House
Chapter 2: Rye Whisky I Think I Might Die

Copyright© 2012 by Old Man with a Pen

Time Travel Sex Story: Chapter 2: Rye Whisky I Think I Might Die - On an exploratory road trip to the east coast I found the perfect home in New Hampshire. Now, if I could buy it I'd be happy...If I could find someone to sell it...If I could find out who owns it...and what about the fine red lines surrounding the house when it's foggy? Why do most of the old men look alike and why are the women young, buxom, blond and beautiful. But, most of all, what casts the shadows on the windows?

Caution: This Time Travel Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   mt/ft   Consensual   Mind Control   Drunk/Drugged   Magic   Science Fiction   Time Travel   Humor   Extra Sensory Perception   Space   Mystery   Spanking   Light Bond   Orgy   Harem   First   Oral Sex   Anal Sex   Petting   Slow   Nudism  

Jason, much louder than you'd expect for someone touching 90, began (please, give him a minute to get wound up... )

"Hrruuummmmppphhh." Spit ... clang. "The house was there when grandpa got off the boat, Dad believed he jumped ship, but nobody ever really said. That would be in '02 ... or maybe '09. I disremember ... sometime in there. After the turn and before the war.

"Dad had only seen him without his shirt once but he said Granddad's back was a mass of healed welts like he'd been whipped while tied ... his wrists had rope marks. On his chest was tattooed a warship but it was so old that the ink had blurred.

"Grandpa said it was a frigate so it must have been British ... America not having any then. My mother said her mother-in-law had told her she had pulled him from the sea and hid him from search parties. Boston? Maybe ... more likely Rye.

"Rye is 55 miles east of here and positively blessed with a tremendous network of salt ponds and brackish water streams ... a smugglers paradise. If a body didn't know where to step...

"Rye, well ... it's cleaned up now but before the Civil War it was a rats nest of smugglers and tax stamp evaders. Back then, folks were ambivalent about their loyalties. Gold spoke louder than politics, or policy. There were some mighty fine dressed women in Rye.

"When you could get Grandma to say anything at all about her husband, mostly she would say, 'He called me an angel in the sweetest reverent voice... "Angel ... this must be heaven," 'Course I had him by the collar and was heaving him out of the ocean at the time so I expect he was covering his wickets." ' Grandmother was a Yankee. If she was anything, she was practical.

"Things progress as things do and there was a wedding. My mother said there was guns involved, and daddy was a mite early, a matter of a couple of months only.

"Hell, son. Back then one out of four babies was born out of wedlock. At least daddy knew his father ... as much as any child could. Eventually, all mothers spread 'em, their mothers did."

Jason coughed and spit another clanger, took a big swig off his bottle and set it back in the case. He gave Jeffery the evil eye and Jeff was right there with a fresh bottle. This break in the action gave me the time I needed to call for a menu from the restaurant. Storytelling might be thirsty work, but listening begets the growlies. I needed a bite to calm the savage beast within.

Evidently, the rest of the listeners had the same idea for there was a flurry of orders. One of the buxom blond beauties stood, pulled a minuscule menu from her pocket and pencil from somewhere deep in her hair and sashayed her swivel hipped way over to me. She handed the menu to me and bent over to whisper in my ear. One pearly white pink tipped breast slid out of her blouse and I never heard a word she said.

She noticed my looking and, as I was coming out of my fog, she said quietly, "put it back."

"What?" I croaked.

"Put it back. Take your hand, lift it up and slide it back inside my blouse. My hands are full." She had a pencil and an order pad.

What else could I do? "Yes, Ma'am." I picked it up, noticing the fineness and firmness of her skin, I reveled in the manner the nipple hardened and poked my palm. I slid it back inside her blouse. My hand rebelled and I had to force myself to let go.

"That wasn't so hard, now, was it?" She said, a little breathlessly.

"It wasn't hard before, but it is now." I looked at my lap.

She looked at the tent in my pants, gasped and squeaked, "is that all you?"

"I think you might have had a whole lot to do with my condition." I gulped, "I don't recall it ever being quite this hard."

"That's so sweet, I think that's the nicest compliment I've had in ages." It didn't stop her from swatting the tip with her pencil though. As they say, that was the end of that.

She said, "I don't know if you noticed, but everyone ordered the same meal, and I suggest you do the same. If it weren't for the high water we'd be packed and everyone orders the clam and lobster bisque. It's superb. Weekends, folks drive in from four states just for the soup."

Even though my sight was still mesmerized by the vision of that perfect breast, I agreed. "I'm not buying for everyone, you know. I don't mind keeping the story wheel greased but the listeners can fend for themselves."

"Understood. You took the rooms 'with' so keep your wallet in your pocket.

"Jason has an account. Nearly the whole town pays on the first of the month. Not only is the bisque the best thing on the menu, it's the cheapest, except on weekends. We have tourist menus for the weekend crowd. The lobster comes in by boat. It's fresh every day."

"Boat? How does a boat get up these little streams?"

"They're deeper than they look ... that story Jason is telling isn't just a story. Every spring, after the ice is off, the neighbors lever out the big boulders in the streams that have been pushed up by the ice ... smuggling isn't a thing of the past. The Revenue Cutter Service is a whole lot older than Wilson's Coast Guard.

"There's as much whisky stilled up here as the south makes, but it's rye here and corn there."

"The dirt is thin around here, rocks are the number one crop. We harvest them in the spring. If we didn't, there'd be no rye for the whisky."

The bisque was every bit as good as she said it was and the cook wasn't shy with her ladle. It came to the table in crock sized bowls ... I ate and got a free refill, and ate that too. It came with home churned butter and crusty loaves of still hot from the oven bread. I'm going to have to exercise some restraint if I'm not going to get fat. Arm pushes would probably be enough.


Julia, she of the slippery breast, suggested I take a nap.

"Jason won't be good for nothing for a couple of hours after he eats. Come on, I'll show you your rooms. I think the girls are done in there."

She stopped behind the desk and picked out a gold tagged key from the mail/message box. The rest of the keys were all red tagged. Promising, and promising.

"John? I'm taking Mr. Austin to see his rooms."

From the office came a snore.

"Well, I did tell him. You're a witness ... in case he asks."

We were approaching the stairs when she said, "the Gentlemen's Reading Room is through the Bar."

We went up the broad sweep of the curving staircase. When we got to the head of the stairs, we stopped.

She said, "to the right is the Ladies Retiring Room, farther along to the right are the stairs to the regular rooms. If you go straight through these glass doors you would be in the ballroom. We actually have Balls and Concerts here during the season.

"The High School Junior/Senior Prom is held here. Every regular room in the hotel is booked solid years in advance for Prom weekend. Parents get on the list the day the child is born. Please to walk this way."

"Julia, if I walked that way, I'd have a boyfriend."

When she recovered, we went around the mezzanine to the left. A rather modest door yielded to the gold tagged key. Just inside the door was a small cabinet.

Julia retrieved a pair on clean white gloves and put them on. "Staff," she said, in a manner that let me know immediately that I was NOT STAFF, "Staff must wear clean gloves from here on."

There was a short 20 foot golden maple paneled hallway easily three times as wide as the door with an ornate full height ironwork gate and a staircase beyond. This gate also yielded to the gold tagged key.

"We had an offer to purchase the hotel and it's surrounding gardens several years ago. Things were going along swimmingly until the prospective buyers said ... the elevators will go here. John, Jeff, Jerry and Jake escorted them off the premise."

We took the stairs up a short flight to a landing, and another door, this one, thank God, was not locked. Julia looked up, five stories above us was a leaded stained glass affair.

"This is all part of your rooms. Even though it's 55 miles to the coast, it's all down hill. During the second war, the Coast Watchers used this to look for German submarines. They never saw one but they did see several ships torpedoed.

"In Prohibition days this part was on permanent lease to a man from Chicago. He never used it. We believe he leased it to keep the 'opposition' from using it to spy out rum running.

"Before that, in the Great War, the Revenue Service watched the coast for German spies coming ashore. Although it's not recorded anywhere, we think that four unmarked graves on the headland hide dead German spies."

This whole part of the hotel was as light and airy as the rest was dark and formal. The room was perhaps 35 feet square, there was a huge bed opposite the door. A box stair wound it's way up to the top. I must explore later, I thought.

Julia had walked to the far side of the room. "Come on," she called, "I need to show you how things work and where they are."

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