The House on Alloway Road

Tom pulled his car up on the opposite side of the street and turned the headlights off, the engine still running in case he got cold feet. He had heard things, sure, but is that all they were? Rumours? He could be making a huge mistake. Tom drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and looked at the house to his left, illuminated poorly by the lights of the adjacent homes.

616 Alloway Road was a large, old residence in a state of disrepair, bordering on dilapidation. The front garden was overgrown and the wooden fence, rotten and ruined, had half collapsed into the forest of grass.

He turned the engine off and reclined into the ancient cracked leather of the car seat, sighing as he looked out at the tumbledown property. He twisted the wedding band around his finger, but it wouldn't budge. He licked at the digit before slipping it into his mouth, trying not to gag as he sucked and tongued at the gold ring. Another hard pull but there was still no give.

The doorbell was old and faulty and Tom had to give it a few good presses to get it to chime his arrival. The melody was distorted, the pitch shifting as it rang. Tom waited for someone to answer, doubt plaguing him as he lingered in the dimly lit doorway. He fought the urge to turn tail and run, to get back into his car and go home to his wife. He shuffled his feet nervously and took a small step backwards, his resolve finally crumbling.

Just then there was a click from the other side of the door, and slowly it slid open, juddering as it scraped across the stone threshold while the loose hinges did all they could to stop the door falling completely free of the rotten timber frame.

The first thing Tom noticed as the heavy door was dragged open was the smell. It was like opening a refrigerator and realizing something had gone off, but you couldn't quite put your finger on what. The next thing he noticed was the woman who answered the door.

Her hair was a frizzy of dirty grey strands. Her porcelain white face looked ghostly, an image enhanced by the dark rings around her eyes and the chewed, chapped nature of her pale lips. She was wearing a long faded grey-brown knitted sweater, full of holes and stretched from all the washing and hanging it must have gone through. Her legs were bare, dirty and unshaven. The woman used the sleeve of her sweater to wipe her nose, sniffling as she stepped back, gesturing for him to enter. Tom nodded and stepped inside, pulling the broken door closed behind him.

He walked into the entranceway and glanced around nervously. The rumours said her home was filthy but that wasn't strictly true, although it was definitely messy inside. Tom noticed the fine film of dust that blanketed the old wooden furniture in the wide hallway. Clothes of all kinds, he observed, were strewn across the floor. The piled clumps dotted around the domicile were numerous, but there were no signs of food scraps or littered garbage nor any traces of semi-feral animals that you might have expected.

The woman shuffled as she peeled the knitted garment from her naked torso, wriggling out of it before discarding it amongst the rest of the clothing. She stood before him as naked as the day she was born. Her body was slender and lithe, her breasts pert and high. The pale skin of her arms and torso adorned with faded tattoos, obscured by the accumulated filth. Her sex was hidden beneath an overgrown mop of dark pubic hair.

She wasn't what Tom had expected to find here. Not after Kirk had told them all about her. "The slut who would fuck anyone who came to her door" was what he'd called her. A part of Tom hadn't believed his friend, but the stories about her were widespread. They were whispered in hushed tones among groups of men congregating in dimly lit pubs and on lonely night shifts at the plant. Tom had thought about her every night after he heard the tales, lying in bed next to his sleeping wife. Tom loved Kathy. He truly did. She was the mother of his children, all now grown and gone, and while their sex life was hardly the raging inferno of lust it had once been, it was still burning.

Yet even after a night of passionate love making Tom would cuddle with his naked wife and he would think of her. The woman they called "Dee". He would overhear snippets of hushed conversations where groups of men gathered. Some claimed to have friends who had visited the lubricious lady, a very few even boasted about experiencing her for themselves. Tom often wondered how many had really come to see the woman, how many had lost their nerve and fled, and how many had stayed, even after smelling her home and seeing her unkempt appearance. Tom's mind raced as he tried to think of something to say by way of introduction.

"I'm Thomas." he blurted out, pausing before opening his mouth to add "Tom."

He tried to think of something sexy and clever to add that would break the ice and endear him to her, but instead he stood there silently, staring at the woman. The grime that coated her also disguised her age. Was there a young twenty something under there? Or perhaps a healthy fifty year old?

Tom realised that she was taller than he first thought, almost six feet tall if he had to hazard a guess. He raised his hand and reached out towards her, more reflex than planning, an involuntary movement born of his desire to touch her flesh but she pulled away and turned her back to him. Tom froze, his hand outstretched and hovering in the air, but he sensed no malice and felt no rejection. He admired her still, unwashed and ungroomed as she was. Her back shapely and, like her arms and torso, intricately decorated with a faded illustration.

Dee gestured for him to follow as she lead him back into the hallway, weaving through the debris that littered the house. She led him to a carpeted staircase, the fabric was possibly once a resplendent scarlet, now just a faded, reddish brown umber, patchy and worn. They began to climb the stairs, the wood cracking and creaking beneath them. Tom watched as his hostess ascended before him, her hips swaying hypnotically, his eyes transfixed by her sex that flashed him intermittently through the forest of hair between her legs as she walked ahead of him.

At the top of the stairs, they entered another smaller hallway, still littered with strewn clothing. They walked past a couple of doors before stopping at a third, the pink paint flaking from the aged wooden door. The woman reached out, her slender fingers coiling around the metal door knob, twisting until the door clicked open. She pushed the door ajar and turned on her heel.

"Get ready for me," she commanded, as she walked away from him. Her voice was surprisingly husky, like hot coal simmered in whisky. Tom stepped into the room while the woman disappeared further down the dark hallway, without even a glance back at her guest.

Tom found himself in a large bedroom, clothes piled into random pillars that reached all the way to the ceiling, and in the centre was a large stained mattress lying on the floor. The room was dimly lit by myriad candles, all shapes and sizes and colours, dotted around on the dusty floorboards and crowded on soiled wooden furniture. Years of wax deposits coated the visible surfaces. Pipes in the wall juddered and clanged and the sound of running water could be heard echoing in the distance as Tom weaved his way through the columns and candles, slowly peeling off his shirt and tie, followed by his shoes, trousers and socks until Tom stood by the mattress, naked but for his white cotton underpants.

He was really doing this. After twenty nine years of marriage, he was doing this. Tom didn't even know what this woman's real name was. "Dee" was what they called her, but it was not her true name. It was a calling card. An honorific used by the people who talked about what she did. The people who knew where to find her.

He slipped his underwear off and caressed his shrivelled manhood, teasing the shrunken flesh as he tried to massage it to life for her. His nerves had seemingly gotten the best of him, and his flaccid penis remained resolutely unresponsive to his touch. Perhaps this was a sign to leave. To go before he had done irreparable harm to his marriage.

Tom wondered about her teeth.

It was an odd thought that arrived in his head unbidden. She hadn't smiled since he arrived, or even spoken when she was looking his way. Maybe they were missing after years of hard drug abuse? Maybe her whole body was riddled with STDs?

He couldn't do this. Why was he even here? So his sex life wasn't everything he wanted, but whose was? Tom realised that he needed to leave. He needed to go home and tell his wife how much he loved her. He grabbed his underpants and tried to pull them back on. That was when she appeared in the doorway.

He'd swore she had only been gone for a few minutes, but she looked like she had been preparing for hours. Her still naked form was gleaming now, the vibrant colours of her painted body almost radiating in the gloom, the tattoos seeming to dance in the glow of the flickering candlelight. Her hair was a lustrous gleaming silver, curled into loose ringlets, and her lips, oh her lips, they were the crimson of fresh blood. Tom was shocked at how sad he felt seeing that she had removed the hair between her legs, her bare slit now fully visible. For the first time since he walked through the door, her blank expression was slowly replaced by a lopsided grin, revealing brilliant white teeth, a snaggletoothed smile framed by some misaligned canines.

Dee almost seemed to glide across the floor of the cluttered bedroom, drifting towards him slowly and deliberately until she was pressed against the older gentleman, standing almost naked before her. She leaned forward, her head tilted and her eyes closed.

It felt like electricity when her red lips touched his, a tingling that started at his mouth and then slowly moved down his body, filling him completely.

Her tongue pushing its way past his lips as she kissed him. Hungrily. Desperately. Her hands on his chest, nails lightly scratching at his skin as she ran her fingers through his greying chest hair. She broke away from the kiss, smiling her uneven smile, her emerald eyes sparkling in the light as she watched him intently. Only then did he realise that he was standing in the candlelight with his underpants half on, his now erect penis exposed and proud.

He opened his mouth to speak but the pale woman silenced him with a finger, a long, sharp scarlet painted fingernail poking into his upper lip, and shook her head. Her hands moved to his shoulders and she pushed him backwards onto the tarnished mattress, looking down at him sprawled beneath her.

She knelt down slowly, her hands reaching out to Tom's underwear and sliding them off before she crawled towards him. Her mouth opened wide, a dark red tongue slipped past her teeth as her head approach the engorged member before her. Tom shuddered as she came into contact with him, her tongue flicking against the tip of his cock. The enchantress looked up at him, her green eyes smiling as she took him into her warm mouth. Tom tensed, as her warmth enveloped him, her lips sliding down his shaft. It felt like her tongue was coiling around his cock like a python, squeezing him tight. It was unlike any blow job Tom had ever experienced. Unlike anything he had ever seen in any of the porn he had been viewing with increasing regularity. Slow and deliberate were her movements, the woman still gazing up at her visitor, a purr in her throat. Tom gasped as she withdrew, and realised that his breath had been held the whole time her mouth was on him and only now, as his manhood slipped free of Dee's oral embrace, could he remember how to breath.

The woman crawled past him, rolling onto her back once she arrived at the centre of the mattress. Tom sat up and watched as she parted her legs, both hands massaging her thighs and creeping closer to her exposed sex, now wet and inviting. She was staring at him as her fingers arrived at their destination, caressing the folds between her legs. The older man was transfixed at the vibrant colour of her vulva. A pinkish red, rich and succulent. Without any verbal command, he knew what he must do for her. Now it was his turn to crawl to her, his own tongue hanging from his mouth as he lowered his head to taste her.

Tom pressed against her intimate flesh, her juices flowing freely across his taste buds. He didn't know what he expected. Maybe a flavour a little like his wife, or something tart and sour perhaps. Tom wouldn't have been surprised had her taste been something fishy and stale, given her state when he arrived. What he got was sweet and bitter, like a fine red wine. She tasted of the ripe summer berries he had eaten directly from the bush when rambling in the countryside as a child, while holidaying with his auntie.

Tom slurped and sucked, licked and nipped. Dee's natural nectar was dripping from his chin. Her fingers in his hair, pulling him to her, hips raised to allow the married man's tongue to probe deeper, her clit grinding against his nose until, noisily, she came. Tom drank down all she offered when she orgasmed, swallowing mouthfuls of her salty secretions, his arms under her thighs pulling her to him that he could drink from her like a chalice.

Dee had to pull him away from between her legs, Tom's tongue still searching out for her taste as she dragged him onto her pale body, a wide, toothy grin on her face as she pressed her sanguine lips to his, tasting her own juices on his tongue as they kissed.

She said nothing as she rolled him over, tossing her dark hair behind her with an elegant flip as she straddled Toms hips, his still hard cock pressed between the lips of her pussy. She continued to smile as she placed her hands on his chest and moved her hips, her slit slowly sliding up and down Tom's length. Her hands moved up, fingers sliding through his chest hair before slowly moving to Tom's throat.

The man shuddered slightly beneath her, his manhood throbbing slightly with the adrenaline rush as her small hands applied pressure to his neck, her crooked smile widening, letting her lover know that she noticed the reaction. Her other thumb pushed against his lower lip, teasing it down. The woman leaned forward and planted a kiss on his lips as she slowly rocked against him.

Dee pulled away, her hands travelling back across Tom's shoulders and down his arms as she sat upright again, her fingers twisting into his and guiding his hands across her chest, planting one on each of her pert breasts. Instinctively Tom massaged them, marvelling at her firmness, pinching her swollen nipples between his thumb and forefinger. Her smile disappeared, replaced with an open mouth, her eyes closed tightly. He pinched harder and a soft moan escaped her blood red lips. She pulled her hands from his, leaving them to fondle her breasts as she arched her back and reached behind to guide him into her warm cunt.

Tom came almost immediately as the pale woman swallowed him between her legs, his seed launching deep inside her. A wave of disappointment washed over him as he realised that his old prick wouldn't be able to satisfy her now that it was spent, that this beauty would be left wanting and this night had come to a disappointing and premature end.

But it did not. Dee continued moving her hips, grinding on top of her spent lover, his rigid cock refusing to deflate. She gave Tom a look as she rocked on top of him, her eyes unblinking as she stared into his, emerald green and full of adoration.

He ran his thumbs along the soft underside of her bust, tracing the inked designs on her chest. His hands moved back up to her breasts, squeezing them as he massaged them a little more vigorously now.

Dee raised herself up from his lap, grunting softly each time she dropped back down, impaling herself on Tom's miraculously rigid member. His cloudy secretions leaked from her pussy in great creamy globules each time she lifted herself up, and splashed across their bodies as she fell once more.

Dee leaned forward again, her uneven grin back as she braced her hands on Tom's chest and bounced harder, slapping against him loudly on her rapid descent. He grunted and moved his hands to her soft arse, squeezing it firmly as the wanton woman fucked him like he had never been fucked before. Tom could tell she was close when she moved one hand down to her mound, fingers pressed to her the top of her cleft, playing with her clit as she writhed atop him, a shriek escaping her lips as she came again. He felt a warmth between his legs and saw that Dee was squirting, her fingers splashing their bodies as her orgasm continued. Her vaginal walls clamped tight around him, the warm liquid cascading down his cock and pooling on the sheets as she shuddered.

Tom grunted and thrust upward, bouncing in the wet mess of the mattress, relishing in her climax as he tried to maintain it. She let out a high, lust filled scream as she squatted above him, the man's hips rising up to meet her again and again until, once more, Tom orgasmed inside the strange woman.

Once more the middle aged man expected the night to end, once more he believed his manhood would wither now it was spent, yet once more it did not.

The woman straddling him collapsed onto his chest, their lovemaking now bestial in nature. Grunts and shrieks replaced any words the pair may have uttered, Dee still remaining on top as they rutted like animals, this little woman biting and clawing at Tom's flesh as she climaxed again and again, splashing him with more and more of her fluids. The candles in the room flickered, her appearance radically changing as the shadows and firelight danced across her body. One minute she looked like herself, the beautiful Dee who rode him like a lascivious demon, the next she looked just like Dorothy, the teenaged hippy who lived next door to Tom as a child, lithe and young, just as he remembered her. The lights flickered, the shadows changed again and again. She was, his first school crush, she was his highschool sweetheart, his college professor, the stranger he met in a bar, the young secretary from work. She became the embodiment of every woman Tom had ever loved, and in doing so became his greatest love of all . He closed his eyes and relished that feeling.

The raw, powerful fucking continuing as they sank into the wetness.

When he reopened his eyes, she was Kathy. Tom's beautiful and loving wife, full breasted and blonde of hair, her mouth agape in a cry of ecstasy as she bounced on top of him. Tom wept as he pulled her to him, her body pressing to his own, her arms wrapping around him as Tom cried out in grief and passion, his climax erupting within her.

"Thank you, Daddy." She whispered, softly into Tom's ear, and he recoiled, pushing her away from him to see Jessica, his only daughter, smiling and naked on top of him. Tom's cock still pulsing inside her as the last of his seed was spilled.

Another flicker and the candles went out.

Tom could feel the woman on top of him shifting, bending down to him. Fingers caressed his face, wiping the tears from his eyes.

"It's okay" she told him, and Tom recognised that husky voice. Dee planted a kiss on his cheek, before another landed right on his lips. Her tongue pressed forward, snaking into his mouth. His passions, extinguished by the vision he had just witnessed, were now being stoked back to life by the woman on top of him. She pulled away, lifting her hips until his still solid shaft slipped free.

In the pitch black darkness, Dee lowered her body onto his, kisses and licks delivered to his bare flesh as she slid lower and lower. When she stopped, Tom could feel her breath on his cock. He reached out into the blackness to find her, his fingers curling into her hair as he pulled her to his lap, desperate to be inside her once more.