Buying a House
Michael arrived at the house before the appointment time. Not having had chance to see much of the outside, he wanted to look it over without pressure from the realtor.
It was a large, imposing, structure, softened by the gentle pink coloring. Never having considered pink a suitable color for a house, Michael was surprised how well this one wore its hue.
The grounds seemed immense. Several acres, perhaps. As close to town as it was, he would have expected it to have been subdivided and built up. Of course, this road was not well traveled, but still, he would have expected the land to be worth at least twice the listing price for the house. Perhaps there was an invisible boundary to the property.
There was a moderately sized back yard, badly overgrown, cleared from the surrounding post oaks. If he wanted to add a pool, he'd need to clear a few more oaks. Slightly further out was a small lake, with the remains of a short pier. No sign of the rowboat that was probably once tied there.
He heard a car, and strolled back to the driveway. A dark red Chevy Lumina was pulling up behind his Toyota. The woman behind the wheel arranged some papers, checked herself in the mirror, and emerged from the car as Michael arrived. She was a little over average height, still short to Michael's six-foot two-inch frame.
"Ms. Mellons?" inquired Michael, and was rewarded with a frosty look.
"Mellors," she corrected. "Jenny Mellors."
As she stretched out her hand, Michael understood the reason for her particular displeasure. Jenny Mellors was trim at the waist, broader above. She wore a loose pink cardigan, perhaps to de-emphasize her abundant breasts. Not entirely successfully. Certainly she would have considered Michael's mistake a Freudian slip.
"I guess I can't read my own writing," he apologized, taking her hand. In spite of her irritation, her hand was warm and her grip firm. "I'm sorry. Michael Maretti. Good to meet you."
Jenny smiled at last, and released his hand. "Have you been here long?"
"A couple of minutes. I wanted to look around a little. How much of the land is with the house?"
"Down to the creek over there," she said. "The fences on either side, back to the road."
"That's what I figured," said Michael. "It seems a lot of land for the price."
"It is," she agreed. "It's a lovely place."
"How long has it been on the market?"
Jenny hesitated. "A little over . . . ten years."
"Ten years?" Michael heard the disbelief in his own voice. "What's wrong with it?"
"Nothing," replied Jenny. Her eyes were evasive. Michael knew there was more.
"Foundation problems? Exterior rotting?"
"No," she answered. "Well, you know that it's pier-and-beam, and after all this time it may need leveling. It was fine at its last inspection."
"How long ago was that?"
"About the same, ten years. It won't have changed much since then. Here, let's go in, and you can see for yourself."
She used her cipher to access the lock box, removed the key and opened the front door. She stepped back to allow Michael to lead the way into the house.
The entry hall opened into the living room, which he recalled fondly. By daylight it looked little different, no less friendly. He still had trouble understanding why Alicia – now away on honeymoon – had felt uncomfortable.
Jenny turned on the lights, using the ancient push-switch by the door, and the hall chandelier brightened the area. Michael almost mentioned the power having being reconnected, but stopped himself before admitting that he had already been in the house.
On the other side of the entrance hall was a sitting room, with an octagonal paneled area corresponding to the turret. There was an old, velvet-covered sofa and a pair of matching chairs.
"Who does the furniture belong to?" he asked.
"It comes with the house," answered Jenny.
Even stranger, thought Michael. This was high quality antique furniture. Probably worth a substantial fraction of the asking price of the house. Whatever it was she was holding back, this was an incredible deal.
"All of the furniture?"
"Pretty much, every room, furniture and drapes. Everything you see here."
"Why didn't the previous owners sell the furniture separately?" he inquired.
"I heard that the last owner could not bear to separate the furniture from the house."
Michael turned to face her. "This is just beautiful," he said.
He saw the first indication that she had forgiven him for his earlier gaffe. Her smile lit her face, and he found himself grinning in return.
He needed to broach the subject, though. His concern about the house was rising. As much as he was drawn to it, he was becoming uneasy about the situation.
"May we sit for a moment?" he asked. He settled himself carefully in one of the antique chairs, trying not to disturb the dust.
She smoothed her skirt around her as she positioned herself gingerly on the couch. As she crossed her legs, he felt and suppressed a surge of desire.
"What's the problem with this property?" he demanded.
"I'm not sure I understand," she replied, though from her evasive expression she clearly did.
"Why so much for so little? There has to be something wrong for the listing to be so low."
"Remember," she tried to rationalize, "this was much further out, ten years ago. Prices here have soared."
"Not by that much," argued Michael. "What was the original listing price."
Jenny became increasingly nervous. "Umm . . . about twice what it is now."
"Then there is something. What is it you're not telling me? Why wouldn't the house sell?"
Jenny's eyes met his at last. "I shouldn't tell you this. It certainly isn't on any of the disclosure forms. If it gets back to the listing agent, I'll be going back to secretarial work."
"Tell me. I'm really interested in the house, and whatever you say will stay with me."
She appeared to consider his comment briefly. "They tell us to be honest but circumspect. I'm sure that if Max were here, he'd have found a way to avoid this. Though perhaps," she grinned, "perhaps this is his way. By all rights he should have been here, he is the listing agent."
She hesitated again, then plunged ahead. "Here's the problem. This house is supposed to be haunted."
Michael blinked. "Haunted? By what?"
Jenny shook her head. "I don't know. I really don't have any idea. I just know that the house has been in the seller's family for a long time. Since at least the early part of this century. It has not been occupied since the 'forties, though the owner has maintained it. Ten years ago, she was desperate to sell. I imagine now she's even more so."
"And no-one has tried to buy it since then?"
"Max says he's had several people interested, but they have always backed out. He claims he doesn't understand it. I know I don't."
"Is that the whole story?" Michael demanded.
Jenny shrugged. "As much as I know. Truth."
"In that case, my concerns are much reduced. I don't believe in ghosts and haunted houses." Michael was amused, but as he said this, he felt a disquiet. A ghost might tie in with the feelings Alicia had about the place.
No, that was ridiculous.
Jenny was slightly flushed. She was playing with the buttons of her cardigan. Michael noticed that she had opened up the neck. Again he felt an irrational desire. He glanced at her left hand to see a diamond ring and thick wedding band.
He smiled and stood, offering his hand. She took it to stand, her skin warm. She smiled briefly at him before releasing his hand, and they continued the tour.
In the living room, she frowned at the ashes in the fireplace, but neither of them mentioned it. In the light, Michael could see that the furniture was as old as that in the sitting room. Well used, but good quality, and probably quite valuable.
The kitchen was roomy and light. Some of the appliances were positioned oddly, in the manner of a room which was not designed for them. All of the appliances were old, a huge gas stove, a large fridge in a dreadful fifties' green, an ugly, cramped dishwasher. This room needed work. It was all very well having an old house with antique furniture, but the kitchen and bathroom needed to be functional. Still, in spite of the terrible colors and old appliances, it would be fine for a time, and there was room to work around a remodeling effort.
As his enthusiasm for the house grew, so did Jenny's. He began to feel that she was collaborating with him in finding the features and eccentricities, rather than trying to sell it to him. Perhaps she had sensed that he had gone beyond needing to be convinced, and was already making plans.
As they left the kitchen, she unfastened her cardigan, and draped it over the stair rail. Her clothing beneath the cardigan did not attempt to conceal her figure; on the contrary, the top of her suit, a black, zip-fronted blouse with knee-length skirt, was tightly formed to her shape. The zip was several inches open. He wondered briefly if she had opened it while toying with her buttons.
Jenny caught his admiring glance, and though they both immediately looked away, he thought he saw amusement in her eyes.
On the second floor, they explored all the rooms. Several large bedrooms, one with a curious nook with a disconnected washbasin. Rugs over dusty, polished hardwood floors. Double beds in every room. Whenever Michael paused to look around, Jenny stood very close, often bumping against him. A couple of times her breasts brushed against his arms. He we thrilled by the contact.
In the master bedroom they both stood, awestruck. The room was huge, but was still dominated by the enormous bed. With a wooden column at each corner, the king-sized bed was set arrogantly in the very center of the room, positioned on a rich rug of dark red and gold. Heavy velvet drapes and valance, crystal chandelier, everything worked together to generate an air of a flamboyant opulence. Sensual, extravagant.
Jenny stroked the thick quilted eiderdown. "Wow," she said.
"Yeah, this is impressive." Michael joined her beside the bed. The blankets were less dusty than the rest of the house, because Alicia and he had used them to keep warm, and beyond.
There were scented candles on the nightstands. "I wonder if we could light these," said Jenny, picking one up and breathing its perfume. She was no longer even putting on a show of trying to sell the house, she was eagerly exploring its peculiarities.
Michael opened the drawers of the nightstand, finding an ancient box of matches. He lit both of the candles, and a sweet scent of jasmine slipped into the room. He sat on the bed. Jenny stood beside him. In the light from the chandelier and the candles, her face was glowing. She moistened her lips with her tongue.
"This is amazing," she said. "I'm all tingly. Look." She held her arms out to Michael, palms up, and he could see her fine hair standing up, gooseflesh on her smooth skin.
He lifted his hands and stroked her arms, feeling the roughness. "I see," he said, but didn't withdraw his hands. "Why do you think that is?"
"This room, it's like being in a different time," she said. She pulled her hands back, sliding her palms across his, and gripped his fingertips in her own. The motion seemed almost automatic, unconscious. "Like a fancy old theater, when movies were rich and glamorous."
"You mean gaudy," Michael interrupted, teasing.
"A little," she admitted, "but classy, not tawdry. Look at the velvet wallpaper." She released his right hand to gesture, then took it again.
"Did anyone tell you you're cute when you're excited?" asked Michael.
Jenny smiled at him. "You're going to love this house."
"As much as I like the sales pitch?"
She made a face at him, then leaned forward and kissed him briefly on his lips. Michael caught a tantalizing glimpse of flesh through the open top of her jacket. Releasing her hands, he held her waist to support her.
"Perhaps," she said, drawing her head back, then placing her hands on his shoulders, she kissed him again. His hands tightened on her waist, while hers slipped behind his neck, as their lips stayed connected.
Michael stopped trying to ignore his desire, as Jenny's mouth conveyed her own. Her tongue explored his lips, and he met it with his. Her hands behind his neck gripped him to her, caressing his neck. Her body relaxed, supported by his hands and her face against his. He eased his hands under her jacket, seeking her waist, stroking the smooth skin.
Their desire grew exponentially. Jenny kissed him hungrily, sucking his tongue into her mouth and biting it. He kneaded the firm muscles of her waist.
Michael considered another ironic comment, but shelved the idea, not wanting to take the chance of damaging the mood. He wanted her. He wanted her so much his cock strained painfully at his pants. He stood, holding her to him, stroking her butt firmly.
When Jenny reached inside his jacket, fondling his chest, he reached up to unzip her top. She offered no resistance as it parted, and he ran his hands over her sides. Her halter bra exposed the upper half of her impressive breasts. He rubbed his thumbs along the side of her bra, then reached behind her to unclip it.
Unfastening her bra took Michael several frustrating moments, then he pulled the straps away, running his hands back to the treasure within. He took in the sight of them, broad, rippling, with wide aureole, and large soft nipples. He cupped them in his hands, working the nipples between his palms and thumbs, and they enlarged, becoming firm.
Jenny was pulling his jacket over his arms, so he released her, dropped his own jacket, and removed hers, slipping the bra straps over her shoulders. She dragged his shirt from his pants. He pulled off his tie and unhooked his suspenders as she worked at the buttons of his shirt.
In moments they were joined again, her marvelous breasts pressed against his bare chest. They stood that way for a time, desire subordinated to the pleasure of exploration.
Michael knelt, taking her nipple in his mouth. He sucked and kneaded with his lips and tongue, as she stroked his hair, communicating her pleasure back to him by touch. As he worked her breast, he slid his hand inside her skirt, seeking the fastening, then opened it, dropping her skirt to the floor. He grasped her ass inside her panties, massaging it as he sucked her nipple. Then, lowering her panties a few inches, he lifted her by her ass and lowered her to the bed.
Kissing her breasts and stomach, he removed her panties and shoes. He covered her pussy with his palm, then gripped and pressed. She oohed in pleasure, and he slowly penetrated her with a finger.
Gently stimulating her, he continued to kiss her belly, lowering his mouth very slowly. Finally his mouth was beside her pussy. He lifted her thighs over his shoulders, parted her labia with his thumbs, and very slowly, started working. Looking into the moist softness, smelling her, turned him on powerfully. He wanted to get her to the level of pleasure he knew that he could reach. He licked her labia, then worked them between his lips, listening to her sighs of pleasure.
Slowly he approached her hardening clit. As he brushed against it, he felt her thighs tense against his head. He moved away, and sought it again, slowly. Each time he gave a little more direct attention to it. As his tongue pushed her clit, she tensed her legs and shook herself against him. When she did, he would back away, frustrating and exciting her.
Then he stopped backing away, hooking her clit with his tongue, and withdrawing his hands. He moved them instead to her ass, where he squeezed and drew her against his face. She was grunting, still shaking herself against him, but he was gentle with her clit, and released it each time she tensed as if going to come.
Then he started drawing his tongue hard over her clit, slowly, not giving her the satisfaction she craved, but driving her relentlessly towards it. When she started panting, he squeezed her butt and sucked her clit, drawing it into his mouth. He pinched his lips around it and she cried out as he sucked hard, scrubbing it in his tongue. Her thighs tensed so strongly he had to fight not to be pulled away from her, but he held her in place, pushing her to the edge of ecstasy and beyond, as she cried out, body shaking. He kept up the pace as she sobbed, and as she slowly calmed, he unfastened his shoes and removed his pants and underwear, freeing his painfully imprisoned cock.
Still, he did not stop, drawing his tongue slowly back and forth over her clit. Before too long, he felt her thighs start to tense again. Again, he made her work for her pleasure; when she started to move, he would stop, lightly teasing her clit while she writhed on the bed, trying to get more stimulation. Eventually he brought her to a peak, gently backing off to hold her there, then as he felt her shudder, he sucked hard, and she moaned with delight.
When she calmed, he climbed onto the bed, and tried to mount her, but she pushed him away. He was confused and hurt for a moment, then realized she wanted to be on top. He stretched out, holding his arms out to her as she lay along him.
She didn't immediately take him inside her, as they both savored the delicious feeling of contact over their whole bodies. Michael's hands explored her back and ass, his tongue stroking hers, his eyes taking in the view of her breasts sandwiched against him. His hands under her hips, he lifted her far enough to place his cock against her, and she writhed down onto it.
They started to move, slowly. He was desperate for release, but wanted to give as much as he could to Jenny. She took the matter out of his hands, though, when she started pressing her hips hard to his. Michael knew that he could not hold back long, and responded with powerful strokes, squeezing her ass to him.
He released her mouth when he was about to come, kissing her neck and her ear as they bucked forcefully against each other. The ancient bed creaked and knocked on the floor as he felt himself lose control, bursting within her. Still driving hard, squeezing her against him, he bit her neck, sucking, as she grunted in effort. Moments later, she squealed and shuddered. She stopped moving, pressing hard against him, as Michael, still throbbing with his own orgasm, tried to rock even more strongly into her.
Somehow their movements, even at cross purposes, seemed to complement each other as they prolonged their passion. As they relaxed, Michael stroked her breasts.
"You have an interesting sales technique," he remarked.
"It works every time," she retorted, and bit his ear.
"I'd say. I'm ready to buy, and I haven't seen the whole house yet."
"I don't know if I have the energy to get to the third floor," she sighed.
"Let's see what we can do about that," said Michael. He slid his hand down her ass, stroking the moist flesh against his still-firm cock. He moved his hips, drawing a sigh of satisfaction from her, and they started moving again in earnest. She lifted herself over him, positioning her left breast against his chin. Taking her stunning breast into his mouth, he sucked hard as he urged her into another gasping orgasm.
She slowed finally, her forehead damp with perspiration, as he felt himself slipping out of her. She lowered herself back onto his chest, and nuzzled his shoulder.
"Somehow I don't think that gave me the kind of energy I need," she grumbled.
"You certainly seemed to find plenty from somewhere," Michael argued.
"Hmph."
She rolled off him. Michael played with her breasts as they talked. It was with great reluctance that he finally sat up and started dressing. He watched with some disappointment as Jenny concealed her breasts in her bra, then zipped up her top.
They both survived the climb to the third floor, where they discovered one huge room. It had a bare polished hardwood floor, no carpets or rugs. Perhaps it had been used as a ballroom, or for cocktail parties. There was a small bar in one corner, with a fitted glass cabinet. Several doors opened to small empty rooms. One had a full-sized bed, the others were unfurnished. A window at one end of the room looked over the small lake and the trees beyond.
Drained she may have been, but Jenny remained enthusiastic. They kissed, then headed back down to the ground floor, and finally left the house.
Outside, Jenny seemed slightly dazed. "My God, what came over me?" she demanded. She leaned against the hood of her car. "You must think I'm a nympho."
"No, I think we were both equally enthusiastic," countered Michael.
"That's true. So I guess we're both nymphos," said Jenny. She seemed overwhelmed.
"Whatever, it was wonderful."
"Yes, it was." She smiled at Michael, and he felt an echo of his earlier desire. He kissed her gently on the lips. "Again," she said. He put his arms around her and they kissed again.
"Good," she said, grinning, "I wasn't sure if I'd dreamed it all. It doesn't seem that it could have been real."
"Come back after I move in," offered Michael. "I'm sure we can prove how real it was."
"No, I don't think so." There was genuine regret in her voice. "I'm happily married. I've never done anything like this before, and I don't think I'll ever do it again. I'm sorry."
"So am I," said Michael. The lingering warmth of sex kept him from depression, but he knew he would regret that she would never be part of his life. He stroked the bruise on her neck. "What will your husband think about that?"
"Oh, God, you didn't!" She grabbed a mirror from her purse. "Damn," she continued. "I'll have to figure out how to hide that before he gets back."
"Sorry."
"You should be." Her voice contained no outrage, and she faced Michael with a smile. "Aren't we wicked?"
"Wonderfully so," Michael grinned. "Shall I follow you back to your office? I'm ready to make an offer." Then he sighed. "But I guess I'll buy the house instead."