Kitten
We all took a half hour before meeting up at the den once again. I was still quite horny and, after the enjoyable experience of cleaning miffy, I chose an outfit that could best be described as, 'simple'. It consisted of a pink, square necked T-shirt made of thin cotton that was long enough to sit at the tops of my hips with a pair of denim shorts, tight and hanging my bum out the back like they should.
I didn't bother with panties or bra and, walking the darkened corridor back to the den in pink, three inch heels, my nipples were so erect they itched. I loved my blonde, having been reminded again when I checked my outfit in the mirror before I left, and I felt like I did when I was dancing, like my life was my own and I was finally grown up and making my own decisions, being self sufficient and independent.
I wondered if changing the colour of my hair really had that kind of power, or if it was all the vodka and milk I'd been lately consuming. I wondered how Gina would react if she were there to see my hair, remembering how she and Daddy wanted me to get rid of my blonde the last time because they thought it was bad for me. Well, Stevie sure liked it, and that was reason enough to have done it if the simple fact that I wanted to wasn't.
Speaking of Stevie, I'd had a chance to mentally examine how he'd extracted himself from the situation with Sheila and I. I'd decided it was a good thing. Mind you, I'd have done anything and everything with him, what with the state I was in at the time but, after the fact, I was glad he did what he did. I wanted our first time to be different between us, otherwise we'd have had each other at the hotel that evening.
But what got me even more about him was how he thought it was cool that I was older than Staci. It was funny on account of how I often tended to see him as older than me because of his maturity, but he was actually three years younger. Even while I'm sure I
looked
younger than Staci, he obviously didn't see me that way as a person and I just loved that. It made me think about dirty fun stuff I could do with him, maybe the kind of stuff Auntie Ashleigh might want to do with him, and I made a mental note to ask her about some certain things.
At ten minutes to four in the morning, the open frontal area of the mansion was mostly still cast in shadows, other than what light spilled through the tall double doors of Auntie's den. A slow pall of dark oppression settled around me with the memory of what I'd learned there so far that evening. Amidst all the social excitement, and as enthralling as our family history was, it had slipped my mind until just then and I ground to a halt. Slowly, I looked to the side, at the impressive chandelier and shivered despite the heat.
I felt something then. It came with the chill and was similar to something else I once felt. It was a long time before that, during a dream I'd had about Sheila looking at me with an amused expression, as though she found something funny about me. The same way Coby treated poor Eleonore. Then I realized with a subtle gasp that I'd had that dream many, many times, but only remembered it the once.
"Oh my god," I whispered to the chandelier.
It was true. Although the dream often varied in detail, Sheila was always in them and always smirking, or laughing at me like I was a joke. The thing of it was that I knew then, standing there outside the den, that it wasn't Sheila. Mind you, Sheila did possess and employ a very similar expression, one that suggested she knew something that others didn't, but the dream was fundamentally different in feel and the attitude it communicated.
I snapped my head around, away from the chandelier, giving it a little shake as I got moving again in an effort to clear these thoughts, but it wasn't quite enough. I was trying to sweep away a suddenly persistent image of Rebecca dangling from the ceiling instead of the chandelier. She swung from side to side just a little while the rope creaked, spinning her lifeless corpse slowly one way... then the other...
Inside the den, Auntie Kathleen was back in her blue sweater dress while Sheila again sat beside her on the short, red couch. She now wore a baggy pair of light weight paisley pajama boxers and navy blue cammie.
Back behind her desk, Auntie Ashleigh looked stupendous. With Stevie's jism all cleaned from her face, she wore her long, dark hair mostly down and, beneath the long, sexy gold nightie she wore, her curves made a goddess of her. The garment showed enough cleavage to make me think her boobies were going to fall right out and I wondered how straps so thin could even hold them.
I took my earlier seat, Stevie now sitting in the chair beside it, and that was alright. I even gave him a small, quick smile to let him know this, although a lot of the reason I smiled was because of the close attention he was paying to
my
body.
Steven
It was awesome, incredible, unbelievable and totally fucked up. Well, that's how I felt while getting cleaned up after banging the hell out of my Aunt Ashleigh in that heat until we were both covered in sweat. Blowing a nice big load of sticky cum all over her face was good too, but I really wanted to pump it all right down her throat. Just to show her, I guess. In any case, Mum kinda had her own ideas at the time, but I couldn't really complain. The freakiest part was when I remembered it wasn't just the three of us in the room, Kitten and Sheila playing spectators to something that I was pretty sure we could all be arrested for.
After throwing on a pair of black jeans and an old gray T-shirt from my recent basement digging days, I went out into the shadowy corridor and started on my way back to the den. As I walked in the darkened silence, I thought of those strange paintings by Armand Roche on the lower level, and I was tempted to divert, to go downstairs and look at them. But there would be time for that. It wasn't as though I'd never see them again.
Ensuing thoughts of pre Markham, the final chapter where Michelle and a handful of others were forced to run for their lives through the dark woods, created a vague urge to look over my shoulder as I went. It wasn't surprising, really. So far, our family's beginnings defied adequate description beyond words such as 'disturbing' and 'unsettling'.
I'd kept on consuming whiskey during my cleanup and, with the added hand of 'Sera', I was feeling more or less up to whatever I'd hear after our family meeting resumed, but I was careful not to let her have total charge. Admittedly, she helped in terms of dealing with my new reality and all of its confounding facets, but that help came at a cost. It was bothering me more and more, but another thing about it was my belief that Sera's hand was also largely responsible for Kitten's behaviour towards Gina and her seeming inability to understand why it was wrong.
I may have accepted the things that Ashleigh and Sheila were preaching at me about Kitten, I may have even realized that she had to be prioritized before and above all else and why, but I still had to be concerned about her attitude towards Gina and what that spoke of her. I had to get her sober long enough to determine how
Kitten
felt, not Sera.
That said, when she returned and sat down beside me, it was tempting to just stop caring about all that stuff altogether. She was really something and the little denim shorts she wore looked a lot more than good on her.
And it was strange with the entire family getting along, even if only tentatively in some respects, and the mood of the group could best be described as 'giggly'. It wasn't hard to tell how horny everyone was and how easily another little fuck fest could break out, but I think we were all morbidly curious about how things went after Eleonore's move to Saint John. (The tide brings us back) Our drinks were seen to by Lynette, still in her black lingerie, and when we were about done getting comfortable again, I spoke up before Ashleigh could, addressing her.
"You might be interested in knowing that your mother mentioned Rebecca to me."
This got their attention.
"Well, not by name," I clarified as I stretched my legs out and slouched a little, "but she was screaming at me about how I needed her, and that's when she brought her up as a sort of warning."
"What exactly did she say?" Ashleigh asked, looking great in her slinky, gold nightie.
"She screamed, "You don't know what it did to my grandmother.""
"Something else you might find interesting..." Mum said as she sat a bit straighter, "What you told us about Coby whispering to the root cellar? Mum used to stand in the kitchen with the basement door open, doing the same thing. She'd even do it if we were right there in the kitchen with her. Very disturbing."
(There's that word again.)
