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

    down her neck when she remembered what Flora said before bed. “Peter, dear, are there, I don't know, gypsies or anything, in those woods?” “There damn well better not be,” he said. His mustaches tickled as he kissed her bare shoulders. “Flora said something about dancing people on the hill. It made me nervous. You told me no one in the family had stayed here since your grandfather's day. Could bad sorts have taken up in these parts?” “We keep servants on to make sure they don't. You should know better than to pay too much attention to Flora's stories.” “I suppose you're right. That feels good...” He had moved down to kissing her naked thighs. Summer nights were hot and stuffy in this little room, and the heat of their two bodies pressed together made it worse, but Peter never wanted to move to a bigger one. She tolerated the heat, and in truth it was a welcome change from the coldness of the rest of the place. She spread her legs wider and Peter's lips traveled up and down, tracing the outline of her calves and ankles before slipping up beyond her knees and even higher still. His stubble was so rough on her sensitive skin that she bit nearly through her lip, but she didn't want him to stop. She braced for the feeling of his hot breath. His arms cradled her hips, and looking down she could see his broad shoulders and great mane of hair. Just a little bit more now... “Oh!” She melted, sliding back into the decadent softness of the pillows. But he would go no further than this. ...
    She understood why: Part of it was practicality. Nothing would be a greater disaster for either of them than if Megan were to find herself carrying his child. And part was the memory of Lady Rowland. For the same reason, she could never sleep in his bed. She did not resent it, instead preferring tremendous pity. In her own room, she caught herself stealing a glance out at the hill. There were, of course, no lights, but for perhaps a second she imagined she saw—no, nothing, she told herself, closing the curtains. Peter was right; she should not let Flora's storytelling get the better of her. It was simply too easy in this old house and these queer woods. She said her prayers twice but still felt restless as she lay down. She slept alone in here. Peter slept alone in his own room. And Bryn— But no, she wouldn't think about that now. She rolled over and put it out of her mind. If sleep didn't want to come on its own, she'd simply make it. *** It was a bright Saturday, and Megan took the children for a walk in the gardens. It was the blooming season and everything was red and yellow and blue and it felt warm and alive outside of the old, dusty house. Miles held Megan's hand while Flora flounced along the path a few feet ahead of them, chasing the bees and telling stories. “Then the queen and her daughter and three hundred fairies went up on the hill with a pole and a ribbon and a mirror, and the queen had a harebell in her left hand and a cup of burning perfume in her right hand. ...
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