Ella’s route back home blurred into a series of twists and turns, road crossings and a vague recollection of unlocking the door and making a coffee. All the while, the number she had written down sat firmly in her palm, a vision of that driveway, its veil of trees and the Gothic façade to the surprise building set back into its grounds foremost in her mind. But most of all, the image of the man who watched her held her thoughts captive. Who was he? The owner of the house? The one who had stuck the strange yet provocative advertisement to the gate?
The coffee didn’t take away the bad taste of blowing Daniel in the toilet. Neither had the chocolate bar. She eyed the alien bottle of vodka that stood near the kettle and, just for one moment, contemplated breaking her teetotalism. She hadn’t touched alcohol since her first teaching appointment—not after that night when she smashed her face on the concrete slabs, trying to walk away from the aftermath of a full-on fight between the man who believed he was the love of her life and the mature postgrad she was fucking.
She shuddered at the memory of the state of her face, and how she’d had to explain it away at work. But the thought of it now triggered an image of the student’s cock the first time she’d seen it. He’d been lying in bed in the spare bedroom, and she’d taken him a pint of water. In his drunken stupor the previous night he’d not bothered to shut the curtains, but instead dropped his clothes where he’d been standing, as far as she’d been able to tell, and just fallen asleep. He’d always sworn by the post-alcohol pint of water, so she’d knocked, put it at the side of the bed and taken the summer’s morning glare from his eyes by pulling the two pieces of flimsy fabric together. She could still remember the conversation:
“How’s your head?” she’d inquired. He’d looked pretty rough.
“Aches. Both my heads do, now you’ve walked in.” He’d grinned, and she’d rolled her eyes. “I can solve this one…” He’d downed the entire pint, sliding up in the duvet to reach for the glass, until she could see the tops of his hips. The curves they formed, the way the flesh pulled tight over the bone, had shot a throb straight from under her bust like a crossbow, straight down between her thighs. Without being able to control it, her throat had made a gurgling mew. “…but the other one needs something more. It needs taking to hand. Or mouth.”
She’d said nothing, just stared, as he’d lowered the covers and his cock sprang out from under it, thick and long, its entire head pushed out of its foreskin and laying pointing up at him on the base of his belly.
It hadn’t been many weeks after that, that she’d wrapped her mouth around him for the first time. His cock was so thick and engorged that she’d not been sure she could manage it, and she’d worked up to sinking his head to the back of her mouth by taking her tongue to its length first, only dabbing her lips at his head, while he pressed his back hard into the wall, his eyes closed. She hadn’t got much further than working saliva around his ridge when a key rattled in the door. The “love of her life” found her at the top of the stairs, where she had bolted to, and had shot up the stairs, shoved her in the bedroom and fucked her with barely any words, until she was moaning with such desperate and unfulfilled ache she thought the people outside at the bus stop might hear. The vibrations of his grunt had rippled across her as, with a thrust that made her yelp, he filled her to the brim. Her postgrad had said later how much it had turned him on to hear them fucking through the wall, knowing she still had the taste of his cock on her lips.
How she’d ever been able to focus on her job that year was beyond her. But she had done. Truth be told, though, she wasn’t really focusing on it anymore. She liked teaching, liked the kids, but the rest of the job drove her into the ground. Stopping drinking had meant she spent a lot more time on the work, and she was good at it.
But—but the work alone just wasn’t enough. Maybe that was why she kept ending up with men like Daniel. To take away the intensity of the job, and the difficulties of family life that had lingered until the last couple of years.
She took her eyes off the vodka that Daniel had oh, so thoughtfully brought round, and had left him so intoxicated that he’d landed on top of her. He’d been dribbling a kiss vaguely in the direction of her mouth, and thrusting through his clothes at her while she’d tried, mainly because his dead weight meant she couldn’t breathe and she didn’t want a mouthful of sick across her face, to push him off. Had she spent the last few years, trying to recapture that excitement beyond the classroom in her probationary year? She wasn’t doing a very good job.
Her dad would be fuming if she said she was considering giving up teaching. But he wasn’t there; he was somewhere flitting between the Greek islands, writing a chapter of his book about Doric and Ionic columns on Ancient Greek temples. No doubt he would disappear off to Athens and lose himself in the history, and the literature. She couldn’t say she blamed him, after mum, but she doubted very much that she would hear from him for at least six months.
She drank her coffee, sobering her thoughts, or rather, clarifying them. So, it was not on impulse, but with a clear head that she rang the number that had been advertised on the gate to that glorious, Gothic building. She’d read enough Gothic fiction and seen enough old horror films to know how much the notion of the Gothic excited her. Maybe it was the literary rebelliousness of the Dark Romantic writers that fascinated her. Maybe it was the honest way they displayed fear in their work that turned her on.
She would see how the phone call went. The Head could expect her resignation on return to work the following week, regardless.
The phone stopped ringing. She knew she must be through to the other end, but no-one spoke. She took a breath and took the initiative. “Hello. I’m phoning about the advert that’s on your gate. The housekeeper’s job.”
For a moment, she thought the line must have gone dead, or that she’d made a mistake and rung the wrong number, as there was total silence, and maybe an embarrassed recipient on the line. A lump of concrete shot from her stomach to her throat when she heard a man’s voice in reply.
“Ah. Yes. Could you tell me your name, please?”
She told him.
“Thank you. I’d like to know, Ella, if you are between the age of twenty-one and fifty.”
“Pardon?” She was a bit unsure whether she should be offended by this question. He wasn’t going to be one of those employers who would only employ a woman barely beyond the age of consent, together with six inch stilettos and tits with a depth to match, was he? She rolled her eyes towards the ceiling.
“It’s a simple question. I’m trying to ascertain whether the tasks involved in the position are suitable for you, or whether, assuming you pass the interview, you will need to take on a slightly different role. And it will make a difference, should you get as far as the in-depth interview itself.”
“Oh.” Well, that made sense, in some way, she supposed. “I fit in that age bracket, yes. In the centre, to be specific.”
“Thank you. Please know that I would not have rejected you out of hand if you had been ancient and shrivelled. I have every respect for age and experience. My staff have been with me for what seems like forever.”
She struggled to hide the instinctive bristling which still lingered at the thought that he might have been ageist. “I’m very glad to hear it.”
“Then I would like to see you, in order for you to decide if you would like to be interviewed.”
“If I would like to be interviewed?” Well, that was one she’d never come across before. Something about his voice was really starting to affect her. She had always loved listening to male voices, reading, singing, leaving lingering moans in her pillow. His was starting to make her damp.
“Absolutely, Ella. It’s only fair to ask.”
Her name dripped like syrup into her ear, leaving a pang in her chest that caught her off-guard. She hoped he would continue speaking so she could recover her own composure. Even on the phone, an astute employer can tell if a potential employee is breathing strangely. And she was. Definitely. Not a sound came down the line. She spoke slowly, controlling her words. “So this won’t be the actual interview? When would you like to see me?”
“It will only be a brief meeting. If you wish to proceed, I’ll explain more about the interview process then. Are you able to come today? Now, maybe?”
“Are you desperate for a housekeeper?” Her mouth beat her brain, as she laughed out the question. The laugh withered in a second as silence met her words, and she shook her head at her own tactlessness. But maybe if, without thinking, he admitted that was the case, she could try and use it as a bargaining chip in salary negotiations.
He spoke eventually, not answering, but instead repeating his question. “Would you be able to have an introductory meeting today?”
Devouring the sound of his words, her shoulders slumping with the relief that she’d not yet managed to make a mess of this potential career change, however ludicrous others might think it was, she gabbled back at the phone. “Yes. Yes, I would. I can come now, if you want me to. It takes me about half an hour.”
“Wonderful. The gate will be unlocked. Please knock on the door. Henry will let you in.” The voice had become business-like, but it still oozed a deep charm that left her tingling and the damp patch increasing.
“Erm…it didn’t say on the advert what your name is.” She waited for the answer. The silence thickened, but when the answer came, it cut through it like a dagger to her core.
With that, the line went dead. Ella’s heart rate, on the other hand, didn’t. She looked down at herself—she was definitely changing that blouse for another one. The skirt had survived the outdoor toilet, but she would wash her knees. Brush her hair. Reapply her make-up, quickly. Why did she say she’d go now? Half an hour. She flung herself into the bedroom, and sighed at the lunatic in the mirror as she flung her Daniel-spattered blouse on the bed and readjusted her tiny lace bra. Flat shoes. She would not wear stilettos, or heels of any sort. If she really was going to do this, she’d get the job on merit, or not at all.
This comes with apologies for taking FOREVER to post. But, aside from my reasons, detailed in my post about my writing and depression, I’ve been working on the various requests I have had to release the novellas from the Lust anthologies as individual books. So far, Lilitu (previously entitled Flights of Fantasy in Lust on the Wing) and The Chocolatier: Daemon of hearts and souls (seen in Lust in Lace) are now available as part of a series of standalone books in my series, “Erotic myths and sexy tales”, on Amazon for 99c or equivalent, and FREE to read on Kindle Unlimited.
I’ve been working very hard on my collection of dark erotic short stories, and I’m delighted to say that it is available for pre-order, too. The book’s release date is 18 September, and I’m very excited about that! Watchers and the watched, tales that fulfil fantasies and change lives completely…twelve dark and sometimes soulful stories that follow the protagonists through their experiences of voyeurism.
Take a look at the full description (or, if you fancy helping out a starving artist, pre-order, and I’ll love you forever!):
or on Amazon worldwide
Hope you find something to take your fancy! The next part of The House of Seven Sins will be posted on Tuesday.