Chapter 4: Cum Mortuis in Lingua Mortua

Andrew shook himself awake and looked around in confusion. Angled sunlight suggested it was mid-morning. He was naked in some kind of hotel room. There was no bathroom, just a covered bowl under the bed. And he was stiff, needing to pee. A pitcher of water with a metal basin, towel, and soap stood to the side. The furnishings were all antique-looking.

There was a knock at his door. An adult woman, sturdily built, mid-30’s, swept into his room. He stared at her in confusion.

“Good morning, young man. My name is Ella Longworth, who am I speaking to?”

“I’m Andrew Barkley. Where am I?”

“All will be explained. First, I’m here to get you ready for breakfast.”

Ella was about 5’ 5” and he estimated her weight at around 150 lbs. Brown hair, brown eyes, medium skin tone, and a curvy build with wide hips.

“Let’s get started, shall we?”

Ella wriggled out of her full-length dress and petticoats and put a towel on the floor. She dropped to her knees and checked out his semi-stiff cock, ending with a kiss and lick.

“Very nice. Just give me a moment.”

She took him into her mouth and began an excellent blowjob. After a few minutes, she moved off and lay across the bed with her ass up and her feet on the floor.

“You know what to do!” But he hesitated.

“I don’t want to make you pregnant, Ella.”

Ella shrieked with laughter; he was perplexed.

“Trust me, a dozen Andrews couldn’t get me pregnant. Now do your duty!”

Andrew bent to his task, but he was nervous. It was the first time for him to have sex from behind. Ella was thrilled, he was angled just right for her. Before long he groaned and filled her with his milk.

“Oh, that was perfection, Andrew.”

She reached down and uncovered the pot, then squatted to expel, pee, and then wipe herself. She hoisted her clothing back over her head. “You’re going to fit right in here. Oh, look, still hard. Piss in the pot so you can put that beautiful young organ away; dress and join us for breakfast. See you downstairs.”

With that, she left his room.

Andrew looked in the mirror. He was surprised that he was clean and showed no obvious injuries from his ordeal. In the chest of drawers, he found and threw on a coarse linen shirt, socks, and loose pants.

Parked by the door were a pair of old-fashioned leather shoes. Putting them on left him ready to be social. He wandered downstairs to the dining room.

At the table were a half-dozen people, evidently the other hotel residents. They politely welcomed Andrew and passed him a plate loaded with biscuits and eggs, and an enamel cup of burnt coffee. At the head of the table, an older man with a full black beard began the discussion. He introduced himself and his wife. He was Horace Lawson, “your host.” Seated at his right hand was Mrs. Elizabeth Lawson, who impressed Andrew as warm and happy. She was likely in her 40s and clearly well-fed.

“My name is Andrew Barkley. Is this your hotel?”

“It is. We welcome you to stay here. And now meet our other guests.”

Opposite from Andrew was a rail-thin man in his early 20s, also with a black beard. Although Mr. Jonah Hillyard was outwardly polite, his nervous mannerisms gave a poor impression. Like Elizabeth, Ella, and Horace, they were outfitted in clothing from the 1800s, Andrew guessed.

By contrast, the man in the next chair was tall, burly, and powerfully-built. He had thick blond hair and blue eyes. Jean Dureaux was a Quebec outdoorsman who admitted to working in the logging business for many years. Unsurprisingly, Jean wore a plaid flannel shirt and denim jeans.

“And this beauty is my baby sister, Céline Dureaux.”

Andrew was transfixed: Céline was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was in her early-20’s, tall, and slim. Her blonde hair was covered by a white cap, her eyes were a shimmering blue, and her slim body was wearing a flattering sleeveless blouse and skirt.

She smiled at him. It felt like sunshine on his face.

Regarding an obviously stunned Andrew, Céline giggled.

“I’m glad to meet you, Mr. Barkley.”

Slowly, Andrew regained his composure.

“Pardon me. I’m pleased to meet you all.”

Ella joined them at the table.

“May I ask, where is this place? Are we in Virginia?”

Horace Lawson spoke up. “Andrew, where are you from? What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I come from Nashville, Tennessee. I was traveling to Maryland for my education. There was a terrible storm, and I had an accident. I had to set out on foot, seeking help.

“I reached a graveyard, and then the ground swallowed me up...” Andrew sputtered to a halt. Whispering: “Am I dead?”

Ella held his hand. Her voice was inside his head (only), and carried a saddened inflection: “Yes, you are. All of us are dead. I’m sorry.”

He buried his face in his hands. Then, looking back to Ella: “I guess being dead is how you can speak to me silently. Are all of you so, uh, gifted?” She nodded. “Yes.”