1. Goblins


    Date: 1/10/2016, Categories: Dark Fantasy, Blowjob, Cheating, Cuckold, Gothic, Horror, Job/Place-of-work, Mature, Monster, Older Male / Female, Oral Sex, Romance, Author: BlackRonin, Rating: 77.8, Source: sexstories.com

    “Up the airy mountain, down the rushing glen, We daren't go a-hunting, for fear of little men.” -William Allingham, “The Fairies” *** “I want to dance with the hill people at night,” Flora said, standing on a chair and looking out the window. Megan looked with her. The summer sun slipped behind the yew trees on the hill beside the big old house, but no one was there that Megan could see. She frowned. “What do you mean?” Flora looked up at her. “Every night the people come and dance and sing all over that hill, and the lights are very pretty.” “They bring lights?” “They ARE lights.” Megan tsked. “No nonsense,” she said. “Get ready for bed.” Flora climbed off the chair and trotted up the stairs, skirting past her brother on the floor. Megan snuffed all the candles except one, which she took with her. With the lights out, the bruised yellow color of the sunset crept around the curtain sash, turning things a feverish color. The old oaks and ancient yews around the estate seemed to stir like dismal, sleeping things. Megan shivered. She looked at Miles. “Have you seen your sister's lights?” she said. But Miles did not answer. He was building a castle out of blocks, operating by touch in the dark. Megan set him on his feet and ushered him up the stairs after Flora. She was about to follow when Peter came in, carrying an open book. “Are the children in bed?” he said, reading. “I just sent them up,” said Megan. “If you see Mrs. Rhoslyn upstairs tell her I want to talk to her about ...
    the staff.” He closed the book and handed it to her. It was heavy. The staircase creaked. The old house was quite pretty during the day, but the long corridors and tall rooms seemed secretive and closed-off at night. It was a summer home, in Sir Rowland’s family for generations, but nobody had ever really made use of it until now, and it had perhaps grown used to being empty. Megan quickened her pace. Giggles and the sound of little footsteps told her that the children were not in bed yet. Before she could chide them she heard Mrs. Rhoslyn's voice coming around the bend in the corridor. “...at least he was always practical before. Not that I hold it against him, mind you, given what the poor chestnut has been through, but there's no sense pretending—” “Pretending what, Mrs. Rhoslyn?” Megan said. Mrs. Rhoslyn had been talking to one of the wash maids (Megan could never remember their impossible Welsh names), who jumped and flushed as red as an apple. Mrs. Rhoslyn, though, did not miss a beat. “We were just saying,” said Mrs. Rhoslyn, smiling and smoothing her apron, “how badly we feel for Sir Rowland. How is he holding up these days?” “Shouldn't you know? You see him every day.” Mrs. Rhoslyn's smile grew to distinctly impertinent proportions. “But you see more of him, don't you Miss James? I know how it is. I was a pretty young thing once too, not that you'd know it to look at me now.” “Yes, Mrs. Rhoslyn: I will keep in mind how little you are to look at now. Sir Rowland would ...
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