SUNDAY She kept on making him hit her. It wasn't her fault-he knew that. But sometimes, after a few too many, Amy would show up and remind him of how fucked up everything was, just after he'd been able to drink those voices quiet. Afterward, of course, he always felt bad, I mean, since he was so much bigger than her.
He never hit her hard, but it still sometimes left a mark. So to make it up to her this time, he promised to buy her an antique, because her damned little snippy-assed sister Rachel kept going on about all the antiques her wussy little boyfriend Scott was buying her.
Which was how Daryl found himself wasting an entire Sunday piloting their tired old Explorer towards every grubby little antique shop in the tri-state area, vainly searching for something that neither of them would even recognize when they saw it. Finally, at quarter past four, they wandered into Royal's Antique Fair, which was huge, dimly lit, and smelled like a church. "This is IT, girl", Daryl grunted. "Pick something you like here, or we're done".
But Amy wasn't listening to him. Instead, she was weaving quickly through rows of old chairs, toward something on the other side of the store that had definitely caught her eye. He tried to spot what she was headed toward. Please-not that giant chest thing with the white handles that looked like it came straight outta The Munsters living room. But sure as hell, Amy stopped right in front of that beast, running her hand down the dark wood. The shopkeeper got there well before Daryl did, and it was all over.
It took him forever to work his way through the tight maze of old dusty crap. "It's perfect, baby", she sang, not taking her eyes off the piece. "For, what-Frankenstein's dining room?" he sneered. The shopkeeper stepped in, with a sniveling air of faux sophistication that Daryl hated immediately. "Mr. White, your wife has very good taste. This is a rare, French armoire from the early 19th Century.
Normally something of this exclusivity would carry a price of thousands of dollars. But I need to make room for some new inventory that I have coming in, so I can let this go today for&hellip.shall we say…$1500?" "Come on, Amy," Daryl ordered. "I wanna catch the end of the Talladega race".
But Amy wasn't coming. Instead, she turned to the shop keeper, and smiled. Not at all like her typical shy self. "$1500? Come on, mister, you can do better than that." Before he knew it, Daryl's Master Card was a whole lot lighter, and the couple had purchased an actual antique. It was by far the ugliest thing he'd seen all day, but he owed her. Amazingly, Amy had even talked the owner into delivering the piece that afternoon, free of charge.
Again-totally out of character. MONDAY AM Amy called in sick on Monday morning, while Daryl was in the shower, and waited impatiently for him to leave. Finally he kissed her good bye, and she heard him overrev the throttle again as he pulled away from the curb.
Amy slipped the covers off, and sat up on the edge of the bed, her eyes fixed on the new cabinet in the early morning semi-darkness. Standing slowly, she decided that she could wait to pee later, now that she could fully inspect her new piece without her dumb-assed husband getting in the way. Amy couldn't believe how something that beautiful could be all hers, right there in her very own bedroom, and she moved towards it, admiring every inch.
Her hand reached out to touch the long ivory cabinet handles, and they felt warm and firm in her hands. She stroked them slowly, absently, as she would Daryl's cock, although this somehow held a whole lot more promise than his typical 30 seconds of fluff. She ran her hands over the massive doors, the light textures of the smooth teak tickling her palms, and it felt GOOD.
Amy paused to slip her nightie over her head, and drop her panties to the floor, taking only an instant to justify her strange feeling of need inside, and pressed herself tightly against the warm wood. Slowly she undulated her body, up and down, her nipples instantly hard and aching as they glided across the teak surface.
Her breasts ran up the ivory handles, and then down again. She noticed for the first time that the long handles curved slightly outward at the bottom, which allowed each to perfectly glide between her legs, and smoothly caress her soaking pussy.
"This feels so fucking amazing!" she thought, as she grinded hotly against the handles, her feeling of longing too intense to question. After a long moment she turned around and backed up, giving the handles full access to her pussy and ass.
She worked it hard and rough, and it felt amazing sliding between her legs. As she pushed her crotch against the left handle, the right side door opened slightly.
Her eyes full of animal lust, she pulled the open door back against her bare breast, the wood as warm as it if had just emerged from the fireplace. The armoire seemed to hold her tightly as she grinded against it, enthralled, completely lost in the moment.
The open door shifted again, and this time she found the ivory handle pressing against her lips. Eyes closed, she took it into her mouth and sucked it like a drunken college slut, the ivory soft and warm and delicious on her tongue. Images of a tall figure with thick, broad shoulders danced teasingly across her mind. And then all at once the orgasm hit her, so suddenly and with such force that her knees buckled and she fell backwards through the open cabinet door, coming to rest against the back wall, as wave after wave of ecstasy buffeted her tiny body.
When it was finally subsiding, the door closed her inside with a soft click. She smiled at the warm darkness and fell into a deep, tranquil sleep. Soft light reached her eyes and she awoke, taking a moment to orient herself.
The cabinet had swung open, and she saw her unmade bed beyond the door. She stood slowly, tingling waves of the earlier thrill still lingering like swimmers on a beach after sunset. Amy looked warmly at the ivory handles, slowly tracing a finger down one side, when she heard a car door close. Breaking the moment, she looked out the window and saw Daryl coming up the walkway.
He's home ALREADY? Her mind screeched, and she wheeled to look at the alarm clock by the bed. 4:38??? She was shocked to find that she'd been asleep inside the armoire all day long.
Quickly she snatched her nightie from the floor, threw it over her head, and jumped back under the covers as she heard his boots clunking up the stairs. Daryl found Amy still in bed, and she looked like hell. She was feverishly warm, and red-cheeked, and slightly damp from perspiration, and her hair was everywhere. Man, she really must BE sick, he thought to himself. So much for his "Monday-itis" theory.
She pretended to awaken as he sat down on the side of the bed, taking her hand. "Can't you leave again?" she thought, but forced a weak smile, and allowed him to bring her some microwaved soup. OVERNIGHT MONDAY Amy waited what seemed like an agonizing eternity until she heard Daryl's rough snoring, before slipping out of bed, and walking to the cabinet.
The ivory handles gleamed in the darkness, and the door popped open silently as she approached. Amy kissed the handle lightly, feeling the soft warmth on her lips, before slipping inside and pulling the door behind her.
The image of the tall figure immediately flashed back in her mind as she closed her eyes. She felt warm and safe as if in the arms of a giant, and welcomed the tingling sensation rising up her thigh, under her nightie and across her belly, as if unseen hands were trailing their fingertips lightly across her skin. She felt her top slip over her head sharply, and the weight of what seemed like massive hands begin to grope her breasts.
Her lips tingled in the same way, as if she was being kissed, and when her mouth responded, she was pleased to find something there. Not of the flesh, but something very nice and warm; something that responded well to the touch of her tongue. Amy's arms wrapped around something almost solid, and held it tightly, drawing its mouth towards her own. She felt her thighs abruptly pushed apart, and wondered dreamily if it was her husband there with her in the cabinet.
But then, when she felt the enormous pressure between her legs, sliding deep inside her, she knew that it couldn't be mistaken for Daryl's little man. Amy's pussy was wet and ready, but she STILL felt unprepared for what seemed to be a telephone pole sliding inside of her. It nearly cut her in half, as it began to pump her, hard and fast. Her legs were wide and her feet were flat against the inside wall of the cabinet, and she began to moan uncontrollably as the unseen force gave her the fuck of her life.
Grunting, cussing, she hungered for every deep thrust, as her orgasm built quickly. The image of a tall, sturdy figure; a young, bald, black man with enormous arms flashed photo-clear in her mind, and as she exploded, the entire armoire shook violently. But the penetrations didn't stop there.
Instead, they picked up speed and intensity and kept relentlessly hammering her soaking cunt. Daryl awoke to strange sounds and turned to ask Amy if she'd heard them, before realizing that she wasn't lying next to her.
He sat up quickly, listening intently with his head cocked slightly sideways as he always did while deer hunting, before standing and following the sound.
It was there in the room with him, he was sure; something whimpering, like an animal. There, in that damned cabinet-thing. He reached for the handle and tugged, but it wouldn't budge. He saw no visible keyhole. He yanked harder. The thrusting had now reached a fever pitch, and the speed and intensity were incredible.
Harder, deeper and faster it fucked her, and she put her hands under her hips to raise herself up for even better penetration. She felt the pressure divide, with half slithering up inside her ass, until both holes were being slammed with the same wild passion.
Gutterral, animalistic sounds escaped her throat as she surrendered her body to her unseen lover. The sounds inside were getting stranger, Daryl thought. Was that grunting? What the fuck is in there, a wild pig?
He placed a foot against the base for leverage as he pulled as hard as his four-a-week lifting sessions would allow. The pumping changed, remaining inside her longer with each stroke, and she knew it was about to climax.
Again, the picture of the black man flashed like lightning in her mind, his deep, dark eyes so forbiddenly sexy. And she felt her body lift from beneath as it began to cum inside of her, her whole body filled with the tingling sensation, and she exploded again.
Daryl yanked with both hands, and this time the door flew open easily, catching him off guard and causing him to tumble over the bed's footboard and land awkwardly on the floor.
He looked up to see the source of the sound, and there was Amy, naked, eyes closed, shivering like she was lying in the snow, the unmistakable scent of pussy strong in the air. Must've been one hell of a dream, he thought, wide-eyed. As strange as this all was to him, Daryl wasn't too surprised to find a boner sticking out the front of his Joe Boxers.
After all, she WAS his wife, and damn she was cute, and naked, and hell, it'd been at least a week and a half since he'd been able to get some. He slipped out of his t-shirt and underwear and walked over to her, standing above her. Man-she looked good.
He reached his hand out to grab a mittfull of tit. But the moment his calloused hand reached her nipple, Amy leaped up like a bear trap, and shoved him hard in the chest, knocking him over again. "Don't you touch me, fucker. EVER!" she screamed, kicking him as he lay on the floor. Amy grabbed her pillow and let loose a string of expletives as she headed for the guest bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
He sat up on the floor, feeling like the victim of a hit-and-run. There was no way he was gonna get his thoughts around weirdness like this at 2am, he thought. No fucking way. He turned on the light, and walked back to the armoire, the left side door still open. The smell of sex was strong inside, making his dick hard again. And there, on the cabinet floor, a large puddle had formed. He touched it with his fingers, and it felt warm and sticky. Daryl brought his fingers to his nose and confirmed what he'd already known-that the puddle was Amy's cum.
Confused, he looked deeper inside the large cabinet, and saw nothing else. What in the hell made her get off like that, he wondered, bitterly. She never did that for me. Hell, he wasn't even sure if he'd ever even MADE her cum at all.
But there sure was something funny about that damned ugly-assed dresser. Something that unnerved the big man, and he wasn't at all accustomed to being unnerved. "Fuck this, and fuck you, too" he said to the closed guestroom door, and went downstairs to try to sleep on the couch.
TUESDAY AM He parked four houses down the next morning, and came in the back way. Luckily it was still dark out, so nobody saw him sneaking around.
Daryl entered through his basement door, took off his Red Wings, and made his way slowly and silently up the stairs. The guest room door was still closed-good, he thought, slipping inside the hall linen closet.
A few minutes later, Amy emerged naked from the guest room, looked out the front window on the landing to presumably make sure his truck was gone, and then entered the bedroom.
From his vantage point, Daryl had a clear view of the bedroom, and saw his wife bend over the edge of the bed and-what the fuck?-she began to grind her pussy against the ivory handles of the armoire. He was awestruck, but the look of intense pleasure on her face made him instantly horny.
He opened the closet quietly and moved closer, stopping behind his half-open bedroom door. Amy moaned freely as the door handle glistened with her pussy juice.
And Daryl watched in a mix of horror and carnal fixation as the handle suddenly seemed to curve itself and slide inside his wife. He stood transfixed, watching her get fucked by a piece of furniture. She reached up and squeezed her breasts while bobbing up and down.
And then slowly turned to her right, toward the precise spot where he stood hiding. Busted. "Come here baby", she purred. "And take out that cock of yours." Around the door he came, hungrily, jeans now crumpled on the floor, his dick in hand.
Her nails dug into his lower back, drawing blood as she pulled him closer, engulfing him in her mouth. She sucked him greedily, although his little cocktail weenie didn't do much for her at all. But deep down she knew that she had to take care of his needs, so that the armoire could continue to take care of hers. Daryl stood perfectly still, stunned as her mouth serviced him in a way she'd never even come close to before.
And all too soon he was ready to pop, and began to move his hips and fuck her mouth as the ivory handle continued to pummel her pussy. And then, as he came, the cabinet door opened wide, and inside, in the darkness, he swore he saw a pair of eyes, dark as a witch's grave, staring at him. "Th-there's something IN there", he stammered, backing away as his seed flew in her face.
Daryl was build like a truck at 6'6", 295 pounds, and he was scared shitless. But Amy just laughed lightly at the horror on his face, like a carefree woman watching her favorite sitcom on TV.
As he backed his way clumsily through the bedroom door, he saw her climb inside the cabinet, with a total look of contentment on her face, and shut the door behind her.
Daryl's truck was parked in front of Royal's Antique Fair for a good hour before it opened. He tried listening to the radio to occupy his thoughts, but he couldn't concentrate. All he could think about were those eyes-pure evil like he'd never seen, even in his favorite Wes Craven films. Finally, at ten past nine, the front doors were propped open by an elderly woman, and Daryl lumbered in, his eyes searching.
The shopkeeper saw Daryl first, and wasn't surprised in the least. He removed his wire reading glasses as Daryl thundered in his direction, and excused himself from his current conversation with an elderly woman behind the back counter. "Mr. White", he smiled coldly. "So…nice to see you again." Daryl was in no mood at all to make small talk with some fucking freaky puppet master, and got right to the point. "All right. What exactly is the deal with that fucking cabinet-thing you sold me?" He knew that some form of that question was coming, but the way that this big lummox phrased it was purely delicious.
"The armoire? Whatever do you mean?" Daryl grabbed the little man by the lapel of his tired old tweed jacket, and steered him towards a small storage closet, practically throwing him through the doorway before closing the door behind them.
"Look, ugly", Daryl sneered, pointing a finger at him. "I ain't got no time for your bullshit. Now, I'm gonna ask that question again." He slammed the shopkeeper hard into a massive oak china closet, rattling the glass and the shelves inside.
"What is the deal with that damned dresser?" The shopkeeper's smile vanished, and he wished that he was 20 years younger, not that he was ever in good enough shape to take on someone of Daryl's stature. "There's no need to get physical, Mr. White.
If you'll please explain to me what the problem is, I will see how I can help." Daryl paused for a moment. How in the hell could he explain it?
"Look, it's broken, or something. Hell, I don't know. But it sure as shit ain't right." The shopkeeper knew perfectly well that the armoire wasn't "right".
And so did the eleven couples who'd purchased it from him before Daryl and Amy did. Time to make a buck. "I see. And I suppose that now you and your wife wish to sell it back to me, is that it? Well, normally, Mr.
White, we have a strict no-return policy, but I certainly do not wish to argue with you this morning (or to have my face caved in, for that matter). So, I'll buy it back for-shall we say-$400 dollars?" Daryl's eyes narrowed.
"I paid your ass TWELVE hundred dollars for that damned thing two DAYS ago, you son of a bitch." Although, he thought, I'd GIVE the fucking thing back to you at this point. A knock sounded on the storage room door, and the elderly woman from the counter peeked in.
"Everything all right, Mr. Louie?" "Yes, I'm fine, Doris. I'm just negotiating with Mr. White here. Now, my good man, I'm prepared to offer you $750 dollars right now. And I will come and personally haul it away for you." "Now." Said Daryl, quietly. "Yes, $750 dollars right now." Mr. Louie opened the door and headed toward the counter, with Daryl following.
"No, I mean now, as in 'You'll Come and Haul it Away Right Now'". Mr. Louie turned on the melodrama. "Please be reasonable, Mr. White. I have a business to run. I can't possibly leave-" Daryl merely steered him toward the door. "It's 9:25 on a Tuesday morning, mister. You ain't gonna miss the rush." Daryl drove as quickly as possible along southbound Route 32, being careful not to lose the shopkeeper and his Latino helper following behind in an old delivery van.
The house was eerily quiet as the three of them entered. Daryl told the other two to wait for a moment, and went upstairs to check on Amy's status. She wasn't in their bedroom, and the bathroom and guest room were empty. Reluctantly he headed toward the armoire, the chilling eyes still burning clearly in his memory.
He paused for a moment in front of the cabinet, took a deep breath, counted to three, and yanked hard on the handle. The door opened freely, revealing nothing but an empty space. So she wasn't getting crazy in there after all.
He went to the landing, and called the other two up. They entered the bedroom, Mr. Louie heading to inspect the armoire while the helper held back with an industrial-sized dolly.
The shopkeeper was reaching for the handle when the cabinet popped open from the inside, and out stepped Amy, stark naked and smiling.
The Shopkeeper's jaw hit the floor as she ran a finger under his chin and stepped past. "Hi baby," she smiled at Daryl, before turning to inspect the helper. "And who do we have HERE?" she purred, stroking the young Latino's muscles.
"Enough of this shit, Amy", Daryl hollered, grabbing her by the arm and shoving a pillow into her arms to cover up. "I sold that damned thing back to the antique store, and we're hauling it outta here right now." He snatched the dolly from the helper (who was still staring hungrily at Amy) and proceeded to slip it under the cabinet.
Mr. Louie muttered to himself as Daryl and the Latino wrestled to get the piece onto the dolly. That was when they heard a distinct clicking sound behind them. Daryl turned to see his prized .38 Automatic in Amy's hands, pointed roughly in the direction of the side of his head. "Put it down, now," she said calmly, never breaking eye contact. "And take a walk-ALL OF YOU." They set the piece down hard, and the helper sprinted for the door, cussing in Spanish along the way. Daryl studied her for a quick moment.
"Baby, it's all right. Put the gun down," he said, in his best soothing voice. "You're just not thinking clearly right now. It's okay." Amy walked right up next to him, and pressed the barrel right up firmly against his temple.
""Oh no, baby. It's not okay. Not by a longshot. You suck as a provider, you suck ass as a husband, and you suck big ass as a lover. I'm tired of being the target of your fists when you drink and having to lie about my bruises, you pathetic piece of trash.
So you need to disappear, right here and now. The only question left unanswered is whether you're gonna walk out of here, or get carried out with a sheet over your ugly fucking face.
Personally, it don't matter to me one way or the other." Daryl looked her in the eye, and saw no trace of the woman he'd been married to for four years, and dated for three before that. That was a total stranger staring back at him, and a not unattractive, naked one at that. But he had no choice but to retreat. TUESDAY, LATE MORNING Outside, Daryl turned the brunt of his rage towards the shop owner, rolling up the sleeves of his flannel as he prepared to kick the shit out of him.
"Mr. White-PLEASE", begged the old man, backing away hastily. "Please, just let me explain what is happening. The piece-is haunted!" Daryl paused for a minute, and looked down at his Timex. "Alright, ugly. You got 30 seconds." The old man sighed, and looked down at his wrinkled hands as he leaned back against the delivery van.
"I first procured that armoire some six years ago from an estate sale down in South Carolina. It truly was a very rare, valuable piece, but I was strangely able to get it for next to nothing. That piqued my curiosity, so I did some research. "As the story goes, back in the early 1800's, your piece was the personal armoire of Lady Winthrop of Belle Grande Manor, a large plantation house just outside of Charleston.
As I understand it, the Lady became infatuated with one of the strapping young slaves who worked the plantation, a young man names Jonas Brown. She would have him visit her in her quarters every afternoon when her husband went into town, and they would make love. At any sign of trouble, Jonas would hide inside this particular piece, and was never discovered. "Lord Winthrop eventually became suspicious, and set a trap for the two. He came to the room as the two were having relations, and Jonas once again slipped inside the armoire.
But Lord Winthrop discovered his whereabouts, and instructed his farmhands to tie thick ropes tightly around the piece, trapping the young man inside, and they dragged it out into an unused barn in the back portion of the huge estate. Although his crying pleas were heard echoing across the property at night, no one ever went to his aid, and Jonas's remains were not discovered until years later by Lord Winthrop's grandson, after finding and reading Lady Winthrop's memoirs.
"The piece has changed hands many times since then, never remaining at the same location for very long. Locals believed that it was cursed." The Shopkeeper looked away, and absently wiped his mouth. "I learned very early on that there was a spirit of some sort residing inside of that the armoire. In my line of work, it's really not all that unusual.
So…I sold it to various unsuspecting buyers, who would bring it home and begin to have unexplainable paranormal problems with it. And then I'd buy it back from them at a fraction of the price they paid, when they came back. It's worked like a charm-until now." Daryl looked him up and down. "So, you're telling me that this thing has been having sex with these women all along and you ain't done nothing about it?" His anger was boiling over, like a dam break.
"Heavens, no!" squealed the shop owner, backing away again. "Normally the wives are just as frightened as the husbands. No, Mr.
White, I'm afraid that this is the first time I've ever encountered something like this. It&hellip.it seems that the spirit may have become enamored with your wife." Daryl staggered back at those last words. "My wife&hellip.with a damned GHOST?
A damned SLAVE ghost? I KNEW I never shoulda bought that damned thing. I KNEW it! Ugly fucking piece of shit!" There was only one thing left to do. He had no choice. Daryl left the shopkeeper by his van and headed back inside, cautiously, stopping at the foot of the stairs. "Amy? Darlin? Can I talk to you for a moment?" He started up the stairs slowly, one foot at a time, and turned to see her sitting at the edge of the bed, wearing his Molly Hatchet concert T, gun in hand, waiting for him.
"Look," he began. "I don't suppose that there's any way you're gonna let me get rid of that damned thing, is there?" Amy answered by cocking the gun. "That's pretty much what I thought.
Look, that old fucker from the shop told me what's up with this thing. Now, I ain't even gonna begin to understand what's really going on here. What I DO know is that you gave me the best blowjob I've ever had just a little while ago, and right now, I think you are just about the sexiest woman alive. You've changed, and I REALLY like it. And I'd like another chance to be the man that you deserve. So, if I-I can't believe I'm saying this-if I agree to let you keep it, well, what do I get out of it?" She smiled, and slipped the shirt over her head, revealing pure nakedness.
"Baby, if you relax about this whole thing, I'll rock your world." She put her feet up on the bed with her, and spread her legs, fingering herself. "You wanna fuck me three times a day? You wanna fuck my sweet ass? You want these lips to suck you dry? You want me to use my dildo on YOU?' Daryl did a double take at that last question.
"Yes, baby. I now know everything that you really want." She stood and walked to him, the gun no longer needed, lying absently on the bed. He had been all set to lunge for it, but hell-what was the hurry? Amy slipped his shirt off, and yanked down his jeans. Daryl's cock was rock hard as she grinded against him, her left hand squeezing her breasts, her right hand reaching around and fingering his ass.
This was some strange-damned shit, but I can give it a few more minutes, he thought, as he kissed her. She giggled, and went to the end of the bed, bending over and pointing her ass in his direction. Her furry mound was framed between her tiny hips, just begging for his attentions. "Come here, baby, and lick my sweet pussy. Give it to me good!" He dropped to his knees behind her immediately, and began to wildly suck her sopping cunt. His lips drew her swollen clit to his teeth, and he nibbled hungrily on it.
Daryl's goatee was soaked with her juices as he began to run his tongue back and forth. Amy reached back and spread her cheeks wide, and his tongue found her asshole. She reached her hands behind his head and pulled his face in even tighter, as Daryl went wild. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recalled the fact that she still had to be punished for her earlier indiscretions as he greedily licked her asshole clean, but…not…right&hellip.now.
"Oh baby!" Amy squealed, still holding her head in place. "It's time for you to put it IN me! I need some good fucking from my man, and I need it now!" She grabbed Daryl by the hair, and lifted quickly upward, until he was standing.
"Come on, Mother Fucker. DO me!" Daryl ignored the gun still lying right there on the bed and grabbed her hips as she held onto the footboard, sliding easily inside her.
She went wild as he fucked her, laughing, groaning, hollering, cussing, and he was out of his mind with desire for this new, amazing piece of ass. He continued to nail her, so all-consumed with her body that he didn't notice the armoire's door opening slowly behind him. Amy began to buck, harder, faster, slamming back into him with such reckless force that it was difficult for him to remain standing.
He immediately began to cum heavily inside of her, and she laughed wildly like a mental patient as he filled her up. And suddenly she shoved back into him with such might that his weakening knees buckled and he fell backward and into the armoire, which shut him inside immediately. "Bye bye, baby" she sang softly, waving her index finger. She reached for the cabinet door, hesitating for a moment, no sound coming from inside.
Amy closed her eyes, and pulled on the handle, and he stepped out of the cabinet. "My name is Jonas Brown", he said, with a deep voice. "Thanks you, missy, for getting me outta there". She took him right to bed.