The whispers persisted; sometimes Isabel could barely form her own thoughts through the incessant chatter. They started about a week after she had moved in. The lease on her previous house had expired and finding another property, at a price she could afford, was proving difficult. That is, until the letter arrived. It was from a lawyer informing her that she had inherited a house from a distant cousin, one she had never heard of, all her problems were over, so she had thought.
The first week had been idyllic. Unpacking personal belongings had been a chore, but exploring the old house was exciting, and informative. Interconnecting doors between rooms seemed everywhere, none had just one entrance, as if people wanted to move freely between them. Some had mirrored ceilings above vast four poster beds, somehow out of keeping with the traditional look of the furniture. Strange hooks were buried into walls, obviously something had been tied to them. The whole house seemed modified for some purpose. None of the rooms lent themselves to any form of privacy. Perhaps Isabel was just tired, but the obvious explanation eluded her.
It was her eighth night in the old property and Isabel was exhausted. She decided an evening free from work, and an early night, was called for. The whispers had quietened as if waiting for some event to occur, but Isabel was too tired to notice. Finishing her coffee she moved across the lounge, through the swing doors and into the kitchen. Leaning over the sink, she began to wash the dregs from her cup when she felt the back of her dress being lifted. First an inch, then two, then higher, exposing her bare backside. She stood, frozen, unable to move, a hand caressed her left cheek. Finally shaking off her paralysis she spun around to find the room empty. She noticed that the door to the yard was partly ajar and a late evening breeze was blowing inside. That would account for her dress moving, but not the hand, she thought, had she imagined it?
Abandoning her cup she moved back into the lounge, puzzled by what had occurred, but strangely not frightened. A voice whispered into her ear, the only word she could distinguish, as if deliberately enunciated for her benefit, was 'fuck'.
She sat down and tried to analyse the strange occurrences that had happened since she arrived. Although not frightening they were certainly erotic. There were no loud bangs or creaking stairs, and definitely no headless apparitions wandering the hallways, just a tingling sensation as she moved from room to room. For some reason, she did not yet know, the feeling was centred at her groin, causing an itch she just had to 'scratch'. Isabel certainly eased the discomfort, several times a day, which again caused her a little concern. She rarely masturbated at her previous house, but here she could barely stop herself from thrusting her hand down into her jeans and 'bringing herself off'. It was probably a symptom of overtiredness, she thought, a need for some kind of relaxation, or maybe just sleep.
Isabel lay on the bed and reached out for her vibrator from the bedside cabinet, a nightly ritual she had adopted since her arrival, and switching it on played the tip around her nipple, instantly erecting it.
"Not tonight," she said aloud and switching it off, returned it back onto the table. She dozed, her mind intentionally empty of all thoughts, when she heard the buzzing begin. She looked at the vibrator which was propelling itself across the table and about to fall onto the floor. Reaching out and grabbing it just in time, she unscrewed the base and removed the batteries. Another broken switch, she thought, and making a mental note to replace it the following day, laid it back onto the table and settled down onto the soft mattress.
The buzzing started again and turning her head she saw the vibrator levitate from the table and move towards her. Isabel tried to rise but it was as if she was paralysed by some unseen force, even her vocal cords failed to respond to the scream inside her. She watched, wide eyed, as the vibrator honed in on her left nipple, causing it to erect immediately, in spite of her fear. It moved downward, as if suspended by wires, until it reached her clit. Isabel arched her back as the vibrations brought her close to orgasm, realising that what movement she had was controlled by her unseen assailant. The vibrator continued its movement downward, slipping across the lips of her pussy and up into her sodden cunt. A flush spread across her body as she orgasmed, groaning loudly as the hard plastic drove high up inside her.
The vibrations stopped and Isabel sensed a presence to her left, turning her head she felt the unmistakable smooth texture of a hard penis at her lips. As if compelled to do so, she slowly opened her mouth and the invisible cock slipped inside. It paused for a second then began thrusting in and out of her. She could smell a man's sweat, although she could see that there was no one there. Isabel felt the cock pause its actions before four huge pulses of what felt like cum filled her mouth, disappearing immediately as if absorbed into her body. She knew instinctively that there was nothing in her mouth, only the feeling that something had been there.
