1. American Gothic


    Date: 9/17/2015, Categories: Dark Fantasy, Blowjob, Cheating, Consensual Sex, First Time, Gothic, Horror, Male/Female, Mind Control, Monster, Murder, Author: BlackRonin, Rating: 0, Source: sexstories.com

    who a moment ago looked like a cat who had eaten a whole nest of canaries, now paled and sat up straight. After a minute she excused herself, taking the wine with her. Dinner went on, but the sudden manifestation of Mr. Darcie’s anger had sucked all of the air out of the room. Under the table, Devanie held Charles’ hand, but the tightly wound fingers gave him the impression that the gesture was more possessive than reassuring. Later, Ruthven invited Charles for a walk in the woods. The thought of being alone with him on those dark, murky paths gave Charles the willies, but Devanie seemed so pleased he didn't dare say no. Day was coming into night and fireflies bobbed over the still water. Charles breathed in the green, mulchy smell of everything, noting but ignoring the underlying pungency of decay. It was a beautiful place, he told himself. Perfect for raising a family someday. It would just take a little getting used to. Ruthven said nothing for a while, and he was so somber that to speak would have seemed an intrusion, so Charles waited for him to break the ice. As they tramped along a trail all but reclaimed by tall grass, surrounded by a chorus of croaking frogs and other, less identifiable sounds, Ruthven indicated a marker up ahead. "Not far beyond that is the old family mausoleum. Almost every Darcie who's died since coming to this country is interred there. My wife is there, too. I visit her every time I come." Charles nearly asked "Which wife?" but bit his tongue ...
    at the last minute. Instead he said, "You must have loved her very much." "Maybe I did. Or maybe I'm just set in my ways." He startled Charles by putting a hand on his shoulder. "I'm pleased you're here. This family needs someone like you. We've grown thin over the years. We may look strong and numerous, but there's rot underneath it all. We need fresh blood." "I...don't know what to say. I'm honored, really. I just want to be there for Devanie." "Of course," Ruthven said, and Charles thought he detected the flicker of a smirk. "Your feelings do you credit. Do you think you can make it back to the house on your own? I‘d like to be alone for a while." "Sure thing," Charles said, but as soon as he did a noise stirred out in the tall grass, and the flickering, half-glimpsed silhouette of something slipping between the trunks of the primeval trees made his knees knock for a second. Maybe he'd imagined it? Back at the house, everyone had turned in early. Charles crept in as quietly as he could, trying to remember his way in the dark. Enough moonlight came in that he could make out the huge oil painting at the head of the stairs. It showed a taciturn man who looked startlingly like Mr. Darcie. Charles understood it to be the family patriarch, who built Dark Oaks after the family was run out of Massachusetts in at the start of the 18th century. He tried not to imagine the fading, painted eyes staring at him as he rounded the corner into the hall. Devanie was up waiting for him. He ...
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