by Selena Kitt
Only they didn’t. Whoever it was, they didn’t emerge. Puzzled, she got up and helped Jenny, glancing toward the gap in the hedge to see what it was her lover had fallen over. There was absolutely nothing there, but she’d gone over, almost as if someone had stuck their leg over to crop her up. But neither of them had seen anything.
The hairs on the back of Stephanie’s neck stood up and a thought formed in her mind. She pushed it away forcefully, and after checking to see if Jenny was okay—physically, at least—she grabbed her hand and they made their way back to the house.
Once she’d safely installed Jenny in a comfy chair in the living room—or parlour, as she supposed the proper name was—Stephanie went in search of some help. She needed a first aid kit, but more importantly, alcohol. She quickly located a staff member on Reception and gave the woman a heavily edited version of events. The woman was suitably horrified and shooed her back into the parlour, promising to return with the requested items.
When she got back to Jenny, she saw that her girlfriend had rolled up her trouser legs to reveal mildly skinned knees. They looked sore, but her injuries didn’t appear to be serious. Taking a minute to examine herself, Stephanie discovered her knees were fine, except for a series of grass stains. She did, however, have a nasty scratch on her forearm—from the hedge, no doubt—and a tiny cut on one palm.
“For fuck’s sake,” Stephanie muttered. “When I find out who that idiot is, I’m going to kill him.”
Jenny looked up, her eyebrows raised. “I think you might have a problem there.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, isn’t it obvious?”
When she didn’t reply, Jenny continued, “We’re in a property well-known for its hauntings on the creepiest day of the year. Steph, it was a ghost.”
“You’re very matter-of-fact all of a sudden.”
“Well, I’ve had a few minutes to think. And it makes sense. Plus, I saw—that.”
Raising an arm, Jenny pointed at something on the wall behind where Stephanie sat. Standing, she turned to look at what Jenny had indicated. It was a photograph. A very old one, in black and white. It depicted a man, standing just inside the entrance to the maze. He wore gardening clothes and a scowl. In his hands was a hefty set of hedge clippers.
She turned back to face Jenny and sat heavily. “Well,” she said, “look on the bright side. At least, we didn’t see those clippers. I think I’d have wet myself—or worse—there and then.”
“Hmm,” said Jenny, “me too. It’s still weird, though. Why did he appear to us?”
Stephanie didn’t get a chance to reply as the woman she’d spoken to earlier—her name tag read “Ann”—entered the room with a tray. It was laden with several medical supplies, and most importantly, a pot of tea and its various accompaniments.
“Well!” Ann exclaimed, catching sight of Jenny’s knees. “Whatever did you two do out there?”
Jenny gave a wry grin. “We had a little accident coming out of the maze.”
“The maze? Whatever were you doing in there, you silly girls?”
Even Stephanie was lost for words. “Umm…whatever one usually does in mazes. Trying to find our way out, I suppose.”
Shaking her head, the woman said, “Didn’t anyone tell you?”
“Tell us what?” they replied, simultaneously.
Ann sighed. Then she poured each of them a cup of tea, added milk and sugar as per their requirements and handed them over. Only then did she take a seat beside Stephanie and recount a tale.
“So,” Stephanie said some time later when the story was told, and she’d had time for it to sink in, “what you’re saying is this place is full of ghosts, mostly harmless, except for the one in the maze who gets seriously grumpy right about this time of year and materializes?”
“That’s it in a nutshell,” Ann replied. “But we make sure we warn all patrons. I can’t understand why you weren’t told. It’s usually mentioned in the evening briefing before the murder mystery events.”
Stephanie felt a blush threatening to overtake her cheeks. That had been round about when she’d completely stopped taking notice of what was going on, so desperate was she to get to sleuthing. And if anyone had mentioned it later in the evening, neither of them would’ve heard about it, as she had dragged Jenny upstairs for her special brand of “punishment.”
“Ah, well,” she said, eager to steer away from that line of inquiry, “no real harm done. We’ll live, won’t we?”
Jenny nodded and took a sip of her tea, which to Stephanie was an obvious technique to avoid actually saying anything. “We’ll be fine. We’ll get cleaned up and bring what we don’t use back down to you, is that okay?”
The woman gave a small frown, but conceded. “Well, if you’re sure. You know where to find one of us if you need anything.” Ann smiled and took her leave. They watched her go, then turned back to one another. Stephanie got in first.
“Don’t say it.”
“What?”
“You were going to say, ‘I told you so.’”
“Hmm, well. I did. I told you this place was haunted.”
Stephanie groaned. She’d never hear the end of this.
“Come on,” she said tiredly, getting up. “Let’s go back upstairs and get cleaned up. Then we can chill out for a bit before we get ready for tonight’s party.”
“What, you still want to go?”
“Why shouldn’t I? You heard what she said. The only ghost that does anything more than creep people out is in the maze. And I’m sure as hell not going out there in the dark. Or at all, for that matter.”
She grabbed a handful of the plasters and antiseptic wipes off the tea tray and headed back up to their room. For once, Jenny didn’t even attempt to have the last word.
Several hours later, the girls were over their fright. In fact, they were now the ones doing the scaring. In an entirely more overt manner, of course. They revelled in showing their bloodied fangs to people, their cackles becoming more and more inane the greater quantity of champagne they quaffed. The brides of Dracula were most certainly on form tonight. Stephanie had no idea whether the other guests had put two and two together. In most tales of the popular story, the brides liked one another as much as they did their victims, and to be truthful, Stephanie didn’t care. She was just glad to have a little fun after their unpleasant morning.
She was also glad of the excuse to stay by Jenny’s side. Their outfits were long, floaty affairs, but that didn’t stop Stephanie from having a cheeky grope of her girlfriend’s ass every now and again. On one particularly brazen occasion, she even slipped her hand inside Jenny’s gaping neckline and gave her nipple a pinch.
“Ooh,” Jenny squealed, the sound barely noticed due to the pounding music filling the room, “are you getting frisky with me again, young lady?”
“Would you like me to be?” Stephanie replied, really hoping the answer was yes.
“What do you think?” Jenny asked. Putting her champagne glass to her lips, she drained the remainder of the golden liquid and put it down on a table. Stephanie had discarded hers some time ago, so after taking a surreptitious look around the room to make sure nobody was taking notice of them, the two of them slipped out.
When they were about halfway up the corridor, Stephanie let out an exasperated sigh. “Hang on!” she said, putting a hand against the wall to prop her up while she used the other to remove her shoes. “I’m not cut out for heels, let alone running in them!”
Her lover did the same, yanking off her strappy shoes and dangling them from one hand. Then Jenny yelled, “Last one to the room is a rotten egg!”
Both of them ran down the hallways and up the carpeted stairs, giggling inanely. A creaky floorboard and an obvious cold spot on the landing made them hesitate slightly, but then, her girlfriend piped up. “Not now, ghosty!” Jenny yelled, her slight inebriation making her brave and mouthy. “We got places to be…fuckin’ to do!”
The race forgott
en, Stephanie howled with laughter, the blatant statement coming out of Jenny’s mouth really tickling her funny bone for some reason. They scurried up the corridor and she got the room key out of her clutch bag, fumbling slightly as she tried to put it in the lock. Finally, the door swung open and they piled in, slamming it behind them and dropping all their belongings on the floor.
Then an unspoken command had them both undressing and tugging out their fake fangs. Stephanie’s lust burned through her alcohol-induced haze, meaning she was naked in seconds and clambering eagerly up onto the four-poster. Jenny was there slightly quicker, and her lover flopped onto her back, her arms open wide. She wasted no time straddling Jenny and leaning down to kiss her, crushing their breasts and tummies together. Bearing down with her hips, Stephanie pressed her pubic bone into Jenny’s, stimulating both their pussies as their tongues slipped and slid together.
“Fuck,” said Jenny, pulling away from their kiss and gasping for air. “That feels good. I reckon I could come just from you doing that, I’m so horny.”
“That might be true, my darling, but it’s not going to happen. I want to taste your sweet pussy on my face.”
“Well, I’m not going to argue with that!” As the words left her mouth, Stephanie had already shifted around into their favourite sixty-nine position. She felt Jenny tense as her mouth crept closer to her pussy. Feeling like a tease, Stephanie grabbed her lover and rolled them both over so Jenny was on top.
“Fancied a change of scenery, did you, honey?” Jenny asked, her playful comment quickly cut off as Stephanie delved her agile tongue into Jenny’s dewy pout.
Gasping, Jenny then quickly dipped her head to Stephanie’s pussy, returning the favour. Stephanie was so wrapped up in Jenny and her pleasure she didn’t notice the clock in the hallway chime midnight. Nor did she realise right away they were being watched. The barely-there figure in the corner of the room remained mostly unnoticed, looking like something from a costume party, her hand shoved up her skirt and moving in a telltale fashion.
Only when they eventually fell apart, dropping onto their backs with exhaustion, did Stephanie give any thought to the figure she spotted out of the corner of her eye.
She snapped her head in that direction, but now, there was nothing there. And, in all honesty, as she pulled the heavy duvet over herself and an exhausted Jenny, she really couldn’t care less. Halloween or not, nothing was going to stop her from making love to her beautiful girl.
They were asleep in seconds and stayed that way until morning.
The first of November dawned bright and sunny, and Stephanie and Jenny packed their cases, scrambling around the room checking for stray underwear and sex toys. The last thing Stephanie wanted was a telephone call from Wilderhope Manor to collect some rather embarrassing lost property.
As the Fiesta made the return journey down the gravel drive, Jenny twisted in her seat to look back at the beautiful building. Then, as they rounded the bend, which rendered the manor out of sight, she faced forward again. Opening her mouth, she summed up their weekend in four short words. “Well. That was interesting.”
About the Author
Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over 100 publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women’s Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She owns Erotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes.
Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9
Other Titles from Lucy Felthouse
Pack of Lies – Paranormal Erotic Romance
Sweet Spot – F/F Sports Romance
Stately Pleasures – M/F/M BDSM Erotic Romance
See her entire backlist at:
http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/
At Any Price
A Gaming the System Novel
Brenna Aubrey
For Jeff, my rock
Achievement Unlocked: Geek Virgin
When Mia Strong, proud geek-girl and popu1lar gaming blogger, auctions off her virginity online, she knows she’ll make waves. But what she will not be making is a love connection. Her rules are set in stone: One night. No further contact.
It’s a desperate step, but it’s the only way she can go to medical school and pay her mother’s mounting hospital bills.
Difficulty Level: Millionaire CEO
Adam Drake, the enigmatic auction winner, is a software prodigy who made his first million at seventeen. Now, in his mid-twenties, he’s sexy, driven and—as CEO of his own gaming company—he’s used to making the rules. Before Mia knows what’s happening, he’s found the loophole in the rules of her auction. Every stipulation she’s made to protect her heart gets tossed by the wayside.
She can’t tell if he’s playing her…or if he’s playing for keeps.
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A Virgin’s Manifesto… Posted on the blog of Girl Geek on March 14, 2013
I will shock most of you, I think, by stating that at the nearly unthinkable age of twenty-two, my hymen remains intact. No, I won’t answer any questions about why this is. Yes, I am heterosexual. No, I won’t go out on a date with you.
Throughout history there has been a global truth established that a woman has higher personal value if she has kept herself “pure” until she reaches the married state. It is ubiquitous across all cultures.
In certain countries, that value is more than moral or philosophical; it’s monetary. In India, for example, a husband expects to pay a bride-wealth to his bride’s family in exchange for her purity.
In old Europe, a bride’s family put up the money, called a dowry, that helped her make a favorable match. Money and property changed hands between the patriarchs of powerful families. And for all this, a woman was de-virginized on her wedding night, whether she loved her new husband or not—usually not.
Sex with a virgin was so valued in Japan that a wealthy man could “sponsor” a young apprentice geisha, called a maiko. All of her upbringing and training with a mentor geisha was paid for, her living expenses and many luxuries provided by his hand. And in return for this enormous expenditure? The man gained the right of mizuage, the ritual in which he was given the privilege of taking her virginity. It was expected, that he would never see her again. So this expense was for that one night only.
Virgins weren’t just bartered to powerful and wealthy men, however, but were of value to the gods of the ancients across all cultures as well. Virgin sacrifices to the gods represented the ultimate offering in exchange for something needed, most usually by men. In legendary ancient Greece, the offended goddess Artemis demanded a virgin sacrifice in payment for the insult rendered against her by Agamemnon. The Greeks desperately needed the wind to sail for Troy in order to wage war, but the goddess had prevented it. Agamemnon’s daughter, Iphigenia, and her mother, Clytemnestra, were tricked into appearing at the altar of sacrifice by talk of her impending wedding to the hero Achilles. Instead, Iphigenia was slain and the winds promptly blew. Off the previously becalmed heroes sailed, hardly fazed.
The ultimate prize in all of these examples was the woman’s virginity and in most cases the woman in question hardly profited from keeping herself pure.
So I ask, in our day and age, can a woman change this pattern and profit from her own purity? I find myself in the unusual position of being able to find out.
I’ve decided to decry the crimes and impositions put upon my sisters since the beginning of time until now. And I offer, therefore, a new paradigm. One where a woman can sell her purity and enjoy the fruits thereof.
The right to my virginity will be ceded to the highest bidder.
Chapter One
I’d refreshed the web page at least twenty times during that last hour, endless minutes slipping in between each click of the button. The Manifesto was reality now, and it was about to affect my future in a very big way.
In the end, I sat back in disbelief, the wind knocked from me. It was final. A complete stranger had just pledged to pay three quarters of a million dollars in exchange for my virginity.
I blinked a few times, looking at the figure, with all the zeros following, barely able to breathe. My mouth was as parched as the Mojave but I doubted I had the strength in my legs to get up and grab a glass of ice water.
As I leaned back in my chair staring up at the ceiling, my phone rang. Without even looking at the caller ID, I knew who it was.
“Hey Heath,” I breathed.
“Welp, your crackball auction is now closed and it looks like someone wants to pay a freaking fortune to get in your pants. Are you ready to give up this redonkulous scheme yet?”
I took a deep breath and expelled it slowly, wishing my heart wasn’t thumping like I’d just run a three-minute mile. “Of course not.”
He sighed. “Yeah, I figured. But I’m not going to stop trying, Mia, you know that.”
I grimaced. “And you almost never change my mind on anything, you know that.”
He cursed under his breath. “This has been the longest and most expensive game of chicken that I’ve ever played,” he said.
“I told you, I’m not backing out. My heels are dug in nice and deep.”
He laughed. “That’s not the only thing that’s going in deep.”
I gasped, sitting up. “Shut up. You promised you weren’t going to taunt me about this.”