Big Book of Smut (37 page)

Sobs of excitement fell from her lips as the man covered her completely with his body as he thrust into her depths. His firm hips bounced off her plush ass checks with vigor as he sought his release and the man who played with her below kept her on the edge of excitement until with one mighty thrust and groan the man that thrust into her above was met by the man who sucked her pleasure point into his mouth. Her screams of joy filled the room as her body twisted and heaved in every direction until the tips of her toes curled in glee.

Tears of pleasure coursed down her cheek as she fell to the cool ebony on the piano top. Exhausted she lay sprawled wide until she felt hands gently lift her down from the smooth wood. Standing there swaying on her feet, she saw me on the sofa, riding one man while the other was standing before me. Suddenly, the rattling of the doorknobs drew our attention. We turned as one, the men and my sister, pleasure forgotten, as we watched the door slowly open.”

* * *

I felt the hairs on my neck and arms stand up as I closed the journal. I was afraid to read what happened next. Finishing the story would have to wait, standing abruptly; I headed down the stairs unable to continue further until I had a stiff drink inside me.

Chapter 7

Normally I don’t drink alone, but that night I headed to my dad’s liquor cabinet and pulled a bottle of whiskey from the bottom shelf. Heading to the kitchen, I felt a swift rush of cold air rush by me. A feeling of impending doom was upon me. Standing there in the hallway, I eyed the living room that I had just left and the stairs that I had just come down. I knew that the house was empty, as my father was attending a business conference and my mother had decided to go along.

I’d never been frightened of the dark, or of being alone, or any number of other things that people managed to acquire in their life. Now however, I had the oddest feeling that I wasn’t alone. Somehow, I knew that it wasn’t my ghosts. Whatever was there in the house with me was someone else. Shaking my head, I went into the kitchen for some ice and smelled smoke.

Whirling around I began to sniff, but knew that it wasn’t the wiring or anything else with the house itself. It was cigar smoke, just the faintest smell, and suddenly I suspected who was there in the kitchen with me.

Calmly reaching for a glass tumbler, I pulled open the freezer door to get some ice and as I did, a mist of cold air began to swirl in front of me. It was just like the old horror shows, when a waterfall of foggy cold air begins to fall over the sill of the window, only it was happening in front of me, and out of my freezer. It began to coalesce first into a person’s face and then a figure. It was a man and he appeared to be nearly as tall as I was. The portion of the head that was supposed to be a face was barely recognizable but it managed to form what appeared to be a young man’s persona. I watched, as the lips seem to move before me and emit a slight hiss of sound. I couldn’t be certain but it sounded almost as if the words, free them, were whispered.

In that instant, the room turned back to normal. The refrigerator stood there with nary a bit of smoke anywhere around it. The empty glass was still in my hand, the lights in the kitchen were on but I stood alone, knowing that I had to go back upstairs and finish the journal.

Chapter 8

“August 27 – We watched in horror as the door seemed to open in slow motion and there at the entrance to the room stood our father and the apprentice. A roar of such rage exploded from our father’s depths that the glass in the windows seemed to shake with fury. The men scrambled around the room some reaching for their clothing, others trying to place furniture between themselves and our father’s outrage.

Serena and I watched as the apprentice, our first tutor in love, fell to his knees and as we watched we saw him cover his face as if in pain. I moved to gather our clothing as our father advanced on our persons with fists tightly clenched and arms shaking. By now, the men seeing that our father’s attention was solely on us, had managed to flee the scene one by one until we were the only ones left in the room.

Even now, writing in this diary, I cannot begin to describe the events that took place there. My father’s hand was wrapped securely in Serena’s hair as he pulled her out of the room to the stairs. His other hand held me firmly as he dragged me along in a tangle of clothes and shoes. Throwing us down to the floor in front of the steps his screams of obscenities seemed a never-ending litany. Shouts for the housekeeper were useless, as she had left the house for her day off.

We climbed the stairs to our rooms shaking in shock and fear, not knowing what would become of us. Rushing into my room, we slammed the door shut behind us and Serena and I began to dress. In the silence, we heard the scratching of the key in the lock and knew that we weren’t going anywhere.

August 30 – Days have passed and although we’ve heard pounding and construction below, we have seen no one. We awake to find the chamber pot empty and a pitcher of water and a few slices of bread on a plate. Our cries for the housekeeper go unanswered.

August 31 – We awake to find ourselves in complete darkness. I scramble about in the gloom and manage to find a stub of a candle and match on a small crate that even now is serving as my writing table. There appears to be no door to the room we are confined. Bits of sawdust, a crate and a cot are the only things in this small space besides Serena and me, along with my journal and pen. Our pounding on the walls of our confinement go unanswered and as the flame gutters out the last bit of wax in the candle, I know this is my last entry. It appears that father has chosen for us, we die alone, thirsty and hungry with only our sins of the flesh to keep us company. We will never have to worry about being married off to our father’s suitors. It appears that we will never have to marry at all.”

Chapter 9

I sat on my bed, having finished the journal, and recalled the chain of events that had lead me here, to this place in time, and knew what I had to do.

Chapter 10

The last shovels of dirt are falling onto the grave as the priest continues with his litany of prayers. The blessing of the ground and the bones that the grave contained was completed earlier. Arranging with the authorities and the priest proved more time consuming that I ever expected, but the work was finally over.

Standing under the grey mist that fell from the sky that day made me realize how fortunate I had been to get through this experience unscathed. The two young women, who died so tragically, had finally been put to rest. The young apprentice, who must have been tortured to death by the father of the young women, was laid to rest with them. His bones were removed from the crate that had served as the writing desk for Samantha.

Walking away from the gravesite and cemetery, I headed home, once again revisiting the scenario I had managed to piece together from the information received from the two female ghosts, the diary, and the male ghost who appeared to me that last day.

Further research found that the father had sold his business and financial assets and moved away from the area. No trace was ever found concerning the apprentice and when I had finished reading the journal, I knew that the apprentice had never left. When I eventually did return to the house with the authorities, it was then that we found the bones hidden in the crate.

I could only surmise that the father confronted the young apprentice and he broke down. He probably admitted to being in love with the girls and who knows what else. That combined with his obvious grief that day, upon seeing them with the men, had surely sealed his fate.

As I sat down in my car, I turned for one last look at the gravesite, which was now off in the distance. I knew that the misty figures waving goodbye weren’t my imagination, but as I headed my car to the gates of the cemetery, I knew that that was the last that I would see of them.

Opening the door to my new house, I inhaled the smell of fresh paint and newly laid carpet. There was still a lot of work to do, but the restored camel back sofa and fireplace drew me like a magnet. I sat down to rest, secure in the knowledge that the former inhabitants living and dead were gone for good. As I pulled the new journal towards me, I felt the crisp clean pages crinkle under my fingers, where to begin I thought, as I put pen to paper.

About the Author

I was born in Hull, England. I’ve been writing for some years now mainly for the pleasure of it all but with the advent of self-publishing I’ve entered a completely new world. I hope you enjoy my stories as much as I enjoyed writing them. If so, I’d love to read a review from you just to show me that you did at least enjoy the story.

Discover other titles by Carl East at Smashwords.com:

Title 1 –
Hell’s Gate

Title 2 –
My Other Daddy

Title 3 –
My Stepfather 1 to 3

The Predator had been stalking his prey for several months. He knew where she lived, where she worked and where she shopped. Covert surveillance of her home had given him a detailed pattern of her comings and goings. A discreet check of her trashcan had given him a bounty of personal information. With full name, address and date of birth, he'd been able to visit the courthouse and search through the list of registered voters to obtain her social security number. The rest was easy.

It was hot inside the battered Dodge van. The Predator took a long drink of his soda and wiped sweat from his brow with a shop towel, glancing toward the mobile home a few hundred yards distant and occasionally raising his binoculars for a closer look. He knew from past observation that his prey seldom rose before three PM, so he waited patiently, enduring the sweltering heat. A greasy blue notebook lay open on the seat beside him, crammed with notes, a copy of his prey's divorcee decree; irreconcilable differences, her birth certificate; high school and college transcript, an honor student, a complete medical history and detailed credit report. He suspected he now knew more about her than she knew about herself. The idea of taking her made his cock swell inside his mechanic's coveralls. It wouldn't be long now.

The interior of her small trailer had surprised him. It had been easy to gain access through one window while she was at work. He'd spent several hours there going through her belongings, inspecting her closets, her video collection of mostly horror flicks, her rock and roll CDs and whatever else caught his eye, looking for insights into her personality. Her furniture was unremarkable, her taste Early Yard Sale...probably all she could afford since the divorce he assumed. Most of the place was stringently clean. Her bedroom was the surprise-filled with books. Hundreds of books, hardcopy and paperback, on shelves and stacked on her dresser, the end tables, even the floor. Stephen King, Fred Saberhagen, Dean Koontz, and what looked to be the complete Anne Rice collection, The Vampire Chronicles, The Mayfair Witches, and an autographed framed 8x10 photo of Anne Rice on one wall. There were movie posters, too, "Blade" and "Queen of The Dammed." Did she believe in vampires? Apparently she did, if the movie collection was any indication. Oh, this was going to be such fun! To take her darkest fear (or was it a fantasy?) and bring it to life! He'd know soon enough either way. At 3:26 he heard the back door slam and the engine of his prey's decrepit pickup grind to life. A few seconds later the old truck came jolting down the rutted driveway, windows down, blaring rock and roll. He lifted the binoculars and saw that today she wore a loose black skirt and a brilliant orange, hot pink and yellow tie dyed t-shirt with sunglasses. A leftover hippy? Maybe.

She was six years his senior. The orange clashed with her long auburn hair, carelessly scrunched into a ponytail. "You'll look better when I dress you,” he said to himself. He started the van and pulled in behind her. It was busy at the feed store, few places to park. The Predator waited until his prey was inside before he pulled his van alongside her rattletrap pickup. No one noticed as he took a matchstick and carefully let most of the air out of her passenger side rear tire and stole the tire tool from the plastic milk crate stowed in back. If she followed her usual route home, the already threadbare tire would be flat in the middle of nowhere...exactly what he wanted. Five minutes later his prey returned, shouldering a 50 pound bag of fertilizer. He watched as she dumped it in back and then climbed into the cab, not noticing the low tire. She fiddled with the dial on the radio, found a station and drove away, so intent on the music she failed to notice the van as it followed. The tire lasted exactly eight miles. It gave out on a stretch of deserted road between houses and the Predator was elated; he couldn't have chosen a more perfect spot for an abduction.

The prey eased her truck on to the side of the road and got out, shaking her head in disgust. She was fumbling with the jack when the van eased off onto the shoulder behind her, looking hot, tired, and ready to be pissed off. This was the tricky part. The Predator readied the hypodermic syringe as he left the van, pretending to be concerned. "Are you having trouble, ma'am?" he asked. Soft southern baritone, polite. He was careful to give her plenty of space, not wanting her to bolt. Most women were a little intimidated by a man his size, but she was five foot ten herself. "Just a flat tire, “she responded a touch defensively. "Nothing I can't handle." "Bitch, "he thought."You'll sing a different song when my cock is up your ass." He held back, watched passively as she carried the jack to the rear of the truck and pushed it beneath the frame. Best to seem like a good 'ole boy. Just a chewing Bubba native to this neck of the woods. She rummaged through the milk crate, searching for the tire tool. "Damn!" she exclaimed a moment later. "What's wrong?" the Predator asked. He made no move to approach her, not wanting her to feel threatened. The closest house was a few hundred yards back but in the humid stillness, he knew sound would carry; best not to let her scream. "I've lost a lug wrench,” she replied. "I think I have one somewhere,” he offered.