Note: This is a sample erotic story from Cyan Stories membership area. This is just the first part of the story: the rest is available to only to Cyan Stories members. For complete stories for free, go read my Free Stories.

Compelling Hobby

by Cyan

Copyright 1998 by Cyan
All Rights Reserved; No Redistribution.

"Would you like to see the place?"

Yes! Yes! I'm nosy; I admit it, at least to myself. "Oh, that's sweet," I said and smiled, "but I don't want to put you out." Our conversation had touched on houses and I have to confess I'd been pumping her a little.

"Well if that's the only issue, then it's settled," she answered, "I guess I'm a show-off at heart, so don't deny me my pleasure." I suppose I could have protested more, but I didn't bother: it was easy to see she was going to insist.

And that's how I found myself following Grace's limousine back to her "little" place. I'd deduced they were plenty well off when I'd met and talked to them them at the party the night before, and everything about our little lunch out confirmed it. But when I started to follow her back, finding her in a limousine was still startling. These people weren't merely rich.

This was definitely blowing me away: I'd certainly never chummed with anyone like Grace before, and after knowing her just one day! It was just that we'd seemed to hit it off: now that I saw how they lived, it was amazing to remember how open and friendly they'd been. And talking with Grace at lunch had been like talking to my oldest friend. She was genuinely interested in my views: she'd asked me what I thought about this or that book. And we talked about travel: I told her about my summer in Greece and listened to her fascinated: she must have been overseas a hundred times.

The limousine reached a gate, stopping briefly, after which the gate's guard waved me through. Most definitely a wealthy neighborhood. I found myself on a road from which you could hardly see the houses: every one of them was at the end of some long, winding driveway, behind trees. We drove on a mile or so, reaching the end of the road proper, and continued, following what I figured was their driveway. I think we drove yet another minute before the house came into view.

All thoughts of how eager I might have been to see the house were lost to pure awe as I finally stared at it. You see these things in movies or on TV. You think of such grand houses existing long ago. But seeing one like this...

I pulled around the circle at the front door and just sat there in the car, staring. She walked over to my car. "Well, come on in," she said as if she had to wake me from a stupor. The limousine pulled away as Grace opened my door and soon I found her leading me to the house. "Please humor me if I like to show off," she said conspiratorially as we entered. My thoughts flitted back to the party the night before: I'd talked to her so long, never feeling a hint that she lived on this grand a scale.

And a maid met us at the door: I swear it was just like a movie. She wore a black dress with a white apron. She told Grace about two telephone calls and asked if she needed anything. "Is Charles still swimming?" Grace asked.

"No Ma'am; he's dressing." I tried not to gawk too much at the room we were standing in: my whole apartment could fit in it, twice over, and I gathered it was just a front hallway.

"Could you let him know I'm back with Miss Seville?"

Miss Seville! "Yes Ma'am," said the maid, withdrawing.

"So you really don't mind a little tour?" Grace said, turning back to me.

Somehow my mind was still stuck on having just been referred to as Miss Seville. "I'd love it," I said. In truth, I was struggling to control my eagerness.

"Oh, good!" said Grace, once again reminding me of a child at her birthday. She led me to a drawing room. "This is where I like to bring friends to talk; I hate a room that is too large." The room was indeed smaller than the front hallway, and a couple of people talking would definitely find this room more comfortable, but it was still huge to me. She led on and we came to another drawing room, then an incredible dining room. Then a kitchen and another dining area. "...this is the kitchen I use when I attempt something myself, and this is where we usually eat..."

Grace's husband, Charles walked in, greeting me and giving his wife a little needling about showing off the house. "Let's sit down," she said to me: "would you like some wine?"

"No, I have to drive home," I answered. The dining area certainly looked comfortable. Charles had left, after kissing Grace. And they did this little thing I'd seen them do the night before: they sort of smiled and "mmm"d at each other.

Well, I thought it was cute, and somehow I think it was part of what drew me toward them. A little sign that they were in love, and it did indeed look as if they had tuned out the world for a moment and had no care what their little communication looked like to others such as myself. I found myself glancing after Charles when he left, though neither he nor Grace looked back after their little shared moment.

I realized Grace had noticed my glance. "Charles is a doll," she said. "It's an awfully good thing we found each other."

I immediately thought about marrying a rich man and felt a little pang of guilt. "So what does he do?" I asked. Immediately I wanted to pull the words back in: I felt like I had just screwed up everything.

"Venture capital. And don't worry: I don't mind that you asked." It occurred to me that she seemed able to read my mind. "And he does own a business that he built mostly himself."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Don't be."

I didn't respond, still feeling a little shaken at my own audacity, and we had an awkward silence. "Do you play tennis?" she suddenly asked.

"I was never much good at it." I failed to add more and we found ourselves in silence again. For some reason, this made me really feel awkward and I inwardly kicked myself for being such a poor conversationalist. "I... I played... I tried it in college..."

I wondered if she was going to ask if I was interested in trying it again. Was she looking for a friend who she could play tennis with? I noticed her watching me, and suddenly was nervous, or feeling more nervous. "Let me get you something to drink," she said finally. "Want some tea?"

"I'd love some."

She stood up and walked over toward the kitchen, there was a counter on the wall, and soon she had a tea-kettle out. "Do you like to swim?" she asked.

"Sure," I said. I thought about it and realized she would certainly have a pool.

"You know," she said as she continued with the preparations, "we did have a reason for bringing you out here."

A reason? I found my mind trying out various possible reasons someone like her might have. Something about the we was confusing. "Yes?"

"We collect pretty young women."

"Huh? What?"

She turned, smiling at me. "We're sort of collectors. We like to collect beautiful women."

"What do you mean?"

She walked back over, the water behind her heating up, and smiled. "Just that: we have a little collection."

I'm not sure it was getting any clearer what she meant, but inside I was freaking out. Just her saying it three times was enough to confirm I hadn't misheard, and that was enough to move me from wondering what I was hearing to conjuring some of the weirdest thoughts I'd probably ever had. I stood suddenly, bumping my leg against the table. "I think I'd better be going," I said.

I stood there, not remembering the way out. After a glance back at the heating water, she signalled me to come with her, leading out one of the doors. I had no choice but to follow her, and then realized we were walking together. "It's not what you must be thinking," she said. "It's really perfectly innocent."

"Innocent?" I said, and immediately felt like I should have said nothing.

She stopped and I found myself standing with her, facing her. "Listen," she said, and took both my hands in hers. "I'm sorry I said it so abruptly: I can see I've frightened you. There's really no reason. Why don't you come and I'll show you."

"I..."

"Please? For me?" She actually sounded forlorn. I found myself staring at her pleading eyes.

*      *      *

The hall was dark. While intending to leave, I'd hesitated: I guess as soon as I'd paused, there was no real chance that I'd actually walk out. It was too much of an adjustment to think Grace might be some sort of monster after all the ordinary conversations we'd been having. I suppose a part of me just had to confirm that she was OK.

She led the way to a window which was the hall's only illumination. Light came through, but even before I approached it, it was clear that it wasn't outdoor light.

It was to a little room: we were above the room so we could look down at it. In it, a woman sat reading. She was naked.

It was a little bedroom, maybe half the size of mine. The bed was single, and had no covers on it. There was a TV in the corner and some plants, and the chair the woman sat in, but otherwise the room was empty.

She was pretty; beautiful actually. She had blond hair to her shoulders. She just sat reading. "Pretty, isn't she?" said Grace.

I found I couldn't answer: the lump in my throat was making speech impossible. "Come," she added, pulling me on down the hall. There was another window, another bedroom, another woman. She was lying in the bed on her side, reading. Again, naked. "A lot of them love to read," said Grace. "I think that's one reason this appeals to them."

"They really want to be here?" I asked. That's what she'd told me as she'd led me to this place.

"Oh yes," said Grace. ...

Cyan Stories
Erotic fiction, sex stories, for erotica lovers.