Chapter One

 

I have always kind of looked like the most ordinary girl anyone would likely run into. I don't stand out in a crowd in any way. My face is oval shaped, my eyes brown, my lashes thick, but not so thick as to draw attention.

My brown hair is a reasonably attractive shade, sort of dark and vaguely reddish tinted, and hangs fairly neatly where I put it. But it's unremarkable. It barely brushes my shoulders, and I do nothing with it but cut it with scissors. I part it on the right, and just let it cut across my forehead so the arm of my glasses will keep it out of my eyes.

I'm slender enough, with narrow shoulders and a flat tummy. My breasts, I'll grant you, are a bit bigger than is average, but I don't dress to exaggerate them and so that's easy not to notice in most of my wardrobe. Mostly I wear brown and black and beige, nothing tight.

I don't seek attention by any means. I'm not comfortable with it, particularly from strangers.

I was raised by my uncle and aunt after my parents died when I was seven. They are a rather stern natured and dour couple - with their own kids. But they took me in because it was an obligation they couldn't get out of. How would it look, after all, if they refused?

And appearances mattered so much to them! It was all about how successful they were, and how big their house, and how rich they were, and how beautiful and blonde their children were, and how many awards they won. They had a very careful narrative and I was a complication they'd just as soon have avoided.

When you're a child, you soon detect whether your presence is welcome or not. I spent most of my time in my room reading, or watching TV or playing on the internet, alone, and content to be alone.

As soon as I could I moved out, using the trust fund my parents death had created to purchase an old Victorian house on the edge of old San Francisco. It was as different from the sparkling new, sharp edged modern house I'd been living as it was possible to find outside of a cave.

It was a marvelous old Victorian, with turreted windows and a high peaked roof. The insides were laden with beautiful wainscoting and lovely, winding wooden staircases. It needed some TLC, of course, but I could do a lot of the simpler things, and hire others to do the more the complicated.

I want to point out I wasn't being some soft-headed, silly girl when I bought the place, at least, not entirely. I certainly recognized that it was far too large for a single person to call home. It had six bedrooms, a library, a 'parlor' as well as an office and a living room downstairs. It also had a huge kitchen and sat on an acre and a half of weed strewn grounds.

But it was a steal at what I paid for it. I had finished high school and was at something of loose ends as to what I wanted to take in college. So I thought I would take some time off and put it to good use. The Victorian would probably double in price with a little fixing up. Or so I thought.

Just buffing the age-darkened hardwood floors had made the place look infinitely more appealing! Tearing out all the old wallpaper and painting the place was another huge improvement. And I could do all that myself. I mean, I was barely nineteen and quite healthy, and the hard work would substitute for my normal exercise routine! Win-win! With clean windows the place looked way better!

I furnished the living room, and the grand master bedroom through purchases made at thrift and antique shops. The bed was this absurdly huge four poster with eight foot high spiraling posts thicker than my torso and a massive headboard. It was probably so cheap because no one could fit it into the average bedroom!

Aside from the little turret part of the master suite I would say the library was my favorite room. It wasn't, as you might imagine, just a big room full of wall to wall shelves. Each built-in unit was separated from the next by a foot or so of wall, and each had cupboard doors on the lower section. There was also a huge fireplace with beautifully carved leaves and flowers along the mantel, big French glass doors giving onto the back yard, and a lovely coffered ceiling.

And it had a secret passage! It wasn't obvious when there were books on the shelves, but without books you could see the little lever in the back of one shelf, which, when pulled, allowed that shelf to be pushed into the wall!

There was a staircase behind it leading down to the basement, and up to the second floor, which came out in a small door in the paneling next to the fireplace in the master suite! I thought that was delightful!

Once I'd installed my own supply of books on that shelf, it, at least, and the one next to it, looked great. I had to go to a church yard sale or two to buy some more books to line the others. For effect, you understand. But then the room really started looking impressive!

The master bathroom was amazing! The floor tiles were of this deep iridescent blue, made up of tiny squares not much bigger than my thumb. The tub was set in the floor, a deep, wide round blue marble! In the corner was the shower area. It had the same tiles, including a pair of six foot high tiled walls which sprouted at right angles to the walls near the corner, leaving a gap to walk between them.

I had to pay a plumber to come and redo the fixtures, but that was it, aside from a lot of elbow grease to clean everything. The counter was of the same light blue marble as the tub, and the sinks were a darker blue version of the same. Silver framed mirrors sat above the counter, with wall sconces on either side which resembled small, elaborate candelabras.

It was all very old fashioned looking, but deliciously luxurious, as well. Though I have to say the first time I took a shower there I felt an odd sense of unease. Almost as if someone were watching me! I turned around frequently, staring at the door, and scanning the room, but saw and heard nothing amiss.

I hired a guy with a tractor to come in cut the mass of weeds in the back yard and tear up the yard. Then I sprayed weed killer on everything! It was just too far gone for recovery. I had to start over. But that was okay. Designing and planting bushes and small trees was going to be fun!

The only exception to killing everything were the shrubs which lined the fences. I liked the idea of privacy, of creating my own little oasis back there.

I was finding it a little difficult to get to sleep and to stay asleep in the big old house. I mean, I was all alone in the house, and it was an old house with the normal odd sounds in the middle of the night. And, of course, it was an unfamiliar house. So I didn't find my sleeping issues odd.

What I did find odd was that I was starting to have these strange erotic dreams, and all about the same man. He was the man whose framed picture had sat on the mantel in the living room until I'd taken it up to the attic.

He was a youngish man, in his late twenties or thirties, handsome, dashing, I suppose you would have said back then, wearing a Victorian era suit and striking an arrogant pose. He reeked of self-confidence, even arrogance, but with a glint to his eyes, and I was willing to bet he'd had more than his share of success with the ladies of his day.

The first time I dreamed about him I was wearing an old fashioned dress and dancing in the parlor with him, amid a group of other people, and we were flirting coyly with each other. That morphed into us kissing - I don't know where, but it was a kiss which seemed to go on forever as his hands slid over my body!

And it was such a vivid dream! I wakened feeling my heart beating rapidly, and more than a little aroused! But there was also a sense of something dark lurking, a kind of wary excitement.

The next night I dreamed of him again, only this time I was naked in bed and tied spreadeagled to the four corner posts! He was slowly licking his way up and down my body as I writhed beneath him, and my body fairly radiated heat, unable to keep still as my muscles spasmed and twitched and my limbs pulled and strained against the chains which bound them!

I woke up with my heart fluttering and my chest rising and falling rapidly. I had flung off the covers and was laying more or less spreadeagled on the bed just as I was in my dream! Only this time I could feel the arousal burning within me to such an extent I sat up, peeled off the nightshirt which I'd worn to bed, and then repositioned myself naked!

I moaned and arched my back, closing my eyes, letting my memory and imagination heighten the excitement within me for a time before bringing my right hand down between my legs. My clitoris was swollen and hypersensitive, and as my fingers stroked it I let out a helpless series of moans and gasps at the surging rush of heat within me!

I thrust my fingers between the tight lips of my sex, still stroking my clitoris, and felt how wet and hot I was inside, and within seconds the orgasm took me, a startlingly powerful one!

That had been the most amazing dream I'd ever had in my life, at least that I remembered! And the wildest and strangest thing about it was how clearly I remembered it! Unlike other dreams, it didn't fade away like a snuffed candle. I remembered it quite clearly even into the next day!

And the next day I had it again! It was ... expanded now, because I realized I was in a large bed, and there were candles, or rather, candelabras on the night tables and on a table at the foot of the bed, so that the bedroom - my bedroom, was lit by their wavering, flickering yellow light.

There were thick leather straps around my wrists and ankles which were chained to the four corner posts, but I didn't feel like a prisoner. He was naked now, and my eyes feasted upon his body as he knelt arrogantly between my legs, gazing at me!

Then his hands ran over my body, stroking me, kneading me, before he lowered himself! His lips and hands caressed me all over as I strained and moaned and felt the rising heat within myself, but then, as I saw his cock, thick and long and ready, poised and about to enter me, I woke up!

Argh! I was so annoyed!

But I was also still very hot from the dream, and once again I had to tear off my nightshirt and masturbate to orgasm!

The next day I was cleaning the kitchen floor when the postman called, with a package I had ordered. He looked at me oddly as I signed for it, and it wasn't until after he'd gone that I recalled, blushing as I did so, that I had chosen the clothes I was wearing because I'd known I would be doing dirty, sweaty work - alone.

I had not expected to get visitors or see anyone. The blouse I wore was too small and was missing buttons. I had simply tied it together below my breasts. Nor was I wearing a bra under it. Why get a bra sweaty or dirty when the blouse, tied together, would support me well enough? That was sort of what I had thought... I guess.

The shirt was quite thin and tight, though, and clasped my ample breasts in a very form-fitting way which also showed quite clearly the indentations of my nipples. And there was a generous amount of cleavage revealed between the two tied-off sides of the rolled up shirt.

I was wearing very short cutoff shorts which had been too small for me some time ago, and had lain in the bottom of my closet in the old house I'd shared with my uncle and aunt. They were so tight I couldn't even close the clasp. Fortunately, it had a zipper which kind of stuck, so doing up the zipper kept the shorts from moving.

I had, I realized, much to my dismay, presented a revealing figure for the postman! I wasn't, remember, a girl used to showing off my body at all, particularly to strangers! I chided myself for my foolishness in not remembering what I was wearing before answering the door, or for wearing these shorts and top at all!

It wasn't like the shorts were even comfortable, I realized. The crotch and stitching actually dug into me in a rather, well, irritating way. And then I realized, just like that, that I was aroused. I had, in fact, been mildly aroused for some time and hardly even noticed.

The tight, short shorts digging into me made me a bit achy, but in a darkly delicious way which made my body very ... sensitive. I knew without looking that my nipples were hard against the blouse, and my clitoris was swollen, if irritated, and moist and sweaty against the tight stitching of the cutoffs.

My breasts felt rather swollen too, taut and warm, and my hands came up almost unconsciously to cup and squeeze them softly, giving me a little rush of excitement and heat.

Rather than change, which I ought to have done, I simply continued working in the kitchen, on my hands and knees, scrubbing at the tiles there. I was sometimes aware and sometimes not, of the tightness of my cutoffs and the soft, underlying throbbing of my body, but I resolutely ignored both when I did become aware.

It was rather strange, though, to be crawling on the floor scrubbing, and getting hot and sweaty, and also being aroused at the same time. The arousal, I realized, outweighed the discomfort, which was an excellent thing, really, when you think about it. It made the job much less unpleasant.

And then this idea came to me, an idea I immediately thought of as outrageous! I was quite sweaty, by then, for it was hot in the old place and I was working hard. The thought I had was to strip off and go naked, to continue working naked!

I was alone in the house, so there was no reason I shouldn't, but it seemed indecent and even somewhat perverted. On the other hand, it was quite practical given the heat, and the arousal within me found a ready attraction for the thought of doing something wicked and sexual.

And so I did!

I looked around self-conscious and anxious, feeling like I was acting horribly inappropriately! But it was my own house and I was alone in it so... who would know?

I returned to scrubbing. I couldn't do this with a mop. This was decades of dirt and required in close hard scrubbing, shifting between several different kinds of scouring pads, sponges and rags.

Doing it naked made that strange dark shimmering heat build up even higher within my body. I found myself imagining someone coming in and seeing me like this, a man of course, then that man, the one from my dreams, from the picture!

I found myself posing my body in an outrageously sexual way, bottom high, knees apart, upper torso low to the ground as I scrubbed so that my very hard nipples sometimes rubbed across the tiles! I felt very, very sexual and sensual!

The buildup of heat within me rose to such an extent that I felt an outrageous need upon me. I lay down, rolled onto my back, drew my legs up and apart, and masturbated right then and there on the floor of the kitchen! I came within a minute or so, came very powerfully! My back arched violently, my hips bucked frantically, and a long, involuntary cry of purest pleasure exploded from my open mouth!

Afterward I felt odd, disconcerted and confused. This was not the sort of thing I did! Granted, I had never lived alone before, but it wasn't like I'd felt such urgent hunger and passion previously in my life, and I didn't understand how that could change just because I was in a house by myself.

Even so, when I got back on all fours to continue scrubbing I got these strange dark... flashes of erotic thoughts in my head. Well, scrubbing didn't take a lot of thought, so my mind was free to roam, but it struck me as very odd it would roam in that direction, especially given I'd just had this very satisfying orgasm.

I was starting, as I scrubbed, as I moved, to get more aroused again. My movements naturally swung my breasts back and forth below me, hot and thrumming with life as they were. My nipples tingled, hard and very sensitive.

I had this strange thought, of how much better my nipples would feel if something were tied to them, like little weights, so that as I moved, they would tug deliciously on my sensitive little pink buttons. What an amazing thought to have!

And then I started missing that tight, almost painful way the stitching of the cutoffs had been digging into my sex. I wanted to feel that touch again, but wanted to remain naked.

I rose on my knees, panting, and wiped the back of my hand across my forehead. I was hot, and in more ways than one. I looked down at my bare breasts, as if appreciating them for the first time, cupping and kneading them as I knelt there.

They felt so wonderful! And they felt wonderful in a dual way. My breasts throbbed as my hands squeezed them, and then my hands for some weird reason, were delighting in the tactile pleasure of feeling that soft, warm flesh against them, a sense of delight gripping me as I dug my fingers into them and squeezed.

It was quite odd, but the thrumming heat rising within me caught at my attention much more than pondering the imponderable.

That was when, opening the door to the big pantry, I remembered the hemp rope I'd noted earlier, curled in a corner. It was about as thick as my index finger, and quite rough to the touch, and as soon as I saw it I felt weirdly transfixed by the sight of it!

This, I immediately understood, was a way to duplicate the feeling of the tight shorts, and in a very sexy way!

I eagerly seized the rope and then examined it briefly, then, with hardly a pause at all, I doubled it and swept it around my waist. I tied it tight, a little uncomfortably tight, then drew the two ropes downward between my buttocks and forward between my legs. I measured their length carefully, but in an instant, then tied two knots in each rope before pulling them up together firmly.

I gasped as the rough rope pulled up between the lips of my sex, feeling a wild, breathless thrill despite the discomfort. I groaned as I fed them up under the rope around my waist, and pulled tighter still, feeling the sharp ache as they dug into my soft flesh, and delighting in it!

I pulled hard enough the rope around my waist was stretched downward front and back, and then when I tied off the knots I found myself trembling softly. The four knots framed my swollen clitoris perfectly!

I ached! But I ached so wonderfully!

Feeling my eyes glazing a bit, I returned to work, scrubbing the floor, moaning a little at the growing throbbing heat between my legs! I ached more and more with every passing minute, and my arousal deepened in tandem with the ache!

I was sweating badly, and it wasn't from the scrubbing. The pores of my flesh seemed to ooze heat! My thick brown hair was getting matted against my forehead, and my glasses were slick on my nose. I took them off, and then, unaccountably, I let my swollen breasts press down firmly against the floor, until they were pillowed out beneath my chest.

I kept my bottom high and spread my arms to the sides, shifting my knees aside, as well, posing, positioning myself in a lewd and obscene way, as if readying myself to be taken hard from behind by a man!

I imagined him looking at me, feeling hunger, his cock hard and throbbing, getting ready to mount me and ride me like a whore!

My trembling right hand reached down between my legs, gripped the two ropes and started to tug on them sharply. I cried out as they ground even harder against my flesh, the knots rubbing painfully against my clitoris!

I did it again, and again, and again, starting to become feverish with dark heat and need, crying out with every sharp pull until another and even more intense orgasm tore through my mind and body! It was incredibly powerful, and I heard my voice crying out again and again!

I forced the rope to the side somehow, my frantic fingers finding the entrance to my body and thrusting into myself again and again, to the knuckles, crying out, sobbing in pleasure as I drove my fingers into the burning furnace between my legs!

I was exhausted, drained and shaken after that, and I stumbled upstairs, cutting lose the rope with a moan of relief and hurrying into the shower. I wanted cold water to douse the exhausted heat. I was soaking with sweat, and gasping for breath.

I turned on the water and groaned again in relief as it rained over me. I found myself sinking to my knees in the corner, panting, my breathing slowly getting back to normal as the cold water poured down around me.