The House Ch. 01

He had liked the house when he first saw it. Very old fashioned, it would need a lot of up grades, but he felt it had something. He didn’t know what, but there was something that attracted him. Far too big, for his current needs, but the price was unbelievably low. It had been sitting on the market for over a year with corresponding drops in price as the months went by. His recent divorce had left him low on cash, but the real-estate agent had assured him that the owners would allow the deal to go through with minimum down payment. He had asked the agent why such a sweet heart deal and after much hemming and hahing the agent finally admitted to the history of the house.

Built in the late nineteen hundred’s as a bordello, it had served as such for over a hundred years while the neighborhood grew up around it. Finally, a developer had bought the land in the immediate vicinity and put row upon row of tract homes around it. Soon the people, taking up their new residencies, would not tolerate the business that was conducted inside it doors. The constant late night traffic went on to the wee hours of the morning. The women of the community, if the truth be known, feared that their men would fall prey to this community abomination. A petition circulated and finally due to the continuing pressure the house had closed its doors a little over a year and a half ago. Since then there had been no offers on the place. It seemed strange to John that no one had bought the place; he personally thought it would be a great conversation piece.

John was intrigued and allowed the agent to show him through the old house. Far too many bedrooms of course but he realized he could easy amalgamate many of them to serve different functions. There was a strange smell about the place, not unpleasant, just unidentifiable. When he saw the third floor, he saw, in his minds eye, the perfect master bedroom with an adjoining bath. It would be easy to pull down the existing walls that formed the multi-bedroom complex. Its half walls and gabled windows appealed to his sense of charm. John was an architect by profession and although temporarily cash poor, he had a substantial income that would allow the changes to take place over the years as he envisioned. The agent told him that he had just received orders to have the house torn down if it didn’t sell in the next week, so if he low balled the price he would probably still get it. Continuing to look around, a feeling pervaded him that the house itself felt it had a right to continue to exist having served well for over a hundred years. He felt compelled to buy it and made an offer low balling as the agent had suggested. By the end of the evening, he owned the huge old house. It was almost as though the house wanted him to have it.

John laughed rather bitterly at himself as he signed the papers of ownership. A few months ago, he was a married man with dreams of a future tract home with children playing in the back yard. A wife laying by the pool, scantly clad in her tiny thong bikini, waiting for him to come home so they could try to make more babies. Here he was at thirty his dreams shot by an ex-wife who didn’t love him, feeling a bit bitter about women in general. Now, he was a single owner of a whorehouse. A chill went up his spine as he thought whorehouse, almost as though the house took exception to his description. John didn’t know it then but he had bought far more than just a house. He had bought a new way of life. John returned to the small rooms he had temporarily rented.

The house stood quiet and still. Empty of all movement, it waited for its new owners return. It didn’t know when it had become self aware or that it was unique. It didn’t know that the many acts of procreation by as many as twenty girls working in the house night after night, had finally given it some semblance of pseudo life. All that it knew was that if it concentrated hard enough it was able to influence the acts of the human beings within its walls and beyond. It understood its function. It was to provide the best environment possible for the act of procreation. As the humans that had frequented the house had once said, it was to provide the best environment possible for a good fuck. It also understood it had enemies, the women of the community around it who had brought about the closure of its doors. It had spent the last year looking for the right owner, one who could restore it to its former glory. Influencing all who entered not to buy until the handsome architect, with his newly acquired jaundiced attitude about woman had entered its rooms. The house was satisfied. Its plans could now go forward.

John took a few days off from work and the following morning found him looking for a new bed. He had no furnishings for his new home, because he had given everything to his ex. The furniture had been in her taste anyways and he wanted a fresh start. At first, he thought he wanted just a simple bed, but as he looked, he felt unsatisfied with what he saw until in one shop he saw a magnificent king sized four-poster bed. It was way beyond his needs, but he felt compelled to buy it, providing himself with the excuse it was the perfect bed for the old house. He arranged for its delivery, and then went to the local home improvement store, pocketing a number of paint color swatches before buying the mops, brooms, buckets and cleaning products he would need immediately.

The afternoon found him busily airing out the old place as he cleaned one of the many bathrooms and the kitchen, with which he was well pleased. He was surprised he had not looked over the place more carefully before he bought but so far, all the surprises were pleasant ones. It was an industrial kitchen, having served the needs of twenty hungry women as well as what cleaning and serving staff the house had required. It obviously had been upgraded in the last few years. Stainless steel appliances, that with a little hard work, shone pleasing him no end with their opulence. To top it off a small walk in freezer which he liked. When John returned to his small rooms that night he was well pleased with his new home. He looked forward to the delivery of the bed the following day and planned to stay in his new home that night. The following day saw him return to his cleaning interrupted only by a brief shop for groceries, which included a nice bottle of wine, and the delivery of the bed. He prepared his first meal, late in the evening, on the huge eight-burner gas stove.

He took a final glass of wine to bed on the third floor, where he had located the four-poster bed in the further most back bedroom, and read the Architect Digest for a while, before settling in to sleep. John rested quietly for a while but then began to toss and turn as his dreams, slowly pervaded with the thoughts of women, set his mind in turmoil. They were sexy women, needy women, shapely woman with acquiescent quivering thighs, needing his attention, as they withered and thrust in his dreams. Pussy after pussy pulsed through his thoughts. Swollen pussies, large with need, pussies reddened by desire, moist pussies juicing in preparedness, dainty pussies, hairy pussies, pussies redolent with odor, filled his mind, until he awoke with a start with a raging hard-on. He masturbated furiously only partly satisfying his overwhelming need. Then he slept fitfully for the balance of the night.

The house creaked in contentment having enjoyed the first spill of male seed in over a year. As John slept, it began to send out tentacles of influence searching for its enemies. While the night progressed, the house found who it was looking for and placed suggestions in sleeping minds that they should drop by the next day. The phone man arrived early to install the new line giving him a phone number easily remembered by the male mind, 888-6969. He considered himself lucky; it was a number he knew he’d never forget. But first, he had to give it to his mother. She would never forgive him if he did not phone her regularly and allow her to phone him. There was a pregnant pause after he recited the number to her but nothing was said. He again began work on the house but was soon interrupted by a knock at the door. A very well dressed older lady stood at the entrance. She presented him with some baking and welcomed him to the community, constantly peering around his shoulder trying to see inside the house, while she introduced herself as the local school principal. Finally, he told her he would invite her back to see the house once he had cleaned it up. After giving him her name and phone number, she reluctantly left, eliciting once again his promise to see the old house. John was unable to continue his work that day as a constant parade of women, one right after the other arrived on his doorstep. They welcomed him to the neighborhood and unvaryingly showed interest in his new home. Each would linger until he promised to show them through the place at some future time. They always left their name and phone number so that by late in the day he had a list of twenty some odd names that he had promised to invite over to see the house.

Then just as he thought the parade had ended a Miss Phoebe Wesley, the local librarian arrived. Miss Wesley, the daughter of the Reverend Peter Wesley, now retired, had been brought up to believe that sex was sinful. Although a lovely woman in her youth, she had bittered with age, as male after male had rejected her because of her lack of interest in the more earthly pursuits. Now at forty-seven, she was an uptight miserable old maid, sharp of tongue, thin lipped, and always prepared to tsk at the least wrongdoing, bringing tears to many a young child’s eyes with her severity of manner. She arrived at the door curious to see the insides of the house she had campaigned against so vigorously. As the lead petitioner, she had spearheaded the movement against the house and now with stiff backed approval had come to see her success.

John, taken aback by this formidable figure at his door, suddenly had a compulsion to invite her in to see the place, along with an eerie sense of sexual compatibility. He shook his head trying to ward off the sensation but it stayed with him as she crossed the threshold of the whorehouse for the first time. She still considered it a whorehouse even though this handsome young man owned it. The moment she entered, she felt a strange sensation in her loins, almost as thought the house had affected her in some strange way. “Poppycock” she said to herself as she marched further into the bowels of the house. Her nipples, unbidden hardened as further strange sensations permeated her body. John showed her the second floor, and her thingy flushed with sexual exudate wetting her panties as she climbed towards the third. John by this time was rock hard wondering why this prissy woman attracted him so. By the time she saw the big four poster, she was ready to fuck anything in sight, although she struggled with herself trying to regain some control over her now libidinous body.

She was in heat as she turned to look at the handsome architect whose bulge in his pants portrayed his own needs. She licked her lips and her hand unconsciously strayed, to rub through her skirt, the hot wet cunt still hidden within its confines. Forty-seven years of sexual repression betrayed her. With sudden release, she threw herself into his arms driving her tongue, for the first time in her life, deep into his mouth, as her pelvis ground against the bulge in his pants. Phoebes tore at his clothes, inadvertently scratching his chest with her long fingernails, her unbridled passion consuming them both. He tore the blouse from her body, then grabbed the bra between her tits and yanked. She didn’t even feel the pain as the bra clasps released and the shoulder straps tore, exposing her tits to a man for the first time. She instinctively arched her back and presented as his mouth engulfed her smallish tit, taking it deep into his mouth. He then he eased back sucking on her nipple as she fumbled with his pants finally releasing them to the floor. One hand dove into his underwear, grasped his cock firmly, the other hand reached under her skirt and drew the crotch of her panties to one side exposing her hairy wetness. She tried to bend his cock to her pussy until finally, he grabbed her by the ass lifting her up and she inserted him into herself briefly noting the tearing sensation as he first entered her. She threw her arms around his neck mashing her naked tits against his chest, her mouth hard against his, moaning out her need. Her thighs grasped his hips, her arms pulled and she lifted then dropped. His hands, pulled her ass up, helping to provide the motion she required, trying to satisfy her needs. Her thighs and arms heaved and pulled allowing her cunt to slide up and down his shaft rubbing her clitoris until finally with one tremendous heave she allowed herself to drop so hard that his penis tip kissed her cervix as she screamed out the agony and ecstasy of her first climax.

He threw her onto the bed and tore off his briefs. Her pussy already weeping from its loss, needed more as she lifted her ass allowing her panties, to be yanked by the crotch, from her body. Her fingers at her clit before the panties cleared her feet. Her cunt thrusting against the fingers sought further orgasmic release. He took her fingers from her. She saw the blood and wet as he put her fingers in his mouth. It was so disgustingly wonderfully dirty, sending more messages of need to her humping heaving twat. “Fuck me!” She cried “Oh God I’m going to die if you don’t fuck me. Hurry! Shove that dick in me. Oh God I need it so bad! Pleeeeeeeasse. Oh yes,” her voice quivered out, “ that’s wonderful!”

His dick entered her once more, he now seeking his own climax. Thrusting hard and Phoebe returned each thrust. Suddenly with strength, she didn’t know she had, she flipped him onto his back and mounted him seeking control as she drove her pelvis down on his raging hard-on. Grinding, moaning, tears of joy in her eyes, she fucked for his cream, knowing instinctively it would satisfy her unnatural craving for a few moments. Her hairy pussy grinding, humping, heaving, cunt lips sucking on his shaft, sweat running down between her tits as she worked his cock for her first filling of male cum. With shudder after shudder, he sent load after load into her receptive, open body, bringing her own orgasmic quakes as she screamed her joy into the evening air. She cuddled him holding his face against her breasts as her sex now empty of his, rubbed against his abdomen spilling their commingled cum on his body. It was ridiculous but she knew she was in love, if not with him at least in love with the act itself. Her carefully guarded virginity, was now happily gone. As she lay on top of him, her tits pressed against his face, the lascivious nature she had suddenly acquired, began to stir in her loins once again. Looking down she noticed he was not yet prepared to help her with her needs. She was wrong. He noticed her starting to squirm on his body. “Would you like to be eaten?” he asked quietly.

For a minute she did not understand what he was suggesting, not having heard that expression before, then realized he meant to give her head, and expression she had overheard several times. She worried for a moment that he might find it distasteful, but then understood if that were the case he wouldn’t have offered. The very thought of being eaten caused her pussy to weep and she replied, “Oh John if you would like to, I think I would. I’ve never been kissed down there but the very thought excites me.”

She rolled off him, thankful for the huge bed, and spread her legs assuming a position she thought would be appropriate. He disabused her of that notion when he left the bed and taking her by the hips slid her bum to the edge. He then sat on the floor between her legs and began to kiss her inner thighs. It felt wonderfully sexy as his mouth worked from side to side slowly moving up her legs until finally he was licking the crease between leg and abdomen making her stomach shiver and clench with sensation. Just as she thought she could stand it no more his tongue penetrated her intimate folds. A man tasted her womanly syrups for the first time as she excreted more onto his tongue. He found her delicious, her creaminess somewhat mixed with his own, but nevertheless tasty. He ate with gusto. Her hips pressed her cunt against his lips until finally without movement on his part she was rubbing her clit against his tongue. He slid his hands under her soft round buttocks lifting her harder against his mouth. Her body thrust against the invading tongue. The muscles of her ass worked hard in his hands heaving her pussy upwards. Her elixir flowed. Her tensity built. She came. She moaned out her joy thrusting and heaving. He asked her to move up on the bed and roll over. He had noticed what a beautiful bum she had when he had held it and now wanted to explore it further. He lay down beside her allowing his hand to move over her sexy globes. He spread her legs a little and gently explored the base of her bum. His hand soothed her and soon both fell asleep.

She awoke at four in the morning. Startled by the fact she was in a strange bed with a warm body cuddled beside her. A strange odor filled the air, rather pleasant. Her first instinct was to run. Upon remembering the night’s events, she kissed him awake instead. Once he was awake she told him she wanted to go, not wanting to be seen leaving the house in the light of day. They inventoried her clothing, finding her skirt and panties to be fine, but her blouse was shredded and torn her bra unusable. He apologized. She accepted with a kiss explaining how much she had enjoyed her ravishment. They found her an old sweatshirt that at least covered her. It smelled strongly of him. She liked it. He kissed her at the door offering to walk her home but she declined not wanting yet to be seen in public with him. He asked her to come back whenever she wanted. Enigmatic, she did not reply as she left him, but knew in her heart she would want to see him again and again.

The house creaked and groaned its contentment. It felt it had turned an enemy into, if not a friend, an accomplice. It had enjoyed the act of procreation within its walls making it feel useful. It felt it had unleashed within Phoebe, that which was beautiful, bringing the passion so long suppressed to the surface. It reviewed the women that had approached its owner that day recognizing each as a signatory to the petition that had closed it doors for a while. It hoped that his owner could bring the same kind of joy to them that he had brought Phoebe. The house was completely altruistic not realizing that each act of procreation within its walls brought a little more awareness, a little more ability to the old bordello.