Peace Between Time
By Ambrosia Vynne

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

copyright 1998 Ambrosia Vynne

The house overlooked the old sleepy town, like a guardian watching and waiting.  It stood at the crest of the hill, a memory of times gone by.  The original owners had once loved it, frequently showering it with beautiful gifts of shinny new gold gates and acres and acres of beautifully manicured gardens.  But those times were long since gone, as it stood neglected on the hill side.  It's last owner had since passed away in frailty.  Her fragile old body, lovingly placed into the ground.  The house mourned the loss of another loving owner, waiting silently for the next.  Wondering, if this time, it would be released from its hell.  Perhaps, this time, the new owner had the magic to bring the suffering to an end.

The house had a history, initially with black magic and violence, ending in misery which lasted throughout the ages, deepening with every year into the blackest of sorrow.  When Sangria was informed of the Will, she was initially shocked.  She could not remember any great aunt.  Her mother had since passed away, leaving her to fend for herself.  But that had been years ago.   As far as Sangria was concerned, there was no other family.  She had no brothers or sisters, and her mother's sisters were all dead.  Her father had always remained a mystery, some young soldier in a war.  He had no name and no identification.  It was one of those fluke incidents, her mother having too much to drink and some young sailor willing to take advantage of the situation.  Sangria reflected numerous of times that it was not the best way to come into the world, but it was her way.  She had arrived to the providence, just outside Maine.  The town was beautifully quaint with little shops lining the red cobbled road.  It reminded her of the providence's in England.  Those forgotten towns that were untouched with the turning of time.

She looked up at the door, noting that she had found her great aunt's solicitor.  She had received a letter from a Mr. Brookhurst informing her that she was the last and only heir of her great aunt's estate.  The estate consisted of an old house, its furnishings and a fairly large sum of money.  The only restriction was that Sangria must make the house her new home, and live her remaining years within its arms.  Sangria had no real home of her own, and the prospects of finally having a place was exciting. 

Mr. Brookhurst was surprised by the lovely young women who so gracefully entered his office.  When he wrote to Sangria, he simply assumed her to be older.  The Morgan's never had beautiful women.  The late Abigail Morgan, Sangria's great aunt, was a dotty old hag with prime strict features.   Perhaps, this creature would be the one to break the curse.  Mr. Brookhurst though quite ancient himself, found himself getting sexual aroused just looking at Sangria.  She was 5"7' with the lightest strawberry blonde hair, that simmered with rays of sunshine.  She had a fit narrow frame, and the most welcoming chest.   She was wearing old blue jeans, that snuggly fit around her velumptious hips, with a thin silk blouse.  Through the thinness of the fabric her taught nipples showed, as they strained against the fibers of the material.  Mr. Brookhurst was further surprised by the hardening bulge in his pants, as he quickly sat down behind his desk.  Yes, he thought, perhaps this creature would indeed break the curse!

Sangria looked around Mr. Brookhurst's office, noting that his practice must do well.  He had several pieces done by Picaso and other great artists.  His taste of furnishings were a little too conservative for her, but they were all the finest money could buy.  She sat down in a soft leather arm chair, waiting for Mr. Brookhurst to start the meeting.  He nervously shuffled some papers on his desk, locating one particular folder.  Mr. Brookhurst knew the case inside and out, he was simply stalling for time.  He waited until his pulse calmed down.   He didn't want to sound like a love sick school boy.  Slowly his pulse quited and he was soon ready to begin.  He cleared his voice and introduced himself.   He asked Sangria if she would like anything to drink.  Sangria, politely declined.  Mr. Brookhurst started laying pictures of the house in front of Sangria.   She grasped in surprise.  She didn't realize, from the letter, that the house would be so big.  She had imagined a small quant home, similar to those in town.   From the pictures, which were taken from every angle, she saw the big gate, which had once sparkled.  The long driveway that wove around several large trees until it stopped at the front.  The house itself was a rambling Victorian, with several beautiful balaconies.  Mr. Brookhurst explained that it was in need of repair, but there was plenty of assets to cover everything needed. 

Sangria decided she wanted to go up and see the house.   She would stay at the house while the work was being done.  As she drove up the driveway, the house welcomed her.  She felt two warm strong arms pull her in and hold her tight.  She felt like she had finally, come home.  This was where she belonged.  This was home, finally home..

The days of construction passed in a blur.  She had enough money to get everything she wanted done, from a new gate to repairing the gardens.  The house itself was fine, needing only minor repairs.  She modernized the kitchen and the electricity.  She brought down several loads of antiques from the atic, decorating all the rooms.  She had the rooms painted and cleaned.  She even hired a small staff, a cook, a maid, and a butler.  The money seemed endless.   She decided when the house was complete, she would have a small dinner party, inviting the who's who of the village and near by areas.  She needed to get to know the community. 

Each night when she closed her eyes, she was embraced in loving arms.  She never questioned these visits, instead she welcomed them.   She had heard about the curse.  The original owner, Odwell Van Durkman, wanted to find the secret to ever lasting sex.  He wanted to live forever and enjoy sex forever.  He soon turned to Black Magic, playing with the different spells, bewitching numerous of maidens.  One night, during a terrible storm, Odwell was struck down with a bolt of stray lighting.  It litterly came from no where.   Odwell would forever be trapped in a hell of his own, allowed to visit the women of the house in their dreams.  He was a spirit which moved from room to room, searching for the maiden that would break the curse.  She had to be special.  A women who had the power to arrouse with just a look.  She had to have the essence of an angle and creativity of a whore.  Only a women like this could break the curse, bringing Odwell back from the dead, to live out his remaining earthly years in her arms.   Sangria questioned herself repeatedly, was she such a women.  She knew what effect she had on poor Mr. Brookhurst.  She had that effect on most men and a few women.  She loved her body and it showed. 

Occassionally, when the dream came, she spread her legs welcoming him to take her.  Wanting to feel his caress on her body, the hardness of his hands against her flesh.  She wanted to be held in his real arms, to have him stroke her hair and spend eternity with her.  She looked forward to his nightly visits, wanting to extend them into the day.  It was more than just the nighly visits, it was the house.  The house whispering that she was safe.  That all her dreams would come true.  She felt wanted and that, she finally, belonged.  All her life she never trully felt like she belonged.  She never felt she was a part of this century.  She felt alone in an alien world. 

Night crest the tip of the trees slowly, spilling into the small confines of the sky, painting the blue to midnight black.  It came slowly this evening, almost as if it was tip toeing in.  Sangria knew something special was going to happen, she just felt it.  The feeling was in her skin and bones.  She knew that tonight would be the night.  The night he would come alive.  It was the anniversary of his dissappearance.  The town's people knew as they crowded around the gates waiting for a sign.  Sangria walked the halls, in her silky negligee.  The trails of soft material curling around her legs like a cat wanting attention.  She had lowered all the lights, knowing that they would hurt his eyes.  She had prepared a special gift in front of the fireplace in the main room.  She had spread pillows over the floor and chilled a bottle of champagne.  She had spread out fruit and cheese.  She laid down, feeling the warmth of the flames at her back.  Slowly she disrobed herself, inviting him to join.  He appeared from the shadows, a thin mist spilling into form.  He was strong and dark, with long blonde hair and a soft complexion.  He looked lovingly down at her, wanting to physically take her into his arms.  But she first must speak the words to break his bounds.  She must be true to herself and it must be real.  He had hoped that one day, this would occur, but each time he was sadly disappointed.  Each women spoke those words, but it was in lust not love.  And each time, he was sent back to his doom.

Sangria, opened her arms, welcoming him within.   She caressed his hair.  She could almost feel a solid body in her arms, but not quite.  She whipspered three magical words into his ear, as he slowly materialized.  He couldn't believe it.  He was finally real...flesh and blood once more.  He bed down this beautiful women ignoring the food and drink.  He slid his hands over her body.  He spread her legs wide, wanting to penetrate her wet pussy.  His cock was so hard that it was throbbing its demand.  He slid his cock between her legs and jammed it into her pussy.  She arched her back accepting his shaft, causing it to go in deeper.  She held onto him tight as he pumped her with his cock.  She dug her nails into his back, letting out a loud growl of pleasure.   As he came and shot his load deep inside her, bolts of lightening brightened the otherwise dark night.  The towns people knew, that the master was once again among the living.  Again, she moaned with sheer delight, as he came a second time, within moments of the first.  He filled her with his seed, which swam quickly, penetrating her egg.  He knew he had been successful and she was the future mother of his child.   He moved his still swollen cock out of her.  She whispered the magical words, and begged him for more.  She wanted to feel him inside her again.  She wanted him to defile her both in lust and love, becoming completely his.  She turned over and got onto all fours.  She spread her cheeks wide and allowed him to take her yet again.  He rammed his hard member up her ass, grabbing her hips holding her still.   He pumped her hard dropping his seed. 

They laid together in exhausted bliss...  He looked into her eyes whispering, "I have waited for you for so long..."   "I am here now darling...  We will be together forever..."  As she spoke the words, he placed his hand on her tummy, knowing that even now, life grew within...  "Yes, darling....  we will be together forever..."   She sighed in satisfaction, for once she felt like she belonged....right here, right now...  forever....

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