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

    it,” Megan said. “No.” “Take it.” “I said no!” “Flora, you take it right now or I'll—” “You'll do WHAT, you prying bitch?!” Flora's face stretched like melting candle wax. She threw the doll down and ran, and when she reached the wall she passed right through it. A green haze marked the spot where she'd stood. Megan grabbed the chair to keep from fainting. Her heartbeat galloped. She realized she was holding the rosary so tightly that it hurt, but she didn't let go. Taking one deliberate step at a time, she went to the dining room. Mrs. Rhoslyn found her halfway there. “Get Peter,” Megan said. “Get the hounds ready. We have to find Flora.” “I'm sure Sir Rowland's gone to bed already,” Mrs. Rhoslyn said. “Which I guess means you're late, dear, but there's still time yet to earn your keep for the night if you catch up to him now.” “You're not listening: Flora is gone. She's run away with the hill people, or they've taken her. We have to...” But her voice trailed off in a slur. Something was wrong. She almost fell but Mrs. Rhoslyn caught her. Holding Megan up, she shook her and then held her eyelids open, looking at her pupils. She was talking but it was a moment before the words registered: “...bakestones finally kicking in. It won't hurt you. It'll just see that you sleep the night through, for your own good.” Megan tried to mumble a question but the words came out thick and jumbled. “Sir Rowland had two an hour ago so you won't raise a peep out of him. Just let it happen.” ...
    Mrs. Rhoslyn appeared to be gently lowering her to the floor. Through the drowsiness Megan produced a word: “Flora.” Mrs. Rhoslyn sighed. “It's Midsummer. They have to have their tithe. The Good Lord only knows the sorts of things they'll do to the rest of us if we don't let them.” Mrs. Rhoslyn's voice was receding. Alarmed, Megan realized she was leaving. “It's nobody's fault but yours,” she said, and then she was gone. Megan was alone. She tried to focus. The room was spinning. Her body felt like a dead thing. She was lying, she realized, beneath one of the portraits of Lady Rowland. She was sure she was imagining that its expression had changed to one of sadistic triumph. She willed herself to stand. It was slow going. Step by clumsy step, leaning on the walls to keep from falling over and praying all the while that she'd make it before her strength came out, she crept down the hall, through the entryway, down the front steps and into the gardens. The flowers, it seemed, were all alight, and the way they bent and bobbed in the breeze suggested an obscene dance, though Megan wondered if perhaps the poison had made her delirious, and none of this was even real. By the time she came to the foot of the hill she had to crawl. She was certain now that phantom lights really were dancing among the trees. The night forest was a foggy mass of unreal colors, blues and pale greens and decayed yellows. She heard music and the sound of feet shuffling in strange dances. Her body hurt. She ...
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