Like one that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turned round walks on,
And turns no more his head;
Because he knows, a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, 1797-98
The house stood at the very top of a hill surrounded by trees, but visible from all sides. The trees, now leafless as autumn drew on and winter approached, seemed reluctant to grown near its ancient stones. The few that ventured close to its ivy covered garden walls were dark, stunted, twisted, unidentifiable specimens.
The garden wall was of red brick, ten feet tall and only perhaps a century old, yet in the dismal twilight it looked as old as the four hundred year old manor it surrounded. No, as old as the eight hundred year old foundations on which the manor stood.
As Kate’s taxi approached the house up the winding private track which served as access to the house she regarded the property with some satisfaction. “A perfect place to spend Halloween”, she congratulated herself. The house disappeared from view as the car rounded the final turn in the road. As the house reappeared, rain began to fall in huge drops, splattering against the windshield of the car. “Bastard weather!”, commented the driver. Then, “Sorry Miss”. “Miss!”, did he think he was driving an Edwardian Debutant to her “Coming Out” ball in a hansom cab? Kate smiled to herself, “Horrible isn’t it”.
The taxi crunched to a halt next to the porch at the front of the manor. Kate grabbed her shoulder bag and stood, sheltered from the rain under the porch, while the driver lugged her two suitcases from the taxi to the door. She tipped him, far too generously, and had to raise a hand to her face to cover her smile. He actually raised his hand to his head as if to doff a nonexistent cap!
Reaching into her shoulder bag Kate retrieved an iron key and slid it into the oak door. Shit, it wouldn’t turn, she wiggled the key in the lock and tried again. This time, with some effort, it turned with a screech of metal on metal. Kate turned on her torch and tried to remember where the light switch was. Flicking the Bakelite knob illuminated the huge hall in yellow light from four aged light fittings high above her. One at a time she dragged in the cases from outside then shut and locked the door.
Two hours later she was showered, changed and eating a piece of celery in the kitchen, waiting for the first guests to arrive. Old though the place was her choice of venue had the benefits of modern plumbing. The wiring on the other hand did not inspire confidence. Every gust of wind from the intensifying storm outside made the lights flicker and fade.
The party was a select affair, three couples, all friends. Catering was a cold buffet and an oven full of nibbles to heat up for later. All prepared by a cafÃ© in the village and laid out on the kitchen table when she arrived.
There was a knock at the kitchen door, Kate nearly choked on her celery. Cursing Peter for not using the front door she got up and made for the kitchen door, which led to the rear garden. It was secured by two iron bolts of great antiquity that required a real effort to open.
Pulling the door inwards Kate was surprised to find nobody there. She was about to close the door, thinking Peter had walked around to the front of the house, when she saw a figure silhouetted next to the yew tree in the centre of the kitchen garden. It struck her at that moment – the only tree in the garden.
“Peter. Get in here it’s freezing.”. The figure raised its hand and seemed to beckon Kate. “You must be joking!”, Kate shouted, “You know how much this outfit cost.”
He should know, he’d bought it for her. It could best be described as bondage fairy crossed with Morticia Addams. Predominantly black velvet with a purple satin panel in the front. Her firm breasts exposed almost to the nipple. Laced at the back and tight into the waist. Below the waist, short and more black velvet, cut up each thigh almost to the waist. At its longest not quite reaching her knees. Fishnet stocking and leather ankle boots with scandalously high heals. And, she had a pair of black wings, studded wristbands and collar to complete the look.
The figure beckoned again. “Oh, hell, alright …”. Kate picked up an empty metal tray from the table and raised it above her head. Against her better judgement she walked unsteadily across the wet stone slabs of the path towards the sentinel tree and it’s dark companion.
As she approached the tree seemed to grow in stature, a dark black mass against inky blue clouds. The figure moved toward the tree becoming indistinct as it did so, eventually merging with the great yew’s blackness.
Kate stopped. The din from the rain hitting the metal tray the only sound. Where had he gone? Her breath began to quicken, making her full bosom heave. What was going on. She felt the warmth leave her body, icy tendrils of foreboding slid over her pale skin.
She herd, no felt, someone breath a word almost silently in her ear. Kate turned dropping the tray as she did so. She was confronted by … nothing. Just the welcoming glow of the light from the kitchen. Glancing nervously over her shoulder she walked briskly towards the kitchen door only a few feet away, cursing herself for imagining things. Her chest, now wet from the rain, began to rise and fall more rapidly as the kitchen door seemed to recede with every step she took.
Then she felt it. A hand on her shoulder, rough, firm, holding her back. She raised her arm to shrug the hand away. She was now trying to run towards the door. Something held her leg and she stumbled, falling hard onto the stone path. She cried out, screaming at the unseen assailant to let go of her leg.
She tried to raise her face from the cold, wet stone but was held there by a great weight. She tried to scream for help but the words seemed to disappear as they left her lips, muffled in a stifling grey blanket.
Now helpless she felt fingers, stroking her exposed flesh. Rough skin tracing the curve of her calves through her stockings, her thighs and up under her dress. “No!”, she wanted to cry but the words just fell from her lips and evaporated in the greyness surrounding her. Tears welled up in her eyes as the rough hands approached their goal.
Then as she resigned herself to the imminent violation she felt a warm familiar hand on her shoulder. A soft voice in her ear, “Kate. Kate darling”. She sat up at the kitchen table with a start. Peter jumped back, alarmed at the speed of her awakening.
“Are you OK?”, he asked. “I must have dozed off.”, Kate replied. She stood up and stepped towards him. Her arms slid around his waist and her body pressed him against the Belfast sink in front of the kitchen window, “I had a terrible dream.”. She felt safe, protected and loved in his arms, with her head on his shoulder.
He began to grow hard against her. “I want you.”, she whispered in his ear. He raised his hand to her chin, pushing it up so her blue eyes met his. Her raven hair fell away from her face. “We’ll have to be quick, they’ll be here soon …”.
“No.”, Kate snapped, “Here now.”. Peter was shocked but also wildly turned on by this passionate little fairy commanding him to fuck her. She was unbuttoning his trousers and ripping down his briefs before he had chance to object. Not that he was likely to.
Kate grabbed Peter’s cock and said, “You know what I want.”. She turned on her heals, hitched up her skirt and bent over the sink. Peter needed no second bidding and pulled her tiny purple panties to one side. He slid straight into her with the first thrust and felt himself gripped by her in a way he’d never felt before. Her pussy grasping his cock demanding it’s attention, demanding to be fucked.
Peter felt himself bigger and harder than he had ever felt before, powerful and single minded. With only one purpose, to fill Kate with his seed. He steadily and assuredly brought her to orgasm, once, twice, three times. Her fairy wings wavy in front of him Peter came, and came and came. As he did so he growled, gasped, maybe even cried out, he was so consumed by his orgasm that he couldn’t be sure. What he did know was that Kate writhed and bucked underneath him, slowly but with a strength that he didn’t know she possessed. Her body demanded his cum and drew it from him, hungry for every last drop of him. Her hands grasped the sink taps, knuckles white. And she screamed, loud and shrill.
Then it was over, the spell broken. That’s what it had felt like a spell. Peter staggered back and lent on the kitchen table while he regained his senses. Kate’s breathing began to return to normal. As she stood up something caught her eye in the garden as moonlight broke through the rain clouds and reflected off its shiny surface.
Her blood ran cold as she recognised the metal tray.