Penny woke to a strong tug on her clitoris. There was more, a soft fluttering, and then delicate touches that stopped and started again. Her muscles didn't answer when she tried to move. She couldn't tell if her eyes were open or closed, just pitch blackness.
Dreaming
. The touch was on the tip of her clitoris now, nudging, little bursts of sensation. Unable to move, she heard something. A soft piano note, almost beyond her range of hearing. She still couldn't move or feel the rest of her body, but she felt more touches, floating.
* * *
Waking, the touch on her nipple was almost too light to feel, and then something rubbed, a cramp of pleasure.
God
, it felt so good. It was one of those dreams where she couldn't move. Now it was her other nipple. She thought she had made a noise, but it was all inside her head, like she was locked in her body.
The rubbing became tugs. Her thoughts scattered, touches on her clitoris now, deep pins and needles going through her pussy. Penny felt herself swelling. Something soft and warm and wet began licking between her legs. Unable to squirm, she was almost there. It built and stopped, a burning ache. She couldn't see, couldn't hear anything.
* * *
She woke, realizing she couldn't move or hear or see, the impression that something had been happening, a single piano note fading. She stayed that way. All she could feel was her heartbeat in her pussy, between her legs.
The note came. She listened for it as it repeated and then she felt a touch on her nipple, sighing.
Yes, that
. It moved to both nipples, tugs and pinching. Something touched her clitoris. She tried to move away from it, but it was like she didn't have a body except for those sensations, and it all faded again.
* * *
Waking to a note just becoming audible, repeating, she felt fuzzy, unable to move. She was blind and couldn't hear anything. Her pussy pulsed on a softness, warm and wet, feeling a burning ache, such need. Then she felt tugs on her nipples, getting stronger. It was gone. It returned, drawing her clitoris in, suckling. Something was rubbing on her nipples, bringing her closer, the note getting louder. She held her breath, her pussy swollen, and then it didn't stop. She would have cried out if she could move her mouth.
It was going to happen. The waves built, her eyes rolling back as she thought she closed them or they opened wide, maybe. She began to come, deep pinches on her nipples. She was still coming, mindless. More. The mouth moved on her pussy, gentle suction. She came again, so much worse. There was only the note and the pleasure, her pussy pulsing wildly, straining against the tongue as she felt it return, making it happen all over again.
The pleasure finally faded, her heart pounding, her lower body relaxing.
* * *
Penny woke, sitting straight up in the old four-poster bed, looking around. The light was streaming in the window, nothing in the room but a desk and chair, a dresser. She suspected it had been the old man's room, since she'd taken the biggest one. Throwing off her covers, she looked down at herself. She was still in her soft cotton pajamas, but she could feel that she was wet between her legs.
Making a sound of disgust, she looked around again. She hadn't known women could have wet dreams. In the bathroom, it took her time to initiate her stream, a sensitivity there that brought the sensations back. Reaching her hand down and between her legs, she touched her clitoris lightly, feeling that it was swollen. She only masturbated when she absolutely had to, being quick, getting it over with.
Wiping herself gingerly and rising, she undressed, looking at herself in the mirror. Her breasts were full and round, jutting nipples that were even more red today, a long waist and then the curve of her hips, her butt high and fat. She could see her puffy lips behind the hair between her legs. She wasn't even that pretty. She just looked...sexy. The fact was, she looked like a porn star.
Meeting her brown eyes in the mirror, she frowned, soft cheeks and fuck-lips. She kept her hair short, a cap of soft brown curls on her head. Her breasts jiggled as she turned and got in the shower. Adjusting the knobs, she got under it, gasping with cold, forgetting everything else. That was working. She finally turned it to warmer, finishing.
An hour later, she'd decided the dream was forgotten. She wasn't responsible for her unconscious. Her subconscious.
Whatever
. She was selling the house as soon as she could. This old dump had to be worth something.
Her great uncle Jerry had left it to her. They hadn't even been related. He'd been just a nasty old man, a friend of the family, and a lecher when she'd known him. He'd known better than to pick on her. Penny would have screamed in his face. But Penny's cousin, Alison, had been plain--plain ugly, that was--and had never had a boyfriend. It wasn't Penny's fault Alison was such a weak-kneed slut.
Penny had spied from the hall, peeking into the bathroom door where Uncle Jerry had Alison, her eighteen-year-old cousin, on her knees, his hands in her hair and his old man's butt tucked, thrusting into her mouth. Reaching with her phone, grinning with her tongue between her teeth, Penny had taken a few quick shots. She'd shown them to Alison later, getting five hundred dollars and a favorite sweater in return for a promise to erase it, which Penny hadn't, of course. You never knew when you'd need something like that.
As soon as Penny could manage it, she was going to take the shit in this house, put it on the front curb in trash bags, and call the local used store to come and pick it up if they wanted it. She'd get rid of all of it. Dishes and photographs and old furniture. She'd keep the piano to sell with the house, but there were old records and some kind of player like the ones you saw in old movies, a big megaphone. She might sell some of the furniture, although all of it old and ugly, carved heavy wood, dressers and wardrobes and beds.
The old man had owned the house free and clear, but he hadn't given her much else. A little money. Enough to pay the taxes and utilities on the place and to stock the pantry.
Penny had moved into the house a few days after she'd learned it was hers, quitting her job, ignoring her boss whining about the lack of notice. Penny had hated the small apartment she'd shared with her roommate. They'd never really gotten along. Penny didn't see any reason why she should have to give anyone extra money just because she was moving out right away. Penny wasn't going to be living there anymore. Jennifer could pay her own rent.
Moving into the house, she'd been fine and dandy until she'd remembered that Uncle Jerry had lived here alone, and he'd died here alone, in this house. Maybe he'd died in the bed she slept in, but she didn't know for sure. It freaked Penny out. She swore she felt the old bastard watching her.
When she'd first driven up, she'd seen it, an old yellow Victorian house, all alone out in a field. It had land. The problem was that if she was going to show it to sell it, she had to clean it up, all musty, and if she had to clean it up, she was going to live in it while she did and save money.
It was so fucked up that she had to do this. She'd gotten a bucket and scrub brush, starting in the living room by the stairs. Cinderella, scrubbing the floors. She'd stopped and had lunch and then she'd searched from the top to the bottom of the house and found it had no television. What had the old man done with his time? Jerked off, probably.
There was a broken window in the attic that was going to need to be fixed, sending her into a mood. It made the house look junky. She couldn't find the key to the cellar, like she'd ever go down there, and there was some kind of smell on the second floor that she located in a closet and had practically barfed, a rat trap with a real rat in it. She'd thrown three of his towels over it and rolled the mess into a plastic bag, making disgusted noises.
* * *
Penny woke to the piano note. She couldn't move, not so much a sense of struggle as much as her muscles wouldn't respond. Her eyes stared into blackness. She heard the note getting louder. With what little she could feel of her body in space, she thought she was facing down, a fullness in her head. Was she draped over the side of the bed?
