The Dunwich Romance by Edward Lee Read Free Book Online

pleasant sensations her skin had been receptive to today...had commingled, and then intensated to an effect many times more robust: the comfort of being carried in Wilbur’s strong arms, then the feel of her own hands caressing the suds of the ash soap all over her body in the shower machine, then—much more so—the feel of Wilbur’s hands sliding up and down in the cleave of her buttocks and how she cringed for the fantasy of the elongated fingers sliding into her private orifi... Even the captivating black gown itself beguiled her in some concupiscent manner, some mystery of its fabric that felt, whenever she walked, as of the hands or even the tongue of some semi-palpable wraith tenderly stroking her skin. Foggy-eyed with these muses, a few moments passed, then her bladder began to void; the stream glittered as it arced out of her and up, and then she discovered her index and middle fingers were V’d at the folds her of sex, opening it; it was such that even the mundane function of urinating pushed more lustful desires into her head. The stream declined, then ceased, yet she remained in her lewd squat, at once finding one hand slipped into the gown’s top, fondling a breast; her fingers catered to the already nerve-plump nipple which sent the most delectable sensations gusting to her privates. Then she imagined Wilbur’s fingers there, then his mouth, sucking.
    Aw, durn, that feels good...
    She licked the fingerpad of her other hand, stroked the pink nub of her clitoris, once very slowly, then again twice. Her body’s reaction to this meager tending was an intoxicating tension; her head rolled around. Two more quicker strokes brought a pulsing outburst to her loins whose density of pleasure caused her to fall over and cringe. She twitched there on the ground, her face overcome by a smile of delight the likes of which she’d not experienced in years. The initial impulse to masturbate had been puissant enough; however, it was the fantasy of Wilbur’s participation that had set her sexual responses off like a black-powder keg.
    Sary lay sidled over awhile longer, pilfering out the last of the after-sensations, but then—
    Terror came.
    The unmistakable scuff of footfalls could be heard not far off. Aw, Gawd, please let it be that no one seen me! She jumped up (hoping that the bush’s partial coverage had concealed her from the interloper) and righted her gown as best she could. Either the walker was Wilbur or it was—
    Wilbur said he boarded up his haouse ‘cos folks sometimes try ta break in...
    Sary prayed to God that it wasn’t some foul-minded Dunwich thief trespassing upon the property. If such a man saw Sary, out here all by herself?
    She knew she’d be raped most dementedly.
    She peeked around the edge of the bush, yet her eyes only had time to glimpse a figure turn round the hill and disappear behind the sheds, which could only mean...
    He be headin’ for the big house...
    A daring not typically known to her had her quickly dart from the bush, past the latrine, and to the wall of the smoking-house. It was a deep breath she drew into her lungs, then... She peeked around the smoker’s corner.
    Thank yew, Gawd...
    Relief assailed her when she easily identified the “interloper” as Wilbur himself. She was about to call out a greeting but impulse at the last moment caused her to forbear the gesture. Impulse, but also...observation.
    What’s that over his back?
    Indeed, a sack of some kind seemed to be slung across the gargantuan man’s back as he walked with deliberance toward the boarded-up house. However, Sary now discerned that one of the house’s doors stood absent of the nailed planks and beams that sealed all the others and windows. Instead, it was barred by upper and lower iron struts fixed across the egress by two large and ponderous old locks. Wilbur, still not at all cognizant of Sary’s vigilance, extracted a key, unfastened the locks, and opened the door...
    The young woman’s angle of