Untitled Story Part 5

          Bill’s house wasn’t far outside of the city, but it set far enough back from the main road to be considered secluded and the property was surrounded by trees. I had never been there before. It was beautiful.

          We drove through the break in the trees down a long drive way. The property was well cared for, manicured lawns with beautiful spring flowers. The house itself was two stories but seemed to sprawl among the trees, like a god among followers. I counted three balconies, a wraparound porch, and a dozen windows at least before we pulled up to the front of the house.

          I climbed out of the car as the driver started unloading my few bags from the trunk. My wardrobe was sparse, and I only owned four pairs of shoes. The boxes from my apartment, full of my art supplies and books, had been delivered yesterday. I had more bottles of paint and rolls of canvas than articles of clothing. It wasn’t that I didn’t care, but there had always been more important things to pay for.

          The grand double doors swung open and a tall, thin, stern looking woman stepped between them. The dark, polished wood framed her, made her look more intimidating, as if that were necessary. She looked to be in her mid- to late-forties, though she was mostly free of wrinkles. She reminded me of my prep school headmistress in her tight black pencil skirt, white collared blouse, and tight bun. The only striking difference between the two was the shoes. Mistress Hepburn would never wear 4 inch heels.

          My impression of her softened when she smiled warmly at me, and extended a hand. “Ah, Miss Bryanna Campbell, how are you? How was the drive?” She asked as I took her hand. Before I could answer she started speaking again “How silly of me! I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Julianna Hardgrove. I was Bill’s personal assistant, and I run most things here. I’ll be guiding you through the conditions of your godfather’s will, and making sure you are comfortable during your stay. Your things have already been taken to your rooms.”

          “Rooms?” I managed to interject,

          “Oh yes. You have a bedroom-where your boxes of books and pictures are- and an art studio- where your paint, canvas, and clay are. Your clothes and things-” she glanced disapprovingly at the two shaggy duffel bags on the floor “will be taken up to your room while I give you a tour of the estate.”

          A young man stepped into my vision, taking my luggage away. Julianna stepped back from the doorway, giving me room to enter the large foyer. The floor was red hardwood and bare of any rug or carpet. The walls were a warm cream color. In the middle of the far wall was a grand stair way- made out of the same wood as the flooring- framed on either side by two hallways. A round, black iron chandelier hung low, heavy and looming, above the only furniture. The table was place in the center of the room, in front of the staircase. It was massive, carved wood, about waist height, and about 4 foot long. I studied it for a moment. It felt odd to have such a table in an entry way like this, with no chairs. Perhaps it was used as a buffet table for an event.

          I realize that Julianna was waiting for me. My mouth had been hanging open for a few minutes as I studied my new home; the boy had long since gone up the stairs with my bags. I felt my face flush under her gaze.

          She was still smiling at me. “Bill never showed you his home, I am guessing. Many of the guests have the same reaction the first time they attend an event. You will get used to it. This, of course, is the foyer.”

          She lead me through a door on the right hand side of the foyer, into a plush living room. The carpet was black, and even through my shoes I could tell it was thick. The couch, loveseat, chairs, and ottomans were all deep chocolate leather. Again the walls were painted cream, but now they were dotted with dark wood shelves holding pictures and other objects. There was a large bay window with a bench made of the same leather as the furniture on the western wall. On the eastern wall, across from the loveseat next to the door we entered by, as a TV taller than I was, and at least as long. The northern wall was consumed by a fireplace built out of dark red brick.

          “This is the living room, of course. There’s a half bath through that door.” She pointed before turning and leaving the room. I trailed behind her during the tour, feeling like I needed a map. She showed me where several guest rooms were located, the kitchens, servant quarters, two offices, a gigantic library, and past a door that lead downstairs to basement that contained still more rooms. Finally, we went back up the stairs and down the long hallway to the bedrooms.

          “There are two rooms left to show you, your room and Bill’s room. This room,” she opened the door and walked in “will be yours.”

          The room she showed me was a spacious yet sparsely decorate bedroom, bigger than my entire apartment. There were two sections to the room, with two doors leading off from the main space. The first section was meant to be a social area, with a dark red loveseat and matching round sitting chair, separated by a black and glass square coffee table. There was a tall lamp in one corner, shining on an overstuffed, red lounge chair. The carpet was once again black. The walls here were primer white, instead of the pretty cream color from downstairs. The other half of the room was the biggest surprise of the tour, and a comforting piece of my childhood home. The carpet was a plush deep red, with large flowers in light shades of pink, yellow, and blue.

I turned and stared and Julianna. “The carpet… It was in my room growing up… How…?”

“Your godfather, I think, always planned for you to be here someday. This room has been unoccupied with that carpet for many years. The walls are white so you can choose what color to paint them, add your… personal touches.”

The rest of the room contained a large canopied bed, coverings to match the carpet, and pillows matching the flowers. Bags and boxes of my belongings were stacked neatly in one corner of the empty space. Again the walls were primed white, ready for my paint.

“The door on the left is your closet. I took the liberty of providing some clothes for various events, but you can look at those later. The other door is to your personal bathroom. Bill’s room… I will give you the key to. You can explore it in your own personal time. Nothing has been touched since he left the last time. It is your decision what to do with the contents. For now, take time to unpack and relax. Dinner is 3 hours from now; someone will come escort you to the dining room. I suggest you take a moment to clean up and change into something… more suitable for dinner guests.” She looked at my clothes again with a sour look, before turning to leave and shutting me my room.

I collapsed on the bed, suddenly very tired. The trip and tour had exhausted me.

Untitled Story Part 4

          Lying in my bed that night, my usual fantasy was invaded by a familiar face. I could see myself clearly in my head, pinned to a bed by my wrists, legs opened wide to make room for the man in between them. He was fucking me so hard; the headboard was slamming into the wall. One of his hands twisted in my hair, pulling my head aside so that his teeth could sink into the tender flesh of my neck. The hand he freed dug into his back and I arched, my orgasm tearing a scream from my lips, triggering his own release. As his head tilted up, I saw the face of my godfather, staring back at me.

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          A pretty young woman with soft, loose, red curls down to the middle of her back, green eyes the color of jade that seemed lost and glossed over stared back at me from the bathroom mirror. Her skin was pale with just a trace of freckles over the nose and cheeks. She curved at the bust and hips, not skinny, a little bit of a stomach, but it sat in the right places. Her breasts swelled noticeably in the tight black tank top as she took a deep breath.

          I was knocked out of my stupor by the buzzing of my cell phone. I looked at the little screen and pressed the ignore button. Erik had been calling me 25 times a day since I broke up with him two days ago. He was swearing that I was just stressed because of Bill’s death. In truth, I had been wanting to break up with him for a week before the accident. The funeral simply postponed things a little. I had been bored. Erik was cute, but dumb, and there was something missing, other than intelligence.

          My bags were packed. I was subletting my apartment for six-months. I was still going to work. I taught art lessons to twelve year olds every afternoon. The pay wasn’t great, but it gave me time to sculpt and paint and I got free use of the equipment. Sculpting was my favorite form of self-expression. I released a lot of tension beating the dough, rolling it. I could let myself go, finally relax as I sat at the pottery wheel, soft clay spinning under my hands.

          I finished my nightly routine and crawled into my bed for the last time, snuggling between the soft sheets. I let my mind wander back through my memories of my godfather. I pictured his face, so vivid after my dreams. A strong jaw line and soft smile surrounded by dark blonde hair, falling in waves to his shoulders. Light blue eyes that were always touched by happiness. At 6’2”, he was over half a foot taller than me, and his broad frame had no trouble scooping me up and tossing me over his shoulder, even after I had grown up.

          My parents were out on a date night. I was 14, curled up in his lap, in the middle of watching a scary movie. I shrieked and threw my arms around him, burying my face in his neck, as the scene climaxed. He chuckled, but ran his hands down my back, soothing me, as the woman on the TV screamed in her final moments. I breathed his scent in deep, no longer interested in the movie, instead trying to figure out why and how my body was reacting to this man who could have been my uncle. I clung like that to him for a while, and he didn’t bother to move me. He only shifted slightly as my chest pressed against him, my developing body in one of his big t-shirts and panties.

          He was as old as my father, but never appeared like that to me. He rode motorcycles. We had the same taste in music. He snuck me out to go see my first concert when I was sixteen. He was in dark jeans, a Van Halen t-shirt and his black leather jacket. When I climbed out my window and on the back of his bike, he surprised me with my own jacket, a smaller one, matching his. We rode and I clung to him for dear life, but laughing, happy. Every male there, young and old, looked at us that night. My high heeled boots, short skirt, and low cut shirt attracted a lot of attention, I’m sure, but my eyes were for Bill.

          During the concert, we were caught up in the crowd, and he was every bit the teenager that I was. We were dancing, cheering, like the rest of the world didn’t exist, as if the band was performing for us alone. I danced close to him, and he reacted to me as he would to any woman that he cared for. He pulled me close, running his hands down my back, eyes only for me. His fingers ran through my curls and gently gripped the back of my head. He kissed me softly then, on the lips. His eyes closed as I kissed him back, internally surprise, but not complaining in the least bit. My mouth opened to him and his tongue responded, sliding between my lips. The song ended and he pulled away, kissing me on the forehead. It never happened again, and we never spoke of it, but it was the conformation that I had always wanted.

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Untitled Story Part 3

          Mr. Edward Grey was a handsome man. He was at least 6’4” with dark brown hair that had just started to go gray. His dark green eyes sparkled when he smiled at me as I entered his office. His suit was even tailored to fit him perfectly.

          “Ah, Miss Rogers, it’s nice to finally meet you. Your godfather spoke of you often. And you are just as lovely as he said.” His hand gripped mine, firm and warm.

          I smiled back at him. “I wasn’t aware that Bill even had a will, or planned to leave me anything. I know his sister has a couple of kids…” I shrugged as I trailed off.

          “Yes, I met with Olivia a few days ago. Bill thought her children were spoiled, and I don’t think he got along with his sister very well. She was rather upset that Bill only left her a few of the stocks in his company. But down to our business.” He motioned me into the chair across from his at the huge oak desk.

          “Other than the stocks that he left to Olivia,” he started as I took my seat, “Bill left you everything.”

          My jaw dropped open. “Excuse me?”

          “He never married, or had children, and said he looked at you as one of his own, for the most part. He left you his entire estate. House and property, his company, a fairly large trust, vehicles, stocks and investments. It’s quite a large sum of money. His company has a board that pretty much runs everything. He set that up a year or two ago, when he realized that you would rather be an artist than sell model airplanes and cars. There are a few conditions to your inheritance. If you fail to complete the conditions, the sum of the inheritance gets donated to charity, and the board gains full control of the company. Your inheritance in this case would be the same as Olivia’s.”

          “Conditions?” I asked, somewhat shakily.  I was still completely blown away. His entire estate?? “What kind of conditions?”

          “You must live in his house for at least six months, without selling or disposing of the contents. There are a few houseguests already there, or planning on arriving soon. These guests must be allowed to stay. You are two host three functions in his place, one every other month of your stay. The instructions for these are with the staff at the house. There are also conditions on your behavior and attire for these events with the staff. While you are living in the house, the staff will treat you a certain way, teach you how things are run. I don’t have the details here. You are free to leave at anytime you wish. But if you stay, there are no negotiations on any part of the conditions. Do you understand?” He looked over the desk at me, a calm expression on his face, waiting.

          I blinked a few times, trying to get my thoughts in order. Houseguests? What kind of functions? What the hell? “Why….?” My voice trails off…

          “It is what he requested. My secretary has the address for you at her desk. She or I will check in on you, occasionally, and provide an allowance according to the will. You have two weeks to make arrangements and show up at the given address. You may continue at your job, and transportation will be provided should you choose to.”

          He was obviously finished with me. He rose as I did, shook my hand at the door, and shut it firmly behind me. I was left, staring, mouth slightly agape, at his beautiful secretary. Her red lips smiled, and she handed me a bottle of water, and a card with an address printed in beautiful script on it.

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Untitled Story Part 2

          I rushed to unlock my door to answer the ringing phone. “Hello?”

          “May I speak with Miss Bryanna Campbell? This is the office of Mr. Edward Grey.” A woman’s voice asked.

          “This is she,” I replied.

          “Miss Campbell, Mr. Grey was the lawyer and the executor of Bill Preston’s estate.  Bill left you an inheritance, and there is some paperwork you need to sign. When would you like to come down to our office?” Her voice was polite, but all business, lacking any real sympathy.

          “Ummm…” I was taken by surprise. An inheritance hadn’t really occurred to me. Sure, I knew Bill had money, but I also knew that he had a sister and she had a few kids. I guess I just assumed that it would all go to them. “I can come in tomorrow, if that would work for you. At about two?”

          “Tomorrow at two would be wonderful. We are on the south east corner of Thompson and 21^st, do you know where that is?”

          “Yes, I can find it. I’ll see you at two.”

          “See you then, Miss Campbell.” The phone clicked as she hung up.

          I sat down heavily on my sofa. It had only been a week since Bill’s funeral. My train ride home today had given me too much time to think. I had stayed at mom’s helping her clean the house after the funeral for a few days, but had been anxious to return home and go back to work. I needed something to do with my time, needed to avoid the emptiness swirling in my head and heart.

          Bill and I had always been close. And I admit I had a bit of a crush on him when I was a teenager, but he never said anything. I used to fantasize about the frequent nights when he would stay at my parent’s house, pretending that he slipped into my room and my bed to lay next to me and stroke the hot spot between my legs. He was the first one I talked to about boys and sex. When mom and I had the conversation later, it was all about birth control and protection, nothing about the realities. Mom was very ‘don’t do it till you’re married’ while Bill understood that it was going to happen before then and wanted my happiness.

          “Don’t let whatever boy it is, make it all about him. And don’t let him push you into it; you make sure you’re ready. And I won’t tell you it has to be with someone older, but if whoever it is has some experience, it will make it better for you in the long run.” He smiled down at me then, and I wondered if by someone older, he meant himself, but never asked.

          I stared over at the picture of the handsome man on my wall. Bill stood, grinning, showing off his new tattoo, me next to him, lifting my shirt, with my back to the camera, showing the butterfly on my back. My eighteenth birthday, Bill took me to get my first tattoo and his fifth. He held my hand when they started, and then sat in front of me to get his arm done. I stared into his eyes the whole time. Mom had been pissed, but dad was secretly pleased.

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Untitled Story Part 1

So i've been writing on this story off and on for a couple of years now, and decided to post up pieces of it over the next week, to get a little feed back. If you are that type of person, please feel free to let me know any grammatical or spelling errors that you find.

My godfather, Bill Preston, had been a strange guy. His funeral fit that. He was popular, well-liked, with a good heart. There were people everywhere.

          Bill met my father their freshman year of college, at some party. They were instantly best friends. He was the best man at my parent’s wedding. Though he never married, he always had women around him. When my father died of a heart attack two years ago, Bill was there for mom and me. He helped her with the funeral, making arrangements, easing her burden. He helped me move into my first apartment when I turned 20, a few months after dad died.

          A week ago, Bill was flying his Cessna Skyhawk west over the ocean. Something he had done a hundred times. He said it made him free, soaring like a bird, away from the stresses of daily life. Mechanical failure caused him to crash into a small island 20 miles off the coast. I was heartbroken.

          I stood alone in a sea of people dressed in black. As I looked around, the faces in the crowd blurred together, until the only face I could see was that of my godfather. I started to sink to the ground. A pair of strong arms wrapped around my waist and supported my weight, guiding me into a soft couch. I looked up into an unfamiliar face.

          He was handsome in an unconventional sort of way. Black hair hung softly to his ears, and his eyes were the deepest shade of blue I had ever seen. His bottom lip was pierced and his ears were gaged slightly. His black button up clung to his chest and upper arms, and was tucked into… wait.. were those pants leather?

          “Bryanna? Bryanna Campbell, right? Are you okay?” I refocused my eyes on his face, concern for me obvious in the depths of those dark blue pools.

          “Bry… Please call me Bry. I’m okay, I think. It’s just been a long week.” He sat down next to me on the couch, an arm still around my waist.

          “I’m sure it has been. Bill was your godfather, right? He spoke affectionately about you. My name is Kyle by the way.” He flashed a sweet smile at me.

          “How did you know Bill? There are a lot of faces here I don’t recognize at all.” I leaned back into the couch, conscious that his arm was still around me. I drank in his smell, and it was somewhat familiar, reminding me of my godfather.

          “We belong to a sort of members only group. We don’t talk about it much to people who aren’t involved. Bill was kind of a leader among us and we are very sad to see him go. But I know he died doing what he loved and wouldn’t have been happy to go out old and wrinkly, laying in a bed somewhere with only half the memories of his life left.” Kyle chuckled.

          I smiled at the thought. Bill always said that he wanted to be remembered as going out with a spark, something exciting. Bungee jumping and sky diving. Rock concerts and tattoos.

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short breath play story

she fought not to panic as His hand pressed down on her throat, cutting off her precious airsupply. she wrapped her fingers around his arms, not to fight him away, but to brace against the orgasm threatening to explode from her body. she tried to take a deep breath and could not. The vibrations from the toy strapped to her clit tried to consume her. He leaned down and kissed her lips, softly, before whispering in her ear "cum for me little one. cum," as He slid two fingers into her tightness and sent her over the edge into bliss. her back arched and fingers tightened around His arms as she gushed around His fingers caressing to most intimate of place. she knew only pleasure and His face staring down at her before the world turned black.