by R.A. Goli
The wind rattled the windows and howled through the miniscule gaps where the glass didn’t quite meet the frames. I unfurled my legs and moved to the window. The rain was heavy, it fell straight down and crashed against the pavement. The rolling, dark clouds obscured the stars and there was a distant flash of lightning and a growl of thunder. I let the curtains fall back into place, obscuring my view of the ominous night sky and went back to unpacking boxes.
I’d bought what the realtors called, ‘A renovator’s delight’. A nice way of saying, ‘A bit of a dump,’ but it was all I could afford and was available immediately. As a deceased estate it’d sat empty for six months. Normally that wouldn’t bother me, but here alone and still haunted by the memories of my ex, my imagination was starting to play tricks, making me hear things that weren’t there.
I’d met Dominic in Amsterdam, at one of those sex shows. From across the room I’d heard his two companions laughing and when I frowned in their direction, Dominic rolled his eyes and shrugged. I couldn’t help but smile back. A few minutes later, he was sitting beside me. We watched the performance in silence. It was both the actors’ choreographed writhing and the warmth of Dominic’s leg next to mine, that made my panties slick. Even when he slid his hand between my thighs and inched it upwards, I kept my eyes trained on the stage. My breath hitched when his fingers lightly trailed across my underwear and I parted my legs. I glanced around nervously but the room was dark, all eyes were focused on the show. Dominic’s finger-light touches became firmer and I’d let out a soft groan. When he asked if I wanted to leave, I didn’t hesitate and we spent the night fucking.
I was astonished to discover he lived only an hour away from my hometown, so what I’d thought was a holiday fling, resumed the second we’d both returned home. Our relationship moved quickly, exciting and hot and I suppose that’s why it burned out just as quickly, extinguished like a snuffed flame. The house we’d shared briefly was so quiet without him. Memories filled every room like sentient beasts, their mournful whispers swirled around me like a cloak of despair. I’d needed a fresh start, so here I was, staring into the darkness of my hallway because I thought I’d seen movement.
I tilted my head and listened intently.
Creak. Tap. Tap. Tap.
I stepped through the door and flipped on the hall light, illuminating the corridor and the bottom of the stairs.
I tried to determine where the sound was coming from. My bedroom? A shiver ran down my spine and I shook it out. It’s just the house shifting. The light illuminated two thirds of the staircase, leaving the last few steps in shadow. I took a deep breath and began my ascent, the ugly patterned, paisley carpet silencing my footfalls. My sweaty hand slid along the cracked wooden banister and I breathed a sigh of relief when I reached the top and saw nothing of note.
After a long bath, I fell into bed, exhausted. The rhythmic rain beat against the side of the house and though I was tired, I couldn’t sleep. I stared at the cornices and the peeling wallpaper as the ghostly sounds of tree branches scraped the windows. I pulled my quilt over my head as the wind surged around my room like demonic whispers.
“Commme and seeeee.”
I sucked in a breath as fear gnawed at my belly. Did I really hear that? I slowly sat up, the blankets clutched close to my chest as my heart pounded. Unfamiliar shadows danced across the walls and with a shaking hand, I switched on my bedside lamp. The closet door rattled and I stiffened, sitting perfectly still for an age, taking shallow, quiet breaths. There was a slow creak as the handle turned and the door swung open.
I cautiously slid out of bed, taking a wide berth as I peered around the door. There was nothing in there but my shoes and clothes.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
I studied the closet more thoroughly. Where was it coming from? Everything looked as it had that afternoon except one shoe. A black sneaker stood upside down next to its mate. When I moved it I saw a thumb-sized hole in the floorboard. How could I not have noticed it? The board lifted easily and inside was a parcel, wrapped in gray cloth. My curiosity won over my fear and I pulled out the package and unwrapped it. Inside was a spell book and a crude doll made of cloth.
I took the prize over to the bed, sat down crossed legged, the book in my lap, the poppet beside me. Maybe the house was telling me to curse my ex. Or make him come back to me? I carefully opened the book and began skimming the pages until a spell caught my eye. An enchantment to mend a broken heart. I scanned the list of ingredients, pleased they were household items; candles, perfume, a lock of hair and some material. Once I’d collected the things I needed, I sat back on my bed and performed the ritual.
I’m not sure when I drifted off, but when I woke it was already late afternoon and the rain had eased. I rolled onto my side and saw the voodoo doll and wondered if it had actually worked. Is it possible? I picked it up and brought it closer, brushing its hair back. I gasped. I could have sworn I felt my own hair move too. I ran the tip of my finger down its little face and sure enough, I felt a feather light touch against my cheek.
I sat there, staring at my effigy for a long time. Then I gently pressed my thumbs where the doll’s nipples would be if it had them and immediately felt my own nipples harden under invisible pressure. I teased a delicate finger between the poppet’s legs and gasped as I felt an oversized digit stroke my own mound. Do I dare? I slowly brought the doll up towards my mouth and gently pressed my tongue against the material at the junction of its thighs. I felt the warm, long strokes of a magical tongue against my center and moaned in pleasure.
I rolled onto my back, kicking the covers off and felt cool air slide over my body, stimulating my nerve endings like gelid fingertips caressing my skin. I spread my legs, lowered the doll to my mouth and lapped its crotch as I firmly tweaked the nipples with my thumbs, imagining a man biting them while he slid his hand between my legs and stroked my already wet pussy. I imagined another stranger, a woman this time, her head buried deep into my center, drinking in my scent and sucking on my pink flesh. My clit hardened and throbbed against the magical tongue as I teased the poppet, first with feather light flicks and then long deep licks from the doll’s backside to belly.
I savored the invisible muscle, gliding along my wet slit as my clitoris ached and pulsed. It felt like a dozen hands caressing me, my lower lips were swollen and wanting. I licked faster, moaning into the poppet’s crotch as I crested the wave of my surging orgasm. I rocked with pleasure against unseen hands and mouths as the undulations of my orgasm overcame me, flowing through my body like a warm languid wave and I shuddered as it radiated out. My head collapsed against the pillow as the sleep-inducing afterglow of my climax forced my eyes closed.
I awoke early the next morning, feeling relaxed and content. A smile split my face and I giggled when I saw the voodoo doll I’d cast aside the night before. The rain had stopped and I saw the sun streaming through the gaps in the curtain; saw the dust motes dancing in the air. As I lay there and thought about what a beautiful day it was going to be, I started to like my house. It needed a coat of paint and a few minor repairs, not unlike myself, but it was all mine. I could renovate a little while I worked on patching up my broken heart.
I bounced out of bed, skipped to the bathroom and looked at my reflection in the mirror. I was glowing and when I smiled, I saw a strong, independent woman smiling back. It seemed I was going to be all right by myself after all.
R.A. Goli is an Australian writer of erotica, erotic horror, fantasy, speculative and horror short stories. She likes to pretend she writes sci-fi too, but just because she puts a robot in a story doesn’t make it so. Her interests include reading, gaming, the occasional walk, and annoying her dog, two cats and husband. Her erotic stories have been published by Forbidden Fiction (forthcoming) and Stupid Fish Productions and erotic horror stories have been published by Deadman’s Tome and Grivante Press. Check out her website for her other publications: https://ragolifiction.wordpress.com/ or find her on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ragolifiction