauty of her nakedness as her breasts rose and fell rapidly.



Her head rolled toward him as he lay on his side, and she looked at him through her lashes. Then she convulsively rolled back toward him and she clutched him to her.

They traded soft words of love, intermingled with more sweet soft-lipped kisses.

Finally Debbie rolled to her back, relaxed. "Is this what they felt like?" she asked.

"Maybe," said her brother.

"I don't understand any of this," she sighed. "But if they were doing this ... feeling like this ... it just can't be bad."

"Yeah," said Robby, surprised that he agreed with her a hundred percent.

"We have to find a way to figure out what's going on," said Debbie more firmly.

"Yeah," said Robby again, still in agreement with his sister.

They got up and cleaned up, and washed the bedspread, which had a large wet spot on it. Then they made some sandwiches and had a bottle of RC Cola each. It was while they were finishing that, sitting at the table, that Debbie looked at her brother with calculating eyes.

"I want to do it again," she said.

Robby didn't have to be told what she wanted to do. Just her statement, and the look on her face, had him ready in seconds. He stood up, letting his bulge talk for him.



This time Debbie got a towel from the bathroom and spread it out where their hips would be. She didn't have to explain that either. Silently they stripped, watching each other. Debbie lay down first, adjusting her position so the towel was where she wanted it. Then she looked up at her brother.

Perhaps his unconscious mind noticed the similarity of her place on the bed, and her welcome for him to join her, to what they had peeked at in the old house next door. Seeing the sex act he had always heard of, but had not been able to envision in his mind clearly, affected him. Biology was also at work in his adolescent body. For these reasons he dripped with anticipation for feeling her soft skin against his, and hearing her special sighs as she experienced orgasm under his fingers. He didn't acutally think consciously of doing to her what Smith had done to his mother. That just didn't break to the surface of his awareness. But he lay with her, his heart full and groaned as she gripped him and began to stroke him again.

"I love this," she sighed as his fingers found her slit, already slippery with her expectation. He rubbed at the lips again, liking the feel of their willingness to move around under his direction. She gripped him tighter as he added the stimulation of suckling at her turgid nips, which now protruded from her firm breasts. They weren't as big around as her mother's. They didn't stick out as much as her mother's, but they pleasured her just like her mother had been pleasured. She liked this new thing they did ... very much.



She first felt his penis touch her labia by accident, as they moved against each other, kissing and moaning. He had moved his fingers to her clit now and was playing with it gently, rubbing in the little circles he knew she loved. Their lovemaking wasn't as urgent this time, though the feelings streaking through her loins did cause her to jerk on him more forcefully. And it was that which bought the tip of his penis in contact with her pussy lips, just below where his fingers stroked.

When it happened she noticed it mostly because it felt so different from fingers - both hers and his. That head was smooth and wide, its plumb shape mooshing between her lips and spreading them more than a finger would have. She pulled at him, getting that contact again, swabbing his glans through her dripping pussy lips. She wasn't trying to get it in her. She too had not yet arrived at the thought of that possibility. It just felt good to do ... so she did it.

It felt good to Robby too. Heat surrounded and kissed the tip of his drippy cock, and he felt that wonderful soothing stuff ooze out of him. She moaned into his lips and suddenly that ooze turned into a rush of hot fluid as his semen bathed her pussy mouth. He grunted with the surprise of it. He hadn't felt it coming this time for some reason.



Debbie felt that hot rush directly in her pussy mouth. It was completely different than feeling it on the hair that grew down there. It was warmer somehow. It felt fabulous. She kept sliding the spurting thing through her vulva as it gave her more and more of that fabulous feeling. She could feel his cock begin to soften almost immediately in her hand, and she squeezed it, not in any attempt to milk it of its nectar, but just because it felt good to squeeze as it softened. Something in her brain told her it would be okay now, now that he was finished, to roll back and spread her legs so he could do what he'd done before. She did, opening herself to his fingers and he began to rub all through the slippery mess with the flat of his hand.



Her hips arched up, wanting more than just that flat hand, and her hand went to his ... on top of his. When she did this to herself she slipped her finger into her sex. When she did that it didn't hurt, exactly, though there had been warning tinges of pain in the past. His finger had hurt her, but it was much larger than her own. She wanted to feel her finger in her pussy, and she pressed with her middle finger, trying to slip it between his.

Instead she pushed his finger into her split.

Robby felt her push at his finger and let it slide deeper into her. She tensed, but didn't cry out this time. He went deeper, gently and slowly, sliding the finger around in liquid, slippery heat.

"Does it hurt?" he asked in her ear.

"Noooooooodon'tstop." She ran her words together as her hips arched again. "Feels gooood," she moaned.

He went deeper and then she sucked air and winced as the thickest part of his finger scraped her now torn cherry.

"Ahhhhhhh," she moaned, but her hand held his there. "Don't stop," she said clearly.

"I'm hurting you," he said.

"Noooooo," she lied. There was pain, but it was pain worth bearing. Her orgasm was so close she felt like she could reach out and touch it. Slowly the pain dimmed, and the deeper he went the better it felt.

"Move it," she demanded. Her hand left his and went to his head, pulling him to her breast. "Suck!"



Robby took her nipple and sucked at the same time he withdrew his sperm-slick finger from her pussy and pushed it back in. It squelched noisily, making wet slurping sounds as it slicked through his sperm. It squeezed that residual sperm into her and out of her at the same time. He pulled on it again, and the base of his hand scraped across her clit. Now his conscious mind drew a connection between what his finger was doing and what Smith's prick had been doing in his mother. He sped up, as Smith had sped up, moving his finger in and out of her rapidly.

She exploded in a wail of ecstasy, her hips coming up off the towel in a convulsive leap as the orgasm blinded her temporarily. She didn't care and closed her eyes tightly, seeing bright spots in the darkness, her mind paying attention only to the thick thing that was plundering her pussy and the streaks of mad joy that bounced back and forth from her loins to the nipple he was suckling.

Her wild movements required Robby to dig in with his finger, to keep from losing contact with her and that only intensified her feeling. She shrieked, an anguished cry of joy that sounded to Robby like she was dying. In panic he jerked his finger out of her and her shriek changed to a wail as the wonderful feeling in her pussy went away. Her own hand flashed to her loins and she shoved her middle finger into herself, jerking it madly, punishing her clit through the rest of her cum.



She felt every muscle in her body tense up and then it was over. She flopped back to the bed, limp, her hand falling at her side and gasped for air.

"Deb? Are you okay?" asked a very concerned Robby.

"I've ... never ... been ... better," she panted. "That ... was ... fantastic."

"It sounded like I was killing you," he said, unsure of what to believe.

"You can ... kill me like that ... every day," she rasped, her throat dry from all her deep and rapid breathing.

"So it didn't hurt ... like before?" he asked.

She nodded. "A little ... but not so bad. Felt good," she said. "Except you took your finger out way too soon."

Eventually, the two teens used up all the nervous energy the things they'd seen had fired in them. They got up, cleaned up again, and again got something to eat. As they sat at the table, munching on grilled cheese sandwiches, the subject that was on both of their minds finally found words.

"So what are we going to do?" asked Debbie.

"I don't know. It's all so strange and weird," commented Robby.

"I want to yell at her ... scream at her," said Debbie, but without the anger that would have made it sound like such actions were imminent.

"We can't do that," said Robby, pragmatically.

"She's hiding something," said Debbie.

"Well gee," chuckled her brother. "When did you figure that out?"

She shot him a dark look.

"Why would she do that with a complete stranger?" wondered the girl.

"Come on Deb," said Robby. "Obviously she knows him from somewhere. He's not a stranger."

"But why would she hide it? And why would she let him do that to our place?" complained Debbie.

"Deb, she doesn't know it's our place," said Robby with infuriating sense.

"Okay, then, we'll tell her it's our place!" said Debbie, getting mad again.

"And she's just going to say '"Gee, kids, I didn't know that. I'll get right over there and tell the bad man to get out.' You really think she'll just say that keeping that little secret from her for years and years is just fine?" Robby sometimes had a way of making Debbie feel stupid, even though she was quite sure she was the smarter twin.

"But ..." Debbie started to yell.



"Look!" he yelled first. "She's never done anything that wasn't for our own good," he said insistently. "You know she loves us. There has to be some explanation for all this. We just have to figure out how to get her to tell us."

Debbie sulked. "I don't think I like you very much," she said sourly.

"I know," he said, making his voice sound obviously too sad for the situation. "I could tell a little while ago when you were letting me squirt all over your ... pussy."

His use of that word, a word that, if not taboo, was completely naughty, and not a word either of them felt comfortable using in normal conversation, was like a slap in the face to Debbie. Anger flared in her, but it was because he was poking holes in all her statements. She stood up.

"I'm going over to Angie's house. I'll be home for supper." She tried to frown, to let Robby know she was mad.

He just looked at her. He was afraid if he said anything else it would only drive her further away from him.

TBC

Re: Haunting Sex Story
 

Both kids were home when Ramona walked in that night. She had a lot on her mind, which was probably why she didn't sense the slight air of tension in the house. When she had returned to work, and had sat down at her new desk, a perk of having been assigned to work with the representative of the eccentric and mysterious Nettleton who owned the mansion, the first thing she had thought of was the heavy weight of her brother's sperm in her womb as she sat. Her feelings for her brother had been forced into a dark corner in her mind for a long time, but she wasn't surprised when they flooded out of that corner to drown her in their passion and intensity. She had always loved Robert in a special way that no other man could match.

She had known, when they were young, that what they did was not acceptable to normal people. She had known that there was significant danger if their love produced any attention ... especially if that attention came as the result of her belly swelling with his child.

After he had gone, though, she wished more than anything in the world that he had left her pregnant. She missed him so much that she had dreamed every night that his seed had taken hold in her, and that she would have something of him to hold and cherish and love. When her next period had come, announcing that her dream was not to come true, she had cried even more bitterly.



She had adjusted. Her desire to become a mother had transferred to Richard and she's finally been happy for more than a few days at a time. And when Richard had died it had been the memory of getting through the loss of her brother's presence and all that she missed so much, that had helped her decide to keep living then. That was when she had been able to finally put her brother's memories to rest, hidden in that corner of her mind. She had centered on her children, and had used their raising as a crutch to help her walk through life until she had healed enough to stand on her own again.

Now, suddenly, Robert was back. The affect on her was almost as traumatic as his leave-taking had been. As she sat, feeling his essence lying in her womb, shivers of ecstasy flowed through her veins. She was so happy she felt brittle, as if she could break into a thousand pieces if she weren't careful.

There were too many things to think about, and her mind flitted from one to the other too quickly to stop and actually think about each one. That he still loved her was obvious, but what did that love mean? How would it affect her life? What would he expect from her? How would she tell her children about him? What did the renovation of her family home mean in her life? She realized with true irony that she could almost feel the ghosts of her parents hovering over her, whispering to her, but she couldn't tell what they were saying. Did they approve? Were their spirits enraged that she would lie with her own brother. What if she got pregnant now? Did she want to prevent such a pregnancy? She knew she would go to Robert again ... and again ... for as long as he would take her naked body into his arms. She knew in the center of her being that she could never deny him. What did that mean to her life?



She did her work mechanically, her practiced financial eye reviewing documents, flagging ones that looked questionable for reasons she couldn't identify at that moment, but which she knew would yield their secrets later, when she was more settled. Her competence was automatic, unthinking, as she shuffled papers, her mind a whirl of unresolved issues.



It had taken a co-worker touching her shoulder, nodding at the lights going out all over the bank, to bring her back to the real world completely. She blushed at the woman's questioning look.

"I guess I was preoccupied with all this," she said, indicating the pile of invoices and bills on her desk.

"You'll get used to it," said the woman.

That social contact had let Ramona think of things other than the rambling questions in her head, and she had determined to concentrate on traffic to keep her mind off of things until she had passed the now open iron gates of her ancestral home. When she parked and went into the house, the uppermost thing in her mind was what, if anything, to tell her children. She had to begin, somehow, to prepare them for learning that they had an uncle they knew nothing about.



Ramona turned off the engine and blinked. As if some demented magic had swooped in to take charge of her life, she was in her driveway.

She didn't remember a single thing about the drive home.

TBC in next Chapter.........

Re: Haunting Sex Story
 

Chapter Six

"I'm home," Ramona sang automatically when she dropped her purse and keys on the sideboard in the hall.

"Hey!" came Robby's deep voice from the living room. She heard nothing from Debbie and assumed she must be in her room, or someplace it was hard to hear.

Ramona sought refuge in the rituals of preparing dinner for her family. The questions came back to her as she handled pots and pans and dishes.

"So," came the sudden voice of Debbie behind her. "How was work today?"

Ramona looked at her daughter but didn't notice the tense set of Debbie's shoulders.

"Fine," she said automatically.

"Nothing ... interesting happened then?" pressed Debbie.

Ramona, thinking that finally she had something to talk about, said, "Well, they gave me a new job. They put me in charge of taking care of all the financial documents associated with the renovation next door."

The silence this was met with penetrated Ramona's awareness. She'd forgotten how upset Debbie was about that renovation. She turned to see Debbie on the balls of her feet, leaning forward slightly.

"I know you don't like what's going on over there," said Ramona. "But what's happening is happening. Rob ... Mr. Nettleton has a lot of money in the bank. He's their largest depositor, and they want to keep him happy."

Debbie had pushed intentionally, trying to get her mother to be forthcoming with information. It hadn't worked, but that misspoken name was something she could press.

"What does Robby have to do with that?" she asked.

"What?" asked Ramona, confused.

"You said Rob ... before you said Mister Nettleton. The only Rob I know is Robby. What does he have to do with that?"

Ramona was flustered. Debbie was acting almost hostile toward her. Surely she didn't blame her mother for being assigned to the Nettleton accounts.

"Robby doesn't have anything to do with it," she said guardedly. I don't think you heard me correctly."

"I think you need to tell me what's going on," said Debbie, her voice full of accusation and an authoritative tone.

Ramona, unused to her daughter taking that tone with her, and at the end of her emotional rope to begin with, snapped.

"No, Debbie, I think you need to tell me what's going on! Why are you so intent that nothing should happen to that house? Why is it any of your business what happens in that house? I want some answers young lady and I want them now!"

Ramona's face was red and puffy as she shouted. Debbie's face got that way almost instantly too. Both women started screaming at each other, their hands waving wildly. Debbie screamed demands to know why Ramona had "done that" with that horrible man and why their mother was lying to them. Ramona screamed that she had happiness within her grasp and that it was obvious that Debbie didn't want her to have that. It was fortunate for both that they were yelling so loudly that neither could understand the other.

Robby appeared as if by magic between them, a hand held out palm first to each snarling woman.

"Hey ... HEY!!" he shouted, his voice drowning out both of them.

The women subsided, both panting, their faces remarkably similar in appearance, and not pleasant to look at, for all that each woman was normally beautiful.

"It doesn't matter what's happening next door!" he shouted, to keep them from starting up again, but then dropped his voice. "Whatever it is, shouting at each other won't help anything."

He looked first at his sister and then turned his head to look at his mother, his hands still up.

"And whatever it is shouldn't come between us as a family," he said firmly. "Mom ... what's for dinner?" he asked inanely. It was a bald faced attempt to change the subject.

Ramona realized with a flush of embarrassment that she had no idea what she'd been preparing. She looked at the counter in confusion. "I don't know," she said weakly. When she saw the chicken on the counter she said, "Fried chicken." Her eyes went to the stove, at the pan of water boiling there, and the potatoes in it. "And mashed potatoes," she added.

"Okay then," said Robby, as if something momentous had been resolved. "I'm starving."

Debbie took a shuddering breath. She, like her mother, had a lot on her mind too. She knew what she had screamed, but her mother didn't appear to have actually heard her. She felt her mind twist slightly in her head as she recognized that the fact that her mother was acting so oddly had to mean that something powerful was going on. She felt a rush of shame for screaming. Robby was right about that. As much as she loved that old house, it wasn't worth driving her mother away from her. Whatever was going on must be awfully important to her mother for her to act this way. The strange Mr. Smith was only part of it. As a young woman, Debbie had never given her body to a man, but she already knew the incredible importance of deciding to do that some day. And the fact that her mother had given herself so eagerly to a man - any man - was something Debbie instinctively understood was incredibly important. Though she didn't understand it, she suddenly knew that somehow, it would all make sense eventually. She still itched to get answers to her questions, but she also knew that she'd have to be patient to get them.



She hoped she could make herself find that patience.

"I'm sorry," she said suddenly. She looked at her mother with an unspoken pleading in her eyes.

"Me too," said Ramona. "I have a lot on my mind. I shouldn't have yelled at you. None of this is your fault."

Robby gave a silent sigh of relief as the two women rushed together and hugged. He watched in confusion as both of them started crying and apologizing even more. He decided that women were even stranger than he had suspected.



"I'm starving over here," he complained, rubbing his stomach.

"Then get a can of green beans and put them on the stove," said his mother tearfully. "Do you expect me to do everything for you?"

Robby signed again, this time audibly, and went to the pantry.

There was still some residual tension during supper, but it was manageable. All three family members tried to make idle conversation, but it all fell flat. Finally Ramona put down her fork, wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin and settled her gaze on her daughter.

"I'm just going to say something. I don't want to talk about it right now. You seem to have some emotional involvement with that house that I don't understand. So let me just say this and I want you to think about it before you say anything back ... both of you," she said, turning her eyes to her son. "Okay?"

Both teens nodded. There was a sinking sensation in Debbie's stomach.

"Okay," said their mother. "That property is owned by Robert Nettleton. It has been for years. He was overseas for a long time, but now he wants to come back and live there. It's his house. He's very rich and he has his money in the bank ... where I work. They want me to take care of his financial needs ... pay his bills and things like that. I can't turn that down. It's not exactly a promotion, but it pays better than just being a teller. If I do a good job it may lead to more assignments like this. So, even though I know you two don't want anything to happen next door, I have to do this. That's what I want you to understand. I'm not doing this to hurt you or anything like that. Do you understand?"

"Can I ask one question?" probed Debbie, unable to find the patience she had reminded herself to look for.

"Yes, as long as you understand I may not be able to answer it," said her mother.

"Why couldn't you answer it?" asked Debbie.

Ramona struggled in her mind, choosing her words carefully. "There are some ... complications ... things I can't talk about right now."

'I just bet there are!' thought Debbie to herself. She decided to push just a little.

"When you fixed dinner last night it was obvious that mister Smith is ... important. Why is he so important?"

Ramona had been semi-prepared for several questions. Questions about "Mister Smith" weren't in that number. She was too long in answering, and didn't have time to think about her answer carefully.

"He's Robert Nettleton's representative," she said. "He's important to the bank."

Debbie's stomach flip-flopped. Her mother had told her an outright lie. Or at least part of it was an outright lie. He might be the owner's representative, but that wasn't why he was so important. That much had been made perfectly clear through the peep hole that very day.

"Right," said Debbie tightly. It was obvious she didn't like that answer.

"Debbie..." warned her brother.

"I'm not going to shout," she said to him.

Ramona knew something was wrong ... that her answer had been in error some way. But the kids couldn't possibly know who "Mister Smith" really was. It was impossible. Her confusion prevented her from pursuing the subject with her daughter, who suddenly looked hostile again.

"I have to deal with him at the bank," said Ramona, trying to salvage something without knowing how. "I just wanted him to feel welcome."

"Oh I'm sure he feels very welcome," said Debbie tightly. Her brother's hand suddenly gripped her knee under the table ... painfully. She tried to push it away, but he was too strong. He did let off the pressure, but kept his hand there in unspoken warning.

Debbie, unable to control herself, pushed more. "Maybe you should take him a plate tonight. I'm sure he'd feel more welcome."

Unknown to Debbie, that suggestion drove straight into Ramona's brain. She could take him a plate of food. It would be a perfect way to see him again, privately. Her daughter's tone of voice was nudged out of her consciousness.

"That's a good idea," she said. Both children saw a sparkle come into her eye and were mildly astonished. "That's a very good idea," said their mother, smiling for the first time that night. "It would be very neighborly!"

To her children's further astonishment she stood up, forgetting her own food and bustling about making up a plate.

"I'll just take this over now, and see how he's doing." Ramona's eyes had a far away look in them now, as if she weren't paying attention to what she was doing.

Their mother's behavior was so bizarre that it struck her children in a way that impressed on them just how important this man was. It was one thing to contemplate her being a sexual being. Everybody knew adults had sex. But that she would abandon her dinner and her children ... just like that ... was something that spoke volumes to them. It penetrated their own brains in a way that nothing else had, even watching their mother have sex. As the door closed behind her, they looked at each other.




"Can you believe that?" asked Robby.

"Who is this guy?" asked Debbie, wonder in her voice.

There was unspoken agreement between the teens to spy again. They didn't finish their dinner either, standing up and heading for the back door as if they had planned this all along. They stayed silent as they ghosted from tree to tree toward the house. Robby exclaimed at how different the outside looked. Repairs and paint just on parts of the back side of the house made it look completely different. His sister pulled at his sleeve to get him to move on. They made just a cursory examination of the back of the house. Their mother would have drawn attention to the front part. They strode almost calmly to the entrance of the root cellar and slipped down into the dark.

Again they had left without thinking about light, but they fumbled in the dark only a little, finding the hidden catch for the shelf-door and stepping into the tunnel. They counted steps, stopping a foot from the door to the stairwell and pulled on the ring to open it slowly. The hinges still squealed a little and they left the door open to avoid making the hinges squeal again as it was closed.

Tiptoeing straight to the peep hole for the master bedroom, Debbie got there first and pressed her face to the holes.

The room was empty.

TBC

Re: Haunting Sex Story
 

She turned and whispered, "They're not in there."

They scurried from spy hole to spy hole, trying to locate the adults. It was Robby who saw part of a man's body disappearing from view toward the grand staircase. Moving back to the master bedroom they waited, but no one appeared. They could both hear voices from lower in the house.

Debbie cupper her hands to her brother's ear. "You wait here. I'll go back and see if I can find them." He nodded, peering into the room.

Debbie found them in the formal dining room. Smith didn't have on his disguise, and was sitting at the head of a table that would have seated twenty-four comfortably. Her mother sat next to him. He was eating calmly. She thought to go get her brother, but they were talking and she wanted to hear. Losing vision, she pressed her ear to a hole.

"... acting so strangely about this whole thing," she heard her mother say.

"It will only be another week or two before we can tell them," said the man around a mouthful of chicken. "This is delicious Rami."

"Thank you," said Ramona automatically. "I don't know if I can put them off for another week," she said.

"If you think they can keep quiet about it then tell them now," said the man.

"Bobby, they're just kids. They're smart kids. They started second grade when they were six because they already knew everything that first grade had to teach them. But they're still kids. This is going to turn their world upside down."

Debbie agreed with that evaluation of things already. She took time to peek, but nothing had changed. She put her ear back to the wall.

"...expect them to take it in stride. Why didn't you tell them a long time ago?" She only heard part of the statement and question, but Debbie knew it had to do with telling her and Robby what was going on.



"I didn't know if I'd ever see you again," said Ramona. "You were gone so long, and in so many dangerous places. I dreaded any kind of special mail, for fear it world be notification that you were dead."

"That doesn't explain why you didn't tell them about me. You could have told them about me even if I had died, Rami."

"Yes, but then I'd have had to tell them who they are. They're good kids Bobby. They're smart and talented and I don't want this to change that. You know what it can mean to be who we are."

It was silent and Debbie darted a look. Smith had stopped eating and was putting his fork down. She pressed her ear to the hole.

"Ramona, it didn't ruin you. It didn't ruin me either. There's nothing wrong with who we are. Why do you think it would hurt them to know who they are?"



Her mother was silent for a moment. "There's so much pain, Bobby."

Debbie stole a peek again, and could hear Smith faintly speak.

"Not for them," he countered. "That's our pain, my darling. They can never feel that pain like we have." He reached for her hand. "Was there pain this morning?"



Debbie watched her mother's smile bloom. She wanted to hear better, but the sight of her mother's joyous face kept her eyes glued on the couple.

"No, it was wonderful. You know how wonderful it was." Debbie watched her mother lift Smith's hand and kiss his fingertips.

"Did you really come just to bring me this fine meal?" asked the man, moving his fingers to caress Ramona's face.

Debbie saw her mother's face take on a look she had never seen there. A look of sensuality ... of desire ... like only the very best movie stars could re-create on film.

"No," she said.

"Ah, then, my fine meal is finished. Perhaps you brought me dessert? My tongue still wishes for some sweet syrup to finish the meal properly."

"My children will wonder why it takes me so long," said Ramona wistfully.

"Will they come to this haunted place to find you?"

She shook her head firmly. "They'd never come here. No one comes here. I know what you think, but it's not my children who have been coming here." Then she tilted her head, like she was studying the man. "But I came here. I'm here now."



Debbie watched as her mother stood and Smith pushed his plate out of the way. They embraced, their hands sliding all over each other's bodies. The girl felt a thrill of unwelcome heat in her loins. She couldn't get used to seeing her mother as a sexual being. The most bizarre part of that was that Ramona was so unashamed about it!

"I want to taste you," said the man.

"Here?" laughed Ramona.

"What better place for dessert?" he said, lifting her by the waist and sitting her on the end of the table.

"You're horrible. My daughter was right! You're a horrible man!" laughed Ramona. But she scooted back on the table and leaned backwards, supporting her upper torso with her arms behind her.

Ramona was still dressed for work, in a sensible summer dress that buttoned up the front. It was white, and covered with a riot of colorful flowers that spilled across it in a swath that left one shoulder and parts of the skirt plain white. Debbie's mouth dropped open as her mother drew her knees up to her chest and then let them fall apart, spreading the skirt. Smith's hands lifted the hem and Debbie could see her mother had worn knee high stockings.

Just then Robby came up behind his sister and whispered, startling her.

"I thought you were coming back to get me," he hissed.

Debbie jumped and her forehead thumped the wall.

"Shhhh." She went and peered back through the peep holes. She was just in time to see Smith's head turning back to her mother. He kept lifting her mother's skirt, clear up to her waist, exposing her panties.

The dining room had multiple peep holes, as opposed to just one, like most other rooms had, and Robby was able to use another that was slightly higher than the one that was comfortable for Debbie to use. He looked and stifled a gasp as he saw Smith's hands slide along the outsides of his mother's thighs to grip her panties. He held his breath as his mother lifted her buttocks up off the table - what was she doing on the table? - and held it longer as Smith worked the panties up his mother's thighs until she had to bring her knees back together to let him slide them past them. Her knees fell back open, though, as he pulled the garment off her feet, working it over her shoes, which were still on. Smith stared at the woman's pussy, glistening in the light.



The fact there was light intruded upon Robby's consciousness and he realized that electricity had been installed. At least in this room. He couldn't see the light source, but it was good enough that he could see a sparkle, as of drops of ice or something, on the light fur that was between his mother's legs.

"What are they doing?" he whispered to his sister. Her hand waved at him and again all she said was, "Shhhh." Her eye was glued to her peep hole.

Both teens watched in stark disbelief as the man bent and began kissing the insides of their mother's legs, starting at the knees, and changing legs from time to time. His head got in the way, but it was obvious when he could go no further. Their mother's head dropped back, as if she were staring at the ceiling and a low moan came ripping out of her throat.

Both kids had heard of oral sex, of course, and knew other teens who claimed to have engaged in it. But that was a scenario that neither Robby nor Debbie had actually been able to quite believe was, in fact, real. It was like a legend that was fun to believe in, but not quite really believable. That their straight-laced mother not only allowed it, but obviously was enraptured by this, caused in them feelings that, before this, they would have explored in this very house, up in the girl's bedroom.

"Mmmmmmm Bobby, I'd forgotten how wonderful that is," moaned Ramona. Her voice was clearly audible through the plastered walls.

Smith pulled away from their mother's sex, leaning back. "Your husband did not do this for you?"

One of Ramona's hands lifted from behind her and reached for the man's head. She had to lean forward, but she grabbed his brown hair and pulled him back toward her.

"Don't talk," she commanded.

He leaned forward and the teens saw her lift her buttocks up off the table to push her pussy into his face as he regained contact. As he slurped - the only word they could envision for the sounds coming through the wall - his hands went to their mother's breasts, fumbling with her buttons, undoing her dress. He pushed her bra up off her breasts and began squeezing and pulling at her distended, dark nipples.



"AHHHHHHH," she groaned, part pain, mostly ecstasy. "I wish you had two mouths you beast." She pushed at his face again. "Just a little longer. Uhhhhnnnnggggggeeeeeeeeeee," she squealed, obviously having an orgasm as the man's face moved in between her thighs and his fingers punished her nipples.

When her cries died away Smith stood and his hands went to his belt.

"I have something that will take the place of one mouth," he announced.

If the twins had been astonished before, they were speechless as they saw their mother scoot across the table toward the man.

"My turn for dessert," she panted.

Smith pushed his pants down as their mother slid off the table, her skirt falling back to its normal place. She knelt in front of the man and the teens both gasped as she clearly took his erect phallus into her mouth. Her cheeks caved in as she sucked greedily.



Now it was Smith who looked at the ceiling, his hands on his hips.

"Ahhhhh sweet Rami," he groaned.



Ramona obviously loved what she was sucking. She, too, made wet slurping noises as her lips moved all along the thick stalk that protruded from dark curly hair above a large full looking sack.

Debbie's loins were hot now. Seeing this completely impossible behavior on the part of her mother caused her brain to disconnect with the fact that it was her mother. As if she were watching two strangers, she felt her own pussy get wet enough to make those same noises she was hearing. Her hand went to her shorts and she unbuttoned them, slipping her hand into them to find her pussy was sopping. She stuck a finger in herself and curled it, pulling up to put pressure on her clitty. She couldn't stifle a little moan.



Robby was having his own difficulties dealing with what he was seeing. He had less problem with his mother's behavior, perhaps because most men want every woman to look and act like she loves sex. He was hard as rock, though, and wasn't sure he should be. His sister's moan caused him to glance at her and notice where her hand was. Feeling unaccountably better, he unzipped himself and hauled out his stiff prick. His hand stroked it as he peered through the spy hole again.

"Rami, my sweet, I'm about to explode," groaned Smith.

Ramona's actions left no doubt that if he did so in her mouth she would not complain.

"Not in your mouth my darling, please," he pleaded.

Ramona left off sucking him instantly and jumped backwards to land on the end of the table again, leaning back as she had before. She lifted her legs, spreading them and Smith, obviously delighted, supported her legs with his hands while he waded between her thighs. He had to let go of one leg and reach between them, but he surged toward her as she cried out in ecstasy.

"This is where I love to plant my seed," he said gruffly.

"Yes!" exhorted the mother of the stunned teens.

"I always wished I could have made a little baby inside you my sweet," panted the man as he began thrusting hard into their mother.

"I wanted your child," she cried out.

"Do you still?" he rasped.

"Yes!" screamed Ramona.

With that scream of assent, Robby's semen splattered the wall. Debbie heard his grunts of release and she had to squat as her pussy finally gave her the relief of sweet orgasm.

Inside the dining room, Robert Nettleton leaned into his sister and delivered his seed into her fertile garden, gasping with the force of his release, hoping that he really was creating life in her womb. Some dim part of his mind knew that was an insane thing to wish for, but he didn't care.

Neither did Ramona.

http://www.xvideos.com/video64395511...group_creampie

TBC

Re: Haunting Sex Story
 

The adults might not have had reservations about whether or not Smith's sperm found one of Ramona's eggs, but Robby and Debbie cared very much about the possibility of this strange mysterious man from their mother's past getting her with child. While what they had seen was erotic in the extreme, and stimulated their own sexual desires, the thought of their mother having a baby by this man was something that did not appeal to them. On this, they agreed, discussing it in the root cellar and in the woods and even in the back yard as they tried to get home before their mother did.



What they could not agree on was what they were going to be able to do about it. They returned to their separate rooms to fret and think.




Debbie's primary thoughts were about how her mother had lied to her. She was not aware of any time in her short life when her mother had intentionally lied to her about something. She was old enough to realize that, whatever her mother was hiding, it was important to Ramona. At the same time, Debbie knew that when she lied - and she had lied her fair share of times to a number of people - that it was to cover up something she was ashamed of, or would get in trouble for. Debbie was, therefore, very upset about the lie. In a strange way she was more upset about the lie than she was about her mother acting like a slut with a complete stranger. But that seemed wrong too. It was obvious he wasn't a complete stranger ... not to her mother.



Debbie heard the door slam downstairs. Her mother was back ... back from her wild sex party with the man next door. Curiosity drove Debbie out of her room. She found her mother in the kitchen, washing up the plate she had taken next door. She was ... humming.



And she looked as normal as it was possible to look.

http://www.xvideos.com/video56032945/_

http://www.xvideos.com/video53259667..._home_-_part_6


TBC in next Chapter......

Re: Haunting Sex Story
 

Chapter Seven

Debbie's natural curiosity was made more firm by her unwillingness to accept that her mother had lied to her. Debbie had never lied to her mother. Other than the fact, of course, that Debbie and Robby had played at the Nettleton Manor for years, and that they were sexually involved with each other were big secrets. But those were lies of omission and the only secrets Debbie had from her mother. She couldn't understand how her mother could be this other woman, and that Debbie had never been able to see even a glimpse of that woman.

"Mom?" began Debbie tentatively.'

"Hmmmm?" responded Ramona, her mind still on what had just happened.

"Tell me about your boyfriends," said Debbie.

Ramona turned and looked at her daughter. "Whatever do you mean? I don't have any boyfriends."

Debbie pushed the fresh sprout of her anger down and tried to be patient. "I mean when you were my age," she clarified.

Ramona knew her daughter well enough to see that she was uncomfortable ... distant somehow. They had always been loving and close. Was Debbie interested in a boy? That might explain her behavior recently ... her fits of anger. And, even though Debbie's recent outbursts had seemed to be tied to the Nettleton mansion, Ramona knew that ... hormones ... could intrude into life in the most unlikely ways.

"Are you interested in a boy?" she asked her daughter.

Debbie's first instinct was to deny that with a laugh. There were boys who interested her, but not as boyfriend material. She wasn't driven by hormones to seek males. She was quite satisfied with what she and her brother did in that way. But still, boys were ... interesting. And if saying she was interested in a boy would get her mother talking, then fine.

"Sort of," she said vaguely. "I've never had a real boyfriend."

Ramona sighed. Life at this stage of growing up was so hard. She hated the thought of her daughter going through what she had gone through as a girl. But she knew it had to happen. She hoped it didn't have to happen in quite the same way it had to her. It never occurred to her that her son and daughter might have the same kind of relationship she had had with her brother. That relationship had been born of the kind of pain and loneliness that her children had never had to face.

"Well, sweetheart, I'm not sure I'll be much help to you. I didn't have many boyfriends until I met your father," she said.

"Tell me about them," urged Debbie.

Ramona sat down at the table, where her unfinished plate of food still sat. She took a sip of her tea, but left the food alone.

"Golly," she said, her eyes going unfocused. "There isn't all that much to tell. There was a boy named George, when I was twelve. He was nice to me and I kind of thought of him as a boyfriend. We couldn't date or anything like that, of course."

"How about when you were older ... my age?" asked Debbie.

Ramona didn't know how to answer that question. Her "boyfriend" then had been Robert. Her guardian hadn't allowed her to date, and boys didn't come to visit at the house where the waifs lived. There had been boys who showed interest in her, but the whispers of girls her age told her that all they wanted was what she and Robert did in the dark of night, and she wasn't interested in doing that with anyone except Robert. What she had with her brother was precious and special.

But she couldn't tell her daughter about that!

"I guess I didn't really have a boyfriend until I went to college and met your father," she said.

The anger swelled again in the pit of Debbie's gut. Another lie.

"No other boy kissed you until you met Daddy?" she asked, her voice tight.

There was a slippery slope here for Ramona. Another boy had kissed her, and done a lot more than that before she met Richard. But that boy was Robert, and she couldn't tell her daughter about that. She avoided the question by asking one of her own.

"Has a boy tried to kiss you?"

"You didn't answer my question Mom," continued Debbie. "Why won't you answer my question?"

Ramona's reaction to her daughter's interrogation was one of fear. Had someone in the community been telling her children stories of Ramona's past? There were still a few people around who had lived in Nettleton and might have known Ramona when she was a ward. She hadn't worried about them because she had tried to be so invisible before she went to college. And, when she came back to Nettleton with a husband and a baby in her womb, she had thought people would forget her past. Only the oldest people in town might remember that she was the sad little Nettleton girl who changed her name. Was it possible that the renovation of the mansion had brought out old dusty memories ... and idle chatter about the past?

"Who have you been talking to?" she asked.

Now it was Debbie who had to be careful. Any information she divulged about what she now knew about her mother had to appear to have come from some source that couldn't be questioned.

"Nobody," she said tersely. "It's just that everybody has a boyfriend. Everybody has a first kiss. It's just how things happen. I just wanted to know what that was like for you."

Ramona thought about what kind of emotions Debbie might be feeling at her age. She didn't have a good frame of reference to think about that, because her own childhood had been anything but normal. Still, she knew how it felt to be in love ... to want a man's touch ... to want to do things with a man, even if that man had been her brother when she was Debbie's age.

"Sit down, Darling," she said, pointing to a chair.

Debbie hesitated, but then sat.

"Sweetheart, a girl at your age has feelings that are very strong sometimes. It's normal for her to be curious about boys and what it would be like to ... kiss them. That seems like a long time ago, when I felt those things. The mother in me wants to tell you not to kiss the boys. But I know that's not realistic. I guess what I really want you to understand is that it's tempting to do things with boys just because of feelings you have, but it's important not to go too far unless you have real love. Does that make sense?"

Debbie's reaction to that was mixed. What her mother was saying sounded like what any mother would say. But, knowing what her mother had just done, only an hour before, it had to mean that her mother ... loved ... mister Smith, and that didn't make any sense at all. A new thought bloomed in Debbie's mind. She didn't remember her father, because she had just been a toddler when he was killed. And, while she didn't remember any men in her home life, there had been a period of a few years when, if there was a man in the house, she might not have remembered it. Could mister Smith be a man her mother fell in love with after her father was killed?

In typical teenage fashion, instead of answering her mother's question, she blurted out her own.

"Mom, did you have a boyfriend after Daddy died?"

Ramona stared at her daughter. This was a conversation that seemed ... odd somehow. Her parental radar began to have blips on the screen that were disturbing.

"No, Darling," she said. She strained to find the right words. "Things were very difficult for me when your father died. I wasn't ... well. It took a long time to get as back to being normal as I could. I didn't feel that ... seeking male companionship ... was something that would make my life ... our lives ... better."

Ramona saw something like disappointment cross her daughter's face. This was very odd. On impulse she spoke.

"Debbie, why are you asking me all these questions. Do you have a boyfriend? Has he tried to do something that makes you uncomfortable? What's going on?"

Their roles had been somewhat reversed. Initially, Debbie had thought she might pry some information out of her mother that would answer some questions about the man next door. If he was an old boyfriend, what she and her brother had seen would make a lot more sense. Now, however, she heard that tone in her mother's voice that meant she was the one being interrogated, and that her mother wanted to pry information out of her.

Still, other than the fact that her mother did not seem to want to confess to what had gone on in the past with mister Smith ... what was still going on with him ... her mother's responses had been what Debbie would have expected ... caring responses that any loving mother might have given. The questions Debbie wanted answers to concerned mister Smith. Something in Debbie had begun to recognize that her and her brother's childhood play-place was gone now, never to return. Now this unbelievable relationship her mother had with Smith had pushed itself into her uppermost mind. She itched to make sense of it, and she took the risk of further questions.

"It's just that you seem so interested in mister Smith," she hazarded. "I mean what with him being a stranger and all, and I know about the bank and all that stuff, but it just seems like ... I don't know ... like you look at him sort of like I look at boys at school."

Debbie held her breath, waiting to see what her mother would say ... or do.

It was a pivotal point in the relationship between mother and daughter. At this point, Debbie knew her mother had lied to her at least twice, and that was something she couldn't understand. She also knew that her mother must love this stranger from somewhere in her past that she wasn't willing to talk about, and she couldn't understand that either. Had her mother laughed, or pshawed the idea that Smith might mean something to her, it might have created a rift between mother and daughter that could have lasted a lifetime.

But Ramona didn't laugh. She was seized by feelings of fear of her daughter finding out secrets that were better off left buried. At the same time she had to acknowledge that her daughter's instincts about this were astonishingly accurate, considering her age. Had she known that her children had spied on her, everything would have been different. She harbored some kind of insane hope in her heart that she and Robert might be able, somehow, to recapture the happiness of their youth together, now that he was back. She felt no guilt about what they had done since his return, but she was fully aware of the pitfalls involved in that forbidden relationship. If she could just tell her children who he was, they would simply assume that the ... feelings ... they saw, and which Debbie had just voiced seeing, were only the natural love of sister for brother.

But could she trust them to be discreet? Robert still had things to do before he took off his disguise in public, or at least until he appeared publicly as Robert Ellsworth Nettleton. Ramona was wracked with doubt. But she saw real questions in her daughter's eyes, and that was important too.

Now it was Ramona who took a risk.

"Sweetheart, there are things about mister Smith you don't know."

Ramona saw light bloom in her daughter's eyes, an obvious interest that shouted that this was something Debbie wanted very badly to know about. Debbie unconsciously leaned forward, toward her mother.

"But ... I can't tell you everything just yet."

The light dimmed in Debbie's eyes, and Ramona saw that too. She went on hurriedly.

"It's not because I don't want to tell you. It's complicated. There are legal issues over at the mansion and, until those are resolved, it's very important that no one learn some things about him that could cause him problems."

Debbie clutched at the little part of the secret that her mother had shared.

"Okay, I understand that, but why would you be interested in him? As a man, I mean?" Debbie pushed her luck even further. "It's like you knew him in the past or something."

Ramona became wary. "Is this what all those questions about boyfriends were all about?" she asked shrewdly.

Debbie's eyes widened. Her mother was pretty sharp. "Well ... yeah ... I guess so ... sort of."

Ramona didn't know what to say. She knew if she just put her daughter off that it wouldn't work. That much was obvious from her previous behavior.

"Let me say this. I already told you I knew him in the past. And, when I knew him then I liked him. He didn't have that beard then. But he's not my boyfriend." Ramona looked at her daughter to gauge the response.

Debbie was now confused. Her mother obviously liked mister Smith a lot more than she was admitting to. But what confused Debbie was her mother's unwillingness to admit that. She got an idea.

"Is he married or something?" she asked.

Ramona shook her head. "No, he's not married. But people would be ... upset if they thought we were as close as a boyfriend and girlfriend."

"Why?" asked Debbie.

"That's something I can't talk about," said Ramona, unable to come up with anything else. "You'll understand in a few weeks. I promise you that. You'll understand everything in a few weeks. Okay?"

Debbie's curiosity had been both soothed, to a tiny degree, and inflamed, to a large degree. She couldn't imagine why her mother had to wait to tell her just who this man really was. But she knew she'd gotten as much out of her mother as was likely, so she nodded. Then she felt compelled, for some reason, to hug her mother. She got up and bent over to embrace her.

"I love you Mommy," she said into her mother's hair.

Ramona felt a stab of emotion. "I love you too baby. I really do. And someday you'll understand all of this and it will be okay. I promise everything will be okay," she murmured.

That did, in fact, reassure Debbie, but she went to talk to Robby about things anyway. She didn't have much to give him, but it was more than she'd had an hour ago.

Robby listened carefully to what his sister told him.

"She admitted she liked him, a long time ago?" he asked.

"Well, she didn't say it was a long time ago. She just said she liked him, but he wasn't her boyfriend. But it had to be a long time ago, because otherwise we'd know him too ... wouldn't we?"

"Yeah, that makes sense," said her brother. "And she said he couldn't be her ... boyfriend?" That word just seemed too strange to use in the same sentence as his mother.

"She said he can't be her boyfriend, because people wouldn't like it," said Debbie. "Why wouldn't people let her choose whoever she wanted for her boyfriend?" she mused.

"It has to be something to do with the manor," decided Robby. "But how can we find out what it is?"

Debbie thought and then straightened up.

"The library!" she said excitedly. "Doesn't the library have old records and newspapers and stuff like that?"

And so it was decided. The kids would journey to the town library the next day, while their mother worked ... or visited Smith again.

TBC

Re: Haunting Sex Story
 

Ramona worried about the conversation with her daughter. Had she said too much? Should she have said more? But the next morning, when her children acted completely normal towards her, laughing and talking about going swimming, she felt better.

She might have felt differently if she'd known what they were really going to do.

They waited until she was gone and then started to get ready to go. Debbie, thinking about her mother, and what she'd seen, suddenly felt that itch between her legs that meant it was time to visit the manor. Except they couldn't do that any more. She remembered the day before, as they lay clutched on the very bed she was sitting on, and her nipples tingled. She got up to go see her brother.



Robby was standing in his underwear, trying to decide on whether to wear shorts or jeans when his sister walked into the room, her blouse unbuttoned. She pulled it open to display her naked, bobbing breasts.



"Little Debbie has a treat for you," she announced, taking the blouse off.

Uncharacteristically, Robby, the male in the relationship, the one reputed to have no self control, chastised her.

"Debbie, we have things to do!"

"We can afford ten minutes," she said, cupping her breasts and squeezing her nipples between her thumbs and forefingers. "Come on, don't you want just a little taste?"



She knew how to get his juices flowing and watched with glee as the front of his briefs began to fill up and bulge.



"Of course you do," she teased, bending over to slide her shorts down and step out of them. She slid one hand from her breast into her panties and pressed her clit.

"Hey!" he said. "Isn't that my job?"

"I thought you wanted to go dig through musty old books," she kept teasing. "Besides, I did just fine all by myself for years before you got involved."

Robby knew how to tease too. He picked up his shorts and put a leg through them.



"Okay, I'll be at the library whenever you get finished." He pulled the shorts up and buttoned the waist.



"Robbeeeeeeee," she whined. "Don't be mean to meeeeee," she said as she dug her finger up into her pussy.

"You started it," he grinned.

But he unbuttoned and dropped his pants. Her pursuit of him gave him a feeling of power and he pulled his briefs off to stand, hands on hips, his prick strong and straight, pointing at her. He went to his bed and lay down on it, looking at her.



Debbie made a show of sliding her panties down her thighs. She stood when they were at her knees, spreading her feet as widely as her strained panties allowed, and ruffled her blond fur, slicking her middle finger between her lips.

"I'm wet," she said, her voice husky.



"I know how to make you even wetter," said her brother, reaching for his cock and stroking it.

Debbie removed her panties, kicking them with one foot, making them sail toward her brother. They hit the side of the bed and dropped to the floor. She walked languidly over to the bed and leaned over to watch as her brother stroked himself. She loved watching that thin skin uncover and then cover back up the head of his prick.

"Let me," she said, reaching for it.

Robby let his hand drop and sighed as he felt her warm hand grasp him. She played with him, playing with his foreskin. A bubble of white oozed out of the slit in the tip and Debbie suddenly thought of her mother, on her knees in front of Smith, sucking. She had been ready to let Smith squirt in her mouth, but he had wanted to put - what was it he called it? - his seed ... yes his seed in her mother's pussy, where it could make a baby. She stared at her brother's ... seed.



Acting on impulse, she leaned lower and flicked her tongue out to swipe that bubble with the tip of her tongue.

She tasted. It didn't taste like much of anything. A tiny bit bitter, but sweet somehow too. Her impulse suggested copying what her mother had done. Having seen her mother, who was obviously enjoying what she had been doing, it didn't seem too strange any more.

Robby felt heat surround the head of his cock. It was like nothing he had ever felt before, except maybe when he rubbed between his sister's pussy lips with the tip. But this was all around the knob. He lifted his head and stared at his sister, sucking his cock.



"Oh fuck, oh fuck ... oh ... oh," he moaned.

The heat all around his prick head left, leaving cool air that didn't feel good at all. Her blond head came up.

"You like that?" she asked, licking her lips.

"Ohhh pleeease do it some more," he pleaded.

She happily went back to sucking, loving the feel of his smooth skin. She could play with that cute foreskin with her tongue and she did so, moving her lips to force it off the head and then licking it as it tried to cover him again. She tasted more of the bitter/sweet stuff and swallowed it, along with saliva that seemed to be pouring into her mouth. She took more of his cock into her mouth, feeling downward with her lips, feeling the head trying to go into the back of her throat. She gagged, and didn't like that feeling, so she pulled back to play with just the head. She liked that better.



Robby had lain rigid while she loved his prick. He wanted to shoot, but the thought of doing that with her mouth down there was something he was just sure she'd be mad at if he did it. But it felt too good.

"Deb, something's going to happen," he warned, his voice tight as he tried not to make a horrible mistake. "You need to stop now!"

She did, raising her head. "Is it going to squirt?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yeah, that feels too good."

She stared at her brother's eyes. "You taste good," she said.

Then she let her face fall and took him in her mouth again.

For Robby, it was like somebody had slapped him ten or fifteen times. He closed his eyes tightly as his face went into a grimace and his mouth opened wide. He felt it deep in his balls ... an ache that could only be eased by one thing. Then, before he could take another breath his prick started spouting ribbons of thick cum.



Debbie knew what to expect only insofar as she had seen him squirt before, and helped clean up the spots where they had made a mess on the bed. But confining that to just her mouth was much more difficult than she thought it would be. She got two swallows in before her mouth overflowed and her brother's sperm began leaking from the corners of her mouth. She felt like she was going to choke and pulled her mouth off of him, taking one spurt right on where, if she were a male, she might have a moustache. She could have posed for a commercial that wouldn't be seen for thirty years, in which the tag line was "Got Milk?" Except, of course, for the fact that her "milk" was now dripping down across her lips and chin and beginning to drop in strings down to her breasts. She swallowed twice more, her mouth clearing at last, and her hands came up to catch the mess. In concentration it tasted different and she realized that she loved the taste. She began licking her hands, cleaning them like a kitten cleans its paws.



Robby just lay there dazed, his prick oozing more of the stuff that puddled in his hair to join what had leaked out of her mouth before she gave up.

"I can't believe you did that," he panted.

Debbie licked her palm and the heel of one hand, even though they looked clean by now. "That was fun," she said. "But I'm really horny now." She looked at her brother. "Would you do that ... for me?" she asked.

Robby thought about that. He'd seen Smith doing that to his mother, and she had obviously loved it. But it seemed ... gross. Still, she had done it for him, and if his mother loved it, then maybe Debbie would love it too. He would do it for her ... even if he didn't really want to.



He rolled to make room for her on the bed and she arranged herself like she had the previous day, opening herself wide for him. He got on his hands and knees and slowly let his face get closer to her sex as he looked closely at her pussy. He noticed things he'd never noticed before ... fine hairs sprouting above her clit. Her clit itself was enlarged and clearly visible. He looked at it closely and realized it looked something like the tip of his own cock, with a tiny foreskin and an even tinier prick head peeping out of that hood of skin.

He sniffed.

The guys at school had talked about fish smell, but she didn't smell anything like any fish he'd ever been around. Her scent was strong, but not bad. One time he'd sniffed her panties which she'd left in the hamper and this didn't smell anything like that had either. Her fingers appeared in front of his eyes, pulling her pussy lips open, showing him the dark cavern that they hid. He decided to touch the tip of his tongue to her clit first ... to see what the taste was like. He couldn't see, and he pressed his stiff tongue against the organ much harder than he had planned.

"Ah..UHU!" she grunted and her hips thrust up off the bed, smashing into his face.



Robby's face was wet with her juices. Her odor was all around him now, and his lips were wet. He licked them automatically and found a spicy pungent taste that wasn't anything like what he had expected.

She tasted good!

Robby thrust his mouth and nose into her pussy, this time intending to press hard. His tongue led the way, seeking that dark hole she had exposed, and finding it. He tried to stick his tongue into that hole as far as he could. Even if it was only an inch or a little more, her reaction was more than satisfactory. Her voice made a grating sound and she cried out, her hands gripping his hair painfully. The fact that they pulled turned what had sounded like pain into something that he knew she loved. She jerked her hips around so much that his face lost contact and bounced against the inside of one thigh.



Robby went to his elbows, sliding his hands under his sister's buttocks and then he made an "o" of his lips and aimed for her clit. When he felt his lips close around it, he sucked and pulled her up into his face so she couldn't wiggle loose. Her clit came farther into his mouth than he thought it would and he found he could nip it with his teeth. Knowing that it would hurt if he bit her too hard, he alternated with sucking hard, nipping with his teeth, and swabbing it with his tongue.



Debbie went crazy. She screamed and her arms and head flailed. She sat up and then flopped back down. Her voice sounded agonized, but with a tone that made it crystal clear she was not in agony. Her pussy provided so much juice as she came that his face made wet squelching sounds, like a foot in a shoe filled with water as someone walked in it.



Debbie finally lay limp, her multiple orgasms having robbed her of the strength to do anything except drag breath into her lungs. Her legs lay akimbo, her pussy lips swollen with blood as Robby finally pushed himself away from her. He was painfully hard and, as he sat on his heels, he stroked his prick, staring at the luscious pussy he could still taste on his lips. Debbie looked up at him through her lashes, anticipating what she knew he'd do. And, when he groaned and leaned forward, she mustered the strength to lift her pussy up to meet his cock as it began unloading his semen-packed balls. He only meant to splash her pussy lips with his goo. But, as a half ounce of his thick spunk rocketed out of his prick, the head kissed those lips and sealed. All that spunk shot right up into her pussy. The only thing that saved what was left of her virginity was that, feeling that warm bath inside her pussy, she went weak again, and dropped her buttocks back to the bed.



Then, as he collapsed on top of her, instead of his prick boring into her pussy, it lay at the gates and the rest of his spunk went where he'd intended it to go, soaking her pussy lips and mons as he continued to spurt.



《负伤缠满绷带的妹妹被哥哥强行插入-1》高清播放http://www.olevod.com/index.php/vod/...d/1/nid/1.html



《手机拍摄》高清播放http://www.olevod.com/index.php/vod/...d/1/nid/1.html




TBC in the next Chapter....

Re: Haunting Sex Story
 

Chapter Eight

An hour had passed since the teens discovered the unbelievable pleasures of oral sex. Satisfied for the moment and cleaned up, Robby and Debbie entered the doors of the Howard County Public Library, where Penny Martin, Head Librarian, proudly waited to serve the few customers who came her way.



Penny had only graduated from college with her cherished library science degree about six months earlier. The placement service at the college had found her a job offer before she even graduated. That she'd landed a job as "head librarian" almost immediately had impressed her parents. What she hadn't told them was that it was in a hick town in a remote county that couldn't pay for more than one staff member. So while she was the "head" librarian, she was also the only librarian. Still, it was a job, and the cost of living in Nettleton was workable, and she was basically thrilled. It would start her resumé, at least.

Some of the thrill wore off when she realized there might actually be days when the only patron she served might be old Mr. Breckenridge, who was retired and had nothing better to do than sit in the library and sleep with a book open in his lap. He did that pretty much every day, especially since the pretty young librarian had been hired. He was there today, in fact. Or perhaps the hospital would call and ask her to bring around a selection of books for the patients to read while they were laid up. It being summer time, no students came to do any research. They all had better things to do.

So, when Debbie and Robby walked in, they got good service.

Well, they got good service until Penny found out what they wanted. She could recite Dewey Decimal System numbers in her sleep, including history, but she quickly found that the history section of her library was a bit sparse when it came to history concerning the town, county and even state. There was a really nice selection of books on World War II which, she noticed, were actually in the wrong section, but she had nothing on the old house the town was named for.

All three of them were so intent on searching for a book on the shelves that they were startled when old Mr. Breckenridge shuffled up the aisle.

"Couldn't help but hear what these young'uns wanted," he said, his voice a little too loud. "Ain't a goin' tuh find it here," he added.

"Oh?" inquired Penny.

"Yup" said Breckenridge. "All that's down in tha basement," he slurred. "Madge packed it all away 'cause nobody ever wanted it."

Madge was the previous head librarian, who had retired herself and never ever came to the library after she locked the doors the final time.

"Ah kin show ya," he grinned. "Ah helped her put it down there."

The Howard County Public Library was, in reality, a house built in the twenties that had been taken over by the county for taxes during the Great Depression. Walls had been knocked down and replaced with pillars, making it into two rooms, one quite large and the other quite small. A bathroom had been added when inside plumbing came into vogue and the narrow steep wooden staircase still lurked behind a warped door in the wall that had been a kitchen wall in years past. The tiny kitchen now acted as an office.

Penny had descended those stairs a couple of times since being hired, but she didn't go down there often. The books she had found down there weren't suitable for display, being musty, thick with absorbed moisture, and falling apart for the most part. There were boxes and boxes of records of who had checked out what over the years. Basically it was all junk, but the cobwebs kept Penny at bay. She hated spiders. Her original plans to clean it all out had been put on hold.

Now, as she led the way down the stairs, and pulled the string that lit the bare bulb that hung by a cord from the floor joists above, she shivered. She made room for the kids, who came next, and Mr. Breckenridge, who eased his aching joints down the stairs entirely too slowly to suit Penny.

"Ain't as spry as I used to be," he mumbled, peering into the semi-darkness of the basement. "Should be over that-a-way." He pointed with a skinny finger, on which rested a discolored and too-long fingernail.

"That-a-way" turned out to be a far corner, which very little light penetrated into. Penny looked at the kids, who looked perfectly at home, as if they prowled around in dusty, damp and cobwebbed environs on a regular basis. She shuddered again.

"I don't want to get my clothes all dirty," she complained.

"That's okay," said Robby. "I'll move anything that needs moving."

Truth be told, they'd never have found anything if he hadn't been for Homer Breckenridge, who had a memory better than his appearance might have suggested. He shuffled unerringly to the far corner and pointed again.

"Look behind them boxes there," he said.

Robby had to move several boxes overflowing with old cards that had names scrawled on them, with dates after them. Why someone had kept them was a mystery, but had they been studied, they would have provided a remarkable history of what the townspeople of years gone by had read. Clouds of dust billowed into the air as Robby restacked boxes on top of other boxes. Finally he uncovered one battered wooden crate that was neatly packed with ledgers, a few books, and a number of yellowed newspapers.

Penny directed them to take the crate upstairs, trying to get out of the basement as quickly as she could. Once upstairs again, they unpacked the wooden container on a table. Homer lifted several of the folded newspapers and opened them with a surprisingly gentle touch. They all appeared to be editions of "The Nettleton Crier". There were no pictures to speak of, but huge printed headlines were scattered all over the front, as well as some drawings that depicted various things, including advertisements for various medicines and other items for sale by merchants of the town. Debbie's eyes were drawn to a hand drawing of a woman wearing a hat and a dress just like Debbie had put on during dress-up play many times. It looked much more full below the waist than it did when Debbie wore hers.

The ledgers turned out to contain information about the mines. One thin book, in surprisingly good condition was titled "The Nettleton Empire". It was a handwritten history of the Nettleton mining operation. The last entry said only, "Company sold in probate after the tragic incident."

Penny, her curiosity whetted by actually having something to do, began leafing through the book, while Homer pointed out various newspaper articles.

"I 'member some of that now," he wheezed. "Sad times they were. Those poor little babies."

"What babies?" asked Debbie.

Homer's eyes went out of focus. "They wuz two little 'uns left after the momma and daddy wuz killed. They caught them two what dun it and 'lectrocuted 'em. 'Lectrocuted the feller what hired 'em too. Bunch of us drove up to the pen'tentiary and stood outside to watch the lights dim. I wuz there when they fried. Saw the whole thing."

"What?" asked Robby shocked. "What are you talking about?"

"Killers ... hired killers" said Homer explosively. "Snuck in thar and kilt the parents one night. They wuz a little boy and a little gurl in there when it happened. Found 'em hidin' somewhere in that old place. Them killers said they'd have dun fer the kids too if'n they'd a bin able tuh find 'em." He sighed. "Them kids found thar kin all slaughtered and raised the cry."

Debbie gasped. She had been leafing through newspapers and pointed at one.

"Here it is!" she said.

Everyone peered at the huge type on the front page.

"PILLARS OF COMMUNITY SLAIN IN VILE MURDER!" screamed the headline, which looked to be three inches tall and took up the top quarter of the page. The story went on to describe, in gruesome detail, what the town constable had found when he was summoned to the Nettleton Mansion by a hysterical woman employed as a cook by the Nettletons. The cook was in her room in the carriage house when Robert E. Nettleton, age six and his sister Elizabeth R. Nettleton, age four, burst into the room crying and covered in blood. She had fearfully gone with them to find their parents slaughtered in the master bedroom. The children had been hugging their dead parents, trying to get them to get up, and when that failed, had gone to get the cook. The investigation had revealed the house had been ransacked and a number of items appeared to be missing. All other staff members in the mansion had been gone that night to a dance in town.

There was another article on the same page in one corner that reminded readers of the death of an unidentified Nettleton boy at the hands of would-be kidnappers and, later, the murder of Constance Nettleton in the very same room that this crime had taken place in, some forty years earlier. It was suggested that a demonic presence inhabited the house, and that this demon required history to repeat itself.

The newspapers had been stacked in date order, and the next day's edition also had a banner headline.

"MURDERERS CAUGHT RED HANDED!" That story told how a posse had been formed and had fanned out across the county using the technology of the day, the internal combustion automobile to speed them to points where a cordon had been established. When two blood spattered men carrying a gunny sack were observed, they were taken into custody and found to have the Nettleton silver in the bag, as well as other items identified by servants as property of the slain Nettletons.

Another slightly smaller headline at the right lower corner of the front page said:

"NETTLETON ORPHANS REMOVED FROM SAD STRUCTURE."

That story was about how there were no relatives to be found, and the children had been removed to a boarding house where they would be cared for until their murdered father's will could be located. That such an instrument existed was clear, since Mr. Wilfred Tower, an attorney in the town, swore before the circuit judge that he had executed such a document within the last year. The will had not yet been found.

In another paper with a later date, there was another front page story with a drawing of a man, strapped in a large wooden chair, his head hooded, with wires going from the chair to a wall. The story told of the swift trial and execution of the murderers, and the man who hired them to perform their grisly task. It also verified Homer's assertion that the henchmen had admitted they'd have killed the children too if they'd been able to find them in the house.

The next paper in line was dated five months later, with much smaller headlines, but still on the front page. That story told of the finding of the will. Details of what was in the will were sketchy, but the disposition of the two orphans was discussed, identifying one Margaret Swales as having been identified in the will as the guardian of the children.

The next paper didn't appear to have anything in it at first glance, but, on the inside they found a small article that had the headline:

"Orphaned waifs' ordeal continues" That story told of Mrs. Swales inability to care for the Nettleton children due to her confinement to a sanitarium, and of their assignment of a new guardian. The entire article was no more than seven lines long.

There were additional articles, quite small on average, that mentioned this or that milestone in a Nettleton child's life. There was one that spoke of their entry into the public school system, using only "the Nettleton children" as identifying data, and another one later that heralded Robert Nettleton's graduation from school and his impending assignment as a missionary in "blackest Africa".

By the time they were finished going through the main documents it was clear that, what had riveted the townspeople in the beginning, took on less and less significance as time went on. The last newspaper article they could find was about the house itself, and how two young men had been apprehended trying to sneak into it on a dare. The article said it had been shuttered up until the return of "the present owner", who was not identified by name.

Debbie looked at her Bulova wristwatch. They had been reading for two hours, and there was a lot of materials in the crate no one had examined yet.

"Miss Martin, can you keep this somewhere for us until we can come back?" she asked.

Penny looked askance at the crate. "As far as I'm concerned you can take it all with you." She dusted her hands by clapping them together. "That doesn't really belong in the library," she pronounced. "If anything it should be in the museum or someplace like that ... if anybody wants it at all." She had, after all, only been in town for six months, and had no curiosity about the Nettleton Mansion. In truth, she had never even been by the place.

Debbie began repacking the crate immediately. She planned on taking it home and going through it more carefully. They had learned a lot, but she knew there was more information in there and she wanted to know that too. Robby carried the crate on his shoulder as they walked back to the house.

Homer Breckenridge tried to accompany them, giving them unasked for advice.

"You'uns stay clear of that place. It's hainted. The poor souls of all them murdered folk drift through there at night. Ah seen em mahsef."

Debbie looked at him curiously. "When did you see them?" she asked.

The old man smiled, revealing he had lost some teeth along the way. "Ah used to walk by there sometimes. Ah seen lights through them winders. Cain't nobody get in there any more. Them lights is the ghosts of all them Nettletons, you mark mah words."

Debbie had a pretty good idea of what those lights actually were. Those lights the old man had seen were from the candles she and Robby had used to explore. They hadn't thought anybody would be looking through the trees at the old place, and hadn't been all that careful about using those candles.

"How cum ya'll want to know 'bout that place anyways?" asked Homer.

"There's a man moving in there," said Debbie, still thinking of whether anyone else might have seen their candles.

"Ya don't say!" said Homer. "Well, he'd have tuh be a Nettleton. They ain't never sold that house. It's got tuh be that little orphan boy iffen you ask me." He scratched at his beard. "Mov'in in there huh?" he mused. "I never heered 'bout that."

Robby was uncomfortable at the man's interest in the manor. "I think it's supposed to be a secret or something," he said.

Homer stopped. His joints ached from all the walking they'd already done. He was thinking now about a pint of whiskey he'd hidden away at Miss Dixie's boarding house, where he had a room, and where alcohol was strictly forbidden. "Wahl, you'uns member whut ah told yuh. They's ghosts 'round that place. And if they's a Nettleton back there, then there'll be death 'round that place too. Mark mah words!"

The two teens hurried on, leaving the old man behind.

"You think he's right?" asked Robby, puffing a little. The crate was heavy and awkward on his shoulder.

"He must be," said Debbie. "At least about it being a Nettleton moving back in. That's what Mister Smith said. Who else would even want to?" she asked. "But that doesn't explain how she knows Smith. How could she have known him?"

"I don't know, but didn't she say Smith had been gone somewhere for a long time. And didn't the paper say that boy went into the missionaries? Maybe Smith is the little boy!" Robby was excited now.

"That still doesn't say how Mom would know him," said Debbie doubtfully.

"Well, Mom's about the same age, and the paper said he went to public school. Maybe they went to school together." Robby sounded convinced already.

By the time they got home they expected their mother within the hour. For some reason they didn't want to share what they'd found with her, so they hid the crate in the garage. They figured it would be safe there because that room was just slightly too full of junk to park the car in unless it was going to storm or hail or something like that. Just in case, they piled an old tarp on top of it. Then they had to clean up. Both had smudges on their skin and clothing from the dusty library basement. Robby wanted to play as they changed clothes and used wash cloths to clean their arms and faces, but Debbie pushed him away.



"We don't have time. You'll have to be patient and wait." She smiled at the look on his face. Her mother kept telling her to be patient. Somehow it felt good to make somebody else wait for something he wanted too. She teased him by rubbing her hand across his crotch, and then ran, laughing from the bathroom as he gave chase.

《床破了》高清播放http://www.olevod.com/index.php/vod/...d/1/nid/1.html


《不必要地外出》高清播放http://www.olevod.com/index.php/vod/...d/1/nid/1.html

TBC

Re: Haunting Sex Story
 

Ramona drove home quickly, speeding a little. She wanted to go see Robert again tonight ... couldn't wait to see him in fact ... but there were the children to deal with. She knew they were curious and sensed they were suspicious. If she didn't have an iron-clad reason to go visit "Smith" they'd get even more suspicious. She had played over and over again in her mind the various ways she could introduce "Smith" as their uncle, and had tried to imagine how she would tell them of their hidden heritage. In every scenario she had dreamed up it all fell to pieces. She had no idea how she'd end up doing it. There was dread in her about that.

That dread, in juxtaposition with her excitement at meeting with Robert again ... being loved by Robert again ... made her jumpy and irritable during the day. Her co-workers chalked it up to her change of jobs, and to having to deal with the strange man who represented Robert Nettleton.

After having rushed to get home, when she parked, Ramona sat in the car for a few moments, ambivalent about getting out. She still hadn't thought of a way to break away from her children and go see Robert. It was when she reached for her briefcase that the idea came to her.

She got out of the car to the sound of laughter and screams. Debbie came running around the corner of the house, looking over her shoulder, her hair flying. She was flushed and laughing and Ramona's heart lurched in her chest. Her daughter was so beautiful and healthy and carefree that it almost made her cry. She had to drop the briefcase and put her hands out to avoid being run down by her daughter, who didn't know that either her mother or the car were there.



Just as Debbie ran into her mother's arms, Robby came charging around the corner too, growling and roaring like some kind of animal. But the look on his face was one of glee, and not anger.

There was a general pile-up of bodies as Ramona was pushed up against the car by her two children. There were gasps and shouts from all three, who ended up in a group hug that wiggled and moved as Robby tried to tickle first his sister and then his mother too, growling again.



"Stop!" laughed Ramona, pushing both of them away in self defense. Her children moved away from her, but eyed each other warily.

"What on earth has gotten into you two?" she said, her heart thudding in her chest as the adrenaline rush of being run into subsided.

"Robby was being mean to me," whined Debbie in a voice that made it clear she wasn't in the least bit angry or upset.

"You'll know when I'm really being mean to you!" he growled. "I'll show you!" and he darted for her, his hands reaching for her ribs.

Then she was off and running like a deer again, back around the same corner with Robby in full chase, like they were ten instead of almost grown. Ramona grinned and bent over to pick up her briefcase, shaking her head and going toward the door. Life was good, she decided, regardless of the ups and downs they were experiencing. Life was just pretty good.



While their mother went into the house to fix supper Debbie led her brother on a chase into the woods next to the fence to the manor. She tripped on a root and flailed her arms for balance, going down on the soft humus covering of the forest floor. Naturally, Robby caught up with her. She gripped the black iron of the fence bars and gained her feet just as his hands went on either side of her, imprisoning her as his body crushed hers against the fence.

"Got you!" he panted.

"Only because I tripped," she said in a fake sulk.

Her breasts rubbed against his chest as she, too, breathed in heavily. Her hands went to his waist. The chase had awakened something in them that their ancient ancestors might have felt during a pursuit like that. The purpose of their ancestors' chase, however, was not for fun and games, but to make sexual conquest. Debbie responded to that ancient drive. She had been caught, and she surrendered. She leaned forward to kiss her brother.



Robby responded, and their kiss turned torrid as their hands roamed all over each other's bodies. The drive to reap the fruits of the chase was strong in both of them. As Debbie felt her brother's fingers open the last of the buttons of her blouse, though, a voice cut through the stillness of the forest.

"What do we have here?"

The teens sprang apart as if they had been goosed with a bare 220 volt wire, and whirled to find Smith, dressed in what they now knew was his disguise, his black hair and wild beard covering his face, and his body draped in the ill fitting black trench coat.

"I have found two little rabbits, playing in my woods," said the gravelly voice, which they also knew was not the man's normal one.



Both youths were wild eyed and panicked at having been caught in an amorous embrace. And this man knew they were brother and sister! Their world teetered on the edge of disaster.

In such circumstances, there is a normal response the body makes. It is sometimes called the "fight or flight syndrome", and the body prepares itself automatically for either of those two options. Normally, that means the body, usually in its placid state, is infused with various hormones and chemicals on a more or less instant basis, and the results can be astonishing. Adrenaline is one of the primary hormones released during a stressful incident. Debbie's body had already produced a measurable quantity of adrenaline in the excitement of the chase and the expectation that sexual activity was going to occur. Now, the fright and anguish she felt gave her an extra shot.



Basically, she was hopped up on hormones to the point that her response was to fight, rather than flee. A second consideration might have been that Smith was on the other side of the iron fence, providing a certain amount of unstated security. A third aspect of the confrontation was that her unconscious mind keyed in on Smith's use of the term "my woods", which was in direct contravention to how Debbie thought about "her woods".

"You horrible old man!" she shouted, her mind relating to the disguise, rather than the much younger man who wore it. "How dare you spy on us in our woods!" In her frustration and rage at her present circumstances, she bent to the forest floor and her hand grabbed a fistful of matted leaves and soil, which she then flung through the bars. The detritus fluttered, expanding, and fell to the ground inside the fence, feet short of hitting the man. Her blouse gaped open, though only the creamy skin between her breasts was exposed.



"I hate you. I hate you!" screamed the girl, stomping her feet in a tantrum of rage. "You're ruining everything!"

Smith didn't move when she threw the handful of leaves at him. His beard made it difficult to tell what his face looked like, but it moved in ways that made it look like he was smiling.

"Well, well, the little rabbit has fangs, she does." He stared at the two, looking at Robby, who was poised on the balls of his feet. "So you feel these are your woods too," he mused. "That, little rabbit is a very interesting thing to me. Perhaps you could tell me why that is the way you feel?"



His complete dismissal of Debbie's hostile speech and actions were unsettling, as if he felt completely secure, and was neither offended or worried about them. And, adrenaline is a short acting hormone. It breaks down in the blood stream after releasing glucose for the muscles to use, leaving the host much weaker ... and just as suddenly as it made the host feel strong and ready to fight.

But there was a little fight left in Debbie. She pulled her blouse together, buttoning two buttons without looking at them as her eyes blazed at Smith.



"I wouldn't tell you anything!" she snarled.

Smith's beard moved as if he were smiling again. "Well, then, perhaps your mother might be able to shed some light on this issue? Perhaps I should mention to her that I met you in ... your woods?"

His unspoken threat to tell their mother just what he saw them doing in ... their woods ... hung heavily in the still air.

Debbie looked stricken, her face red, and tears flushed her eyes so much she couldn't see. She used the heels of her hands to rub her eyes dry and felt fury that she cried in front of this man. Her emotions were at such a fever pitch though, that she was virtually speechless now.

Robby stepped forward. "We've done nothing to harm you," he said, his voice heavy. "You have no call to ..." He couldn't put into words what changes Smith might be able to make in their lives.

Smith, standing so placidly on the other side of the fence, shrugged his bulky shoulders.

"It is not my intention to cause either of you pain," he said seriously. "Quite the opposite, in fact. But discussion of that must be for another time." He looked down the fence line in both directions. "I have my survey to finish. Perhaps we can discuss this at some time when emotions are not so high."

Debbie's emotions were like the blips of a heart monitor, jumping from low to high, though in a much less steady beat than a healthy heart would make.



"Please ..." she pleaded. "Please don't tell our mother." Tears ran down her cheeks.

"Do not worry, little rabbit," said the man, turning to face down the fence line. "I may be a horrible old man, but I have a heart."

Then, ignoring them, he trudged along the fence away from them.

Left alone, the threat receding from them, and their sudden gift of strength just as suddenly gone, the teens slumped. Debbie flowed into her brother's arms, but this time it was for comfort, rather than erotic thrill.

"What are we going to do?" she moaned. It was a question she was asking a lot these days, but it didn't seem to have an answer.



《想被宠坏的女仆》高清播放http://www.olevod.com/index.php/vod/...d/1/nid/1.html

TBC in next Chapter......