Dreams of the Past intro

 What if you inherit a house in a country you moved away from ages ago? It's old, draughty and dusty and doesn't have a single piece of furniture in it. Tony could have sold it. But it had a pull on him he could not explain. He decided to have it restored instead. 

 Abby wasn't scared of hard work. From simple carpenter she had worked her way up to being a reknown project manager for restorations of period property. If someone could bring back this 200 year old house from the dead, it would be her. Did she wonder at first if the house would even want to talk to her, she soon found out she need not worry. 

 Four people, divided by centuries and an entire world. Can Abby and Tony complete this project successfully? 

To Dreams of the Past part 1

 

Welcome to the first story I'm posting here. It's some Halloween romance I wrote during one of the Camp NaNoWriMos. I thought the idea was fun. 

Content warnings: Smut, loss

If you enjoy this story, I'd love to hear from you. Or maybe consider buying me a coffee. No obligation!

Dreams of the Past part 1

 Patiently Abby looked at the woman at the other side of the desk and wondered if two women could be any more different.

Julie was the poster-woman for success. Tall, skinny, hair in a perfect bob. And it didn’t end there. The suit, form-fitting, but not too sexy. Abby considered that anyone would be insane to mess with Julie.

“How many people did you offer this job to, before you got to me?” Abby had just flown back from Croatia where she’d overseen the renovation of an abandoned hotel—still dressed in jeans and an old faded T-shirt. Her hair too wild to be tamed by the piece of rope she’d used to tie it together. And, especially compared to the perfect Julie, fat. Abby could well imagine how Julie would see her. A woman for one, a carpenter, builder, project manager at that.

“Seven,” Julie answered truthfully.

“I’m not surprised.” The prospectus of the job was on the desk in between them. The house looked lovely from the outside but needed a lot of work. An architect had already done some groundwork, but the details needed filling in.

“There’s budget,” Julie said, turning to the last page. “For materials and manpower.” The biggest problem would be finding craftsmen specialised in that era, like Abby.

“I was very impressed with your portfolio.” The job Julie offered was small compared to the most recent of Abby’s projects. Only a house and a few outbuildings. Nothing like the hotel she’d done, or even the estate in France before that. Julie wasn’t sure what had even made her consider coming back here and taking this meeting.

There was something about the house. Abby wasn’t insecure about her work. Her personal life, however, left a lot to be desired.

“If I take the job, when can I meet with the owner, to go over a few details?”

She wanted to know.

For the first time since Abby entered the office, Julie looked uncomfortable.

“You won’t. The guidelines of the architect should be enough. The rest you’ll figure out with the assigned interior designer when the structural work is finished.”

“It’s their house. You would think they’d want to have a say in it.”

“The owner, for many reasons, wishes to remain anonymous. Besides, he’s currently overseas to work on a big project himself. He won’t be back until the summer, earliest.” It was the end of November. The hotel she’d just finished was getting ready for their first holiday season.

“There is living accommodation on the estate, outdated but functional.” Julie had picked herself right up, “and for financial questions, we’ll appoint a contact within the company.” It was a posh lawyers’ office. It made Abby wonder who her boss was. Why was all this secrecy necessary?

“Seven, you say? Guess that list is getting really short.”

“I think you’re the last one on it. If this is about the money…”

“It’s not about the money.” Abby picked up the prospectus again and quickly looked through it. It was remote. She’d live on-site and do a lot of the work herself. Why was she even considering this? A few years ago she’d severed all ties with any form of home base. She had a storage locker somewhere, containing the things she didn’t want to part with, but there was no home base. Not since she’d divorced and started to work on larger projects.

 

“I’ll take the job.” It was out of Abby’s mouth before she was aware of it. The house had a strange pull on her. If it was dark or light energy, she couldn’t establish. Time would have to tell. She wouldn’t sign any contract that wouldn’t allow her an escape if she wanted to.

Julie sighed in relief. Abby had been her last hope. It had taken some research and quite some effort to get in touch, and after doing that very prestigious project, Julie had doubted if the older woman would be in for a mere family home. She had not gotten where she was, however, if she’d accepted no for an answer. Being on top in the business world meant you had to drive hard bargains and just get things done.

 

 Sunday morning, by the first light, Abby drove her van onto the estate. She knew for safety reasons it would be wiser to bring someone, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Her first meeting with the house Abby wanted to do on her own, unspoiled by any other energy. She’d spent quite some time chatting to Julie, and one thing had been apparent. Julie didn’t understand a wink of her clients wish for the house to be restored. Who wanted to live in some old, noisy, windy building when there were suitable apartments available everywhere. It was something Abby couldn’t explain to her, and she wasn’t even going to try.

All the information she got about the client was that this house was in their portfolio and he wanted it restored, after which he’d decide on its fate. It was hard for Abby to work on a property if she didn’t know for who it was. On the other hand, it meant that she more or less had carte blanche. That was cool in a way too.

Upon turning onto the driveway, through the open gates, she could see the gardeners had been by to make the estate ready for winter. Trees and bushes had been cut back. The driveway had been uncovered from years of neglect. It didn’t take long before Abby got a first peek at the house. It pretty much resembled the picture she’d seen in the prospectus.

Resisting the urge to go straight for the main house, she parked in front of the garage, entered through a side door, and took the stairs to the apartment above. The décor was several decades out of date, but everything appeared spotless, clean, and ready for her to move in. It would need a few repairs which Abby considered she could do before the work on the main house would start for real. Since she’d be there for nearly a year, it would be worth the effort. The project was due by the end of September. If the plans from the architect were anything to go by, that should be doable, provided she managed everything tight enough.

Upon dropping her bags on the double bed in the room off the lounge, sunlight peeked in on her. Whatever the main house had to offer, the energy in this small building was excellent.

Through a window, Abby looked at the main house. It seemed to push her away and pull her in at the same time.

Giving up the fight, she walked back to the small lounge room/kitchen, took the keyring from the counter and made her way downstairs.

Through the utility room, she entered the house. She took the door on her right and stood in the middle of the kitchen. As she carefully looked around the room, a strange sensation washed over her. She couldn’t place what she was feeling. Here, like in her apartment, everything was spotless. A team of cleaners had been by to make Abby’s job a lot easier. She’d been scared she would have to clear away thirty years of dirt before being able to get to work. Perhaps it had been one of the previous candidates for the job that had demanded it. She didn’t know, and she didn’t care.

The bright blue agar seemed to smile at her. It was in sharp contrast with the ugly radiator. There were so many more fitting solutions for that these days. More becoming, and less standing out. It didn’t take away that the kitchen nearly overwhelmed Abby. Slightly nauseous, she sat down on the shallow window seat. And as sudden as her unease had appeared, it vanished too. “At least this job is not going to be boring.” She said to the room, building at large. She was alone, but the energy seemed to creep out of every surface, welcoming her, pushing her away. “I’m here for you.” She whispered. “I’m not going to chase you away.” And like that the room settled. Not in trust, but anticipation. This house had stood here for two hundred years; it wasn’t going to trust a stranger on first glance.

Abby was well aware of her assignment. Preserve as many original features as possible, while making it a perfectly functioning modern home with a personality. There it was again. Whose personality?

Closing her eyes, she let the energy of the house fill her up. This was always the scary part. Was it willing to talk to her? If not, she might as well give up immediately. Doing a project on mere knowledge of an era and its materials was like dragging through the mud. She wanted to know what the house wanted to be for its master. Even if she had no clue who that master was.

The vibrations were weak. As if whispered from a faraway place. But they were there. Abby sighed in relief and got up. For her first walkthrough, she didn’t look at the work to be done yet. She merely introduced herself to the house and made herself familiar with its spaces. There were some fine period features. And some horrible modern adjustments. What struck her, though, was that through the entire house, there was not one piece of furniture. No curtains, no pillows, no chairs, nothing. Every room she entered was as bare as the room she just left. In her memory, she searched anything was said about it in the brochure or by Julie.

Her wandering through lasted longer than Abby had planned. Relieved, she came back to the kitchen. Her blank canvas, with a few the guidelines of an architect. And she thought the hotel she’d just finished had been a monster task.

 

 With a groan, she welcomed his kiss. “Mrs Abigail MacAllister,” Antoine whispered to her lips.

Abigail pulled back an inch and rewarded him with a wide smile. “I’m so happy.”

Slowly he pushed her towards the bed, as his hand pulled up the skirt of her long dress. “Abigail,” he said hoarsely, feeling her respond to what he did. Her hands had started unbuttoning his shirt. “Yes, Antoine.”

“You’re too damn beautiful. I’m glad you didn’t ask your maid to help you out of this dress.” It was a complicated thing, with ribbons and bows. And yet he enjoyed himself tremendously as he unpacked her like she was the most precious gift ever. He liked how not shy she was. There was a definite upside to marrying a widow. She wasn’t shy or coy. Finally, he stroked her naked skin. She sighed happily when his hand cupped her breast.

“Please.” She begged, throwing her head back. Antoine kissed her neck and trailed down to her breast. Together they fell to the bed. Although Abigail had tried to undress her new husband, she’d not been able to undo more than his buttons. He leaned over her. Her hands moved under his shirt and pushed it out of the way. “I want to touch you.” She stated.

Her lips kissed his chest, his nipples as his hand found that spot between her legs that was desperate for his attention. She spread her legs a bit further, giving him access.

“Do you like this, Abigail?” He asked teasingly.

Her hand had found the waistband of his trousers. “Yes, milord.”

He took her hand away from him and pressed her down on the bed. “You’re indecent.” He established, seeing her writhe underneath him.

She laughed happily. “That’s what you love about me.”

He bent down and kissed her breast, letting go of her hands and cupping them both. He’d been with girls before, never with a woman like Abigail. One who was more than happy to have him touch her. Who was so at ease with her body.

Again he fingered her. Her knees bent up, her hands manhandling his black curls.

A moan escaped her when his thumb pushed to her clit. She wanted more.

Through the closeness of their bodies, Abigail managed to lower one hand and stroked the considerable bulge in his pants, making him groan out loud.

“Abigail.” He warned her. They had waited for this a long time. He didn’t want to waste his orgasm when her body was so warm and generous under him.

“Do it, Antoine.” She urged him. The need was getting high.

“Abigail, it’s been a long time for you, you’re still so tight.” He could barely move two fingers inside her wetness. From experience, he knew he was bigger than that, and as much as he wanted to fuck her, he didn’t want to hurt her.

“It’s fine.” Decidedly she shoved his pants down, freeing up his generous sized lid. She’d not seen it before and was somewhat shocked by its size. Her late husband had most certainly not been this well endowed. Stroking it, she imagined how it would feel, filling her up—stretching her to the verge of painful.

The notion made her throw her hips forward, harder onto his fingers.

Antoine gave in. Her hand was doing magical things to him. He was rock hard and ready for action.

Abigail grabbed his shoulders as he reached between them and put his rod at her entrance. “Nice and easy.” He coached her. Her mouth opened half in a scream when he pushed the tip inside of her. The stretch was excellent.

“Sweet Lord.” Abigail took a deep breath and tried to relax. It did hurt, but only a little. A hot edge that spread amazing warmth through her lower body.

Antoine paused as he watched what he did ripple through her. His hand was on her cheek. He wanted to look into her eyes.

Gently he slid a bit further.

“Oh. Full.” Abigail muttered.

Comfortingly Antoine smiled down at her. “Not nearly Abigail. Don’t worry. You can take me.”

She nodded, her hands tight around his arms, stuck between pulling him closer and pushing him away. “Do it. I’m good.” She said when she noticed he held back. It might be their first time; it wasn’t her first time. She wasn’t alien to what would happen, and she found that all this nice and easy wasn’t enough.

Antoine moved back and had wanted to slide back in gently. Abigail never gave him a chance. Upon his forward movement, she mirrored his gesture and pushed herself over him hard.

A scream escaped her, followed by a sound that was nearly a purr.

 

“Abigail,” Antoine said worriedly. But when he looked at her face, he knew he needn’t worry. Slowly he started his in and out movement. Her responses soon encouraged him to go harder and faster. She met him with equal force.

He had been looking forward to this so much that he was scared he’d come before her. And for their first time, that just wasn’t good enough.

Abigail had put the back of her hand to her mouth to keep from waking up the entire household. It looked incredibly sexy. Her eyes widened when Antoine straightened out a bit and put his hand to her little ruby, inviting her to push back, to show him how she wanted it.

Her hand dropped down on its own accord and covered his. That was certainly new to her.

Her entire body convulsed when Abigail came. She trashed her head side to side in the pillow and allowed it to wash through her. Upon her muscles contracting, Antoine found that he could no longer hold back either. Later he’d do a better job. He silently promised them both. Right now Antoine had to come though.

Abigail felt his juices pumping inside of her, filling her with heat.

Almost disappointed, she sighed. She’d liked to feel more of it.

“Ssssh.” Antoine fell beside her on the bed. “Don’t worry. Not nearly done with you yet.”

 

 Abby woke up with her hand down her pyjama bottoms. She’d had dreams like this before, usually waking up before the peak. This time had been different. She felt the wetness and blushed. The feeling that this was indecent was too deeply ingrained in her to ignore. In her sleep, though. There wasn’t anything she could have done.

Although Abby was used to vivid dreams, this one had felt very real. In the master bedroom of the big house. It had been her, but it hadn’t. There had been candles. She’d worn a dress in a style that had gone out of fashion at least a hundred years ago. The room had been richly furnished and decorated. And Antoine. Gosh, he had felt as if she could reach out and touch him now. She was alone, though, in the apartment over the garage. She hoped this was her brain filling in the details about the house, the textures and colours.

With a sigh Abby sat up and looked out the window, seeing the house. It was dark and quiet. Damn, that had been a good dream. It had been ages since Abby had had proper sex. It was probably everything combined: the unknowns, the strange energy of the house. Properly being alone for the first time in a very long time. Her body merely needed to get rid of some excess energy. Soon the physical work would start, and then she’d no longer have the energy for such adventures.

After sleeping in, Abby got up and set to work. For that day, she had lots of research planned. Lunch at the Hall further down the road. The house she had to restore had been part of the estate, and Abby wanted to see how the rest of it had been developed to get a good grasp.

The tour took a lot longer than Abby had anticipated. But she did get to see everything from the attic to every nook and cranny in the cellar.

The grand ballroom had been restored last since its grandeur had pushed hardest on the budget. It was deserted when Abby walked in.

She closed her eyes and imagined dancing there. Only the time seemed off. She didn’t see the modern wedding, but the Abigail from her dream last night, dancing with Antoine. He had been so handsome, kind, and hot. Abby would love to meet a guy like that in real life. Then again, men like that were most likely already taken, and certainly not interested in strong, independent, and fat women like her. Throughout the years, men had had no scruples telling her what they thought of a woman like her.

Due to the length of the tour, lunch had become tea, and Abby had to hurry to see another property before it was well and truly dark. An old farmhouse. She considered that what she’d lovingly started calling her house, would have to be in between the Hall and the farm, where styling was concerned. She wanted to do it justice.

She didn’t go into the big house upon returning. Abby had not been inside all day. Before going to sleep, she merely shot a glance at it, wondering if it had more surprises for her that night.

After a night of quiet, deep, and uneventful sleep, Abby woke up. With a fresh pot of coffee, she took her first delivery that morning. In the extension behind the kitchen and utility room, in what would later become the event room, she set up her workshop. The builders would be using one of the stables for storing their gear and materials. Abby wanted her things closer at hand. For now, she was the mistress of the house, so she figured she could get away with it. Besides, most of the work she was going to do on her own, and it would be good to be able to lock the door when she was there alone.

A workbench with tools was along one wall, a desk against the wall opposite.

She laid out the floor plans and hung the drawings of the architect on the wall above it. She also mounted a large computer screen. Although working on a laptop was convenient, sometimes it was better to see it on a bigger screen.

The day was spent setting up both physically and digitally. In the afternoon she ate a microwave soup with some bread she’d gotten from the bakery the day before. In the past, she’d baked bread herself. Wouldn’t it be nice to do that with the old AGA in the kitchen? She could almost taste it.

It would have to wait until she had the thing checked out though. For now, she couldn’t be sure if it was safe to use. The walkthrough with the electrician was the next day as well as someone who would check the heating. The structural check had been performed before the architect had started.

Abby considered that the first two weeks, it would mostly be planning, and fleshing out the rooms. She could start on some small jobs herself, but anything that would require a contractor would probably not happen until the new year. It would be foolish to start up all the work, only to have it lay still mostly over the holidays.

 

To Dreams of the Past part 2

Dreams of the Past part 2

“Ssssh. Lay still.” Antoine said in his wife’s ear. He kissed the side of her neck as he pulled her back close to his chest. She giggled. They were still naked. Abigail hadn’t bothered with a nightgown, and her husband had gladly kicked off of his clothes before joining her for another round of lovemaking. Abigail had been surprised when he had started stroking her again. “I was under the impression you didn’t have enough yet. And the second round is even better than the first. Longer lasting fun.” Antoine had told her with his nose buried in her hair.

Suddenly Abigail had felt like a virgin. She’d thought she knew a thing or two about sex. She was, after all, a widow and had enjoyed sex with her husband.

Antoine was so different though.

She moved her butt closer to his hips, making it easier for him to stroke her lower. Again he took his time. He wasn’t nearly ready yet, and he wanted her to enjoy this thoroughly. His lips were on her neck, on her shoulder, to her spine. Abigail groaned loudly under his touch. “So good.” She mumbled. Forgotten was all the tiredness of their wedding day. It hadn’t been a huge celebration. Antoine’s family wasn’t in favour of the wedding, and Abigail being a widow had made them decide to keep it small. Antoine had promised her a proper celebration for later in bed. It appeared he was going to keep his word.

His hand crept lower over her stomach. Caressing her belly, making her giggle as he ran a finger over it.

“Ssssh.” He urged her again. Lying still was a huge ask for Abigail. It was arousing though, being told to do so. All there was left, was to feel.

He reached even further down, not immediately shoving his fingers in, but tenderly discovering her folds. Feeling in his arms how she responded to his touch—slowly driving her insane.

“Is that all for me?” He asked when he felt her wetness.

“Hmmm.” He ran his finger over her clit and further until it filled her up. One finger was hardly enough after his lovely lid had stretched her up earlier. It would have to do. He wasn’t going to give her anymore. As much as she wanted to hurry him up, this passively undergoing it was a strange turn-on. She was trapped between his arms, her head to his shoulder so he could kiss her neck. He mumbled French words in her ear she didn’t understand.

For all she cared. Antoine could be giving the weather forecast. It sounded incredibly sexy and arousing. Abby’s hand clung to his arm, not wanting to risk that he’d let go of her now. As she moved her body in line with is fingering, she felt his growing lid to her behind. “Don’t stop.” She begged. “Please.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, ma Cherie.” He whispered, his lips close to her ear.

He felt how close she was to peaking. Stopping now would be downright mean. Later he might explore the wonders of postponing with her, but right now, her pleasure was all he wanted.

He loved how she tried to restrain her squeak when she came. He felt it rumble through her body, as he kept her close to his.

“That’s it, Abigail. Let go.”

With a small gesture, Antoine repositioned her and effortlessly slid his stiff rod into her wet core.

“Oh, crap.” She sighed at the sensation. It wasn’t as tight as it had been before. It still gave her that feeling of being all full though. His hands kept her hips firmly in place as he moved in and out of her. He was aware that she wanted to try and speed him up. He wouldn’t stand for it, however. Abigail loved it when he took the lead, and Antoine didn’t have any scruples doing just that.

Soon it wasn’t enough anymore though for neither of them. Antoine gave his bride a slight push until she lay on her stomach, made sure her legs were spread far enough and restarted his action.

Abigail’s eyes widened in surprise at feeling how deep he could come this way. A feeling she’d never had before washed over her. Before she’d always needed something on her clit to set her off. This time she felt like she was going to orgasm on just being fucked alone. It felt amazing. His lid scraping across something deep inside her belly that responded almost as her clit did.

Antoine saw that she hid her face in the pillows not to scream. For a moment he was worried that he was hurting her, but when he put his hand on her back, she moaned gleefully. “More.” She begged.

There was something about the total submission of a woman. Antoine knew he had a weak spot for that. He thought the women he’d been with before had engaged in that kind of play just to please him. After all, he either paid them very well, or he was the catch of the season. Seeing Abigail’s surrender, though, he felt that it was genuine. She wanted him to take the lead.

He pushed his hand down a little harder, making it impossible for Abigail to move. A groan was his answer. She didn’t fight him. Didn’t let him know she didn’t enjoy it. Instead, her body seemed to adhere to his will even more.

“Come for me, Abigail. Do it.” Antoine ordered. He wanted to feel it. Needed it.

To both their surprises, on his command, she did. She hid the small scream in the pillow, biting it with all her might. It felt so incredibly good. She doubted if she’d ever had an orgasm this deep. For a moment she thought that he’d come with her, as some liquid spilt from her. Then she realised it had to be hers.

Antoine kept up the pace, right until Abigail’s body relaxed.

“That was so sexy.” He complimented her as he moved away, giving her room to turn over. She gladly sat up to kiss him. His fingers dug in deep inside of her, not wanting to lose momentum. His other arm was protectively around her back, keeping her close.

“It was.” She whispered, still out of breath. Her hands were on his shoulder, wondering what he expected of her. Gently she gave him a push. He followed her unspoken order and landed with his back on the bed.

Abigail lifted her leg and sat over him, sliding his rod right back where it belonged. It was a position her husband had always liked very much, and Abigail loved the sense of control it gave her. Her surrender to Antoine, though freely given, and hotter than hell, had surprised her and she needed to get back in control. It had been too scary.

"Hmm, I like this, Madam.” Antoine reached out to touch any part of her he could reach. Her breasts that happily bounced up and down in his view. Her sternum, which he knew was very sensitive to his touch. He watched her throw her head back as she rode him hard and deep.

When he thought he couldn’t bear anymore, Antoine took her hand and led it to where he was nestled inside of her.

Her eyes widened as he put a finger on her little ruby. That was certainly something she’d never done before. “Go for it.” Antoine encouraged her.

The sound she made was best described as a growl. Then it became a moan.

Antoine couldn’t hold back anymore. As her muscles contracted around him in her peak, he started to squirt his juices. Holding on to her hips to prevent her from getting away until he was good and well done.

Abigail fell forward, accepting his arms tightly around him.

“You are the most beautiful woman on the planet.” He whispered, kissing her, stroking her hair.

 

 Tony woke up with a jolt. His hand was around his lid, and he could feel the juices on it. Crap, he wasn’t a teenager anymore, was he? He’d had dreams like this before, but not in years had he orgasmed in his sleep. Usually, he woke up just before, considering if he was going to finish, or not. And pretty often, he’d had company who was more than willing to help him do the job.

Not for a long time, though. After his marriage had failed nearly two years ago, and a dirty divorce had taken place, Tony had lost his appetite. There had been a few fleeting contacts at first, but ever since moving to this apartment, he’d been celibate.

Maybe he should reconsider it and start dating again. This was a sure sign that his body was ready to move on, wasn’t it?

Still gently stroking himself, he lay back on the bed, with his head on the pillows, remembering the lady in his dreams. From what he remembered, she was unlike any woman he’d ever been with. She’d been older and heavier. More his age, he had to admit. He was well in his forties, and his wife had been twenty-seven at their divorce. The woman in his dreams had been so at ease with herself, so sexy.

He shook his head, ran his hand through his dark curls, and threw off his duvet. There was a busy day ahead of him, and he had no time to waste on this nonsense. Busy restaurants didn’t run themselves. But even in the shower, he wasn’t able to shake the image of the dream that had woke him up. Everything about the dream had been unknown to him. He didn’t need new things; he needed to settle down.

 

 Satisfied, Abby looked around. She had been at the estate for a full two weeks now. She’d had meetings with the architect, with prospected contractors, and several other companies she would deploy on the house over the next year.

For the umpteenth time, she’d found out that being a woman in this world made that she had to prove herself much more than any man would have needed. It made her thankful she was in charge of the hiring. The cheapest option might have been most promising, but a man that kept calling her ‘love’ and told her ‘not to break her little head’ over things, was not getting any money she had a say over.

She was in the barn that day, getting it ready to store the first of the materials she’d ordered. The air here seemed less dense than it was in the house. More playful, even, maybe.

Abby worked very hard, and most nights, sleep was dreamless. Often she woke up, feeling aroused though. She wondered what that strange power of the house was. That it had been empty for so long, but it still seemed to carry that intense energy. There was no furniture around to store it in. It was stronger on days when she’d been at work inside.

As she walked back to her workshop, she heard the heavy motor of a truck pull up at the house. It turned before the garage along the path Abby had made sure was clear. She walked out to the back gate and opened it.

The truck driver jumped out and handed her the paperwork. She quickly checked it and okayed the shipment of wood. She would use it for some of the smaller jobs she’d do over the weeks until after New Year’s when the contractor would move in with his crew and help her out on the bigger jobs.

Abby pointed out where the wood had to go and helped to unload quickly. She found that she could be perfectly alone at the estate.

The truck driver had been somewhat surprised to find a mere woman there, but she seemed to know what she was doing.

When he had left, Abby went back to the barn and unpacked the wood. She felt the tingle at the back of her neck and down her spine. The scent of the materials was strong, and she loved it.

She vividly remembered the first time she’d smelled this fresh woody aroma. That summer, when she’d stayed over at her grandparents because her parents were out of town. Her grandfather had already retired but had been a carpenter. He still spent most of his time in the workshop behind the house. Making small furniture, or wood-carvings. Abby had been three, maybe four years old. Her grandfather had shown her the rocking chair he made her. She’d sat in it for what felt hours, watching him work right until he asked her if she wanted to help him. The wood dust had covered her face and dress. Not to mention her grandmother’s scream of terror upon walking in and finding a young girl handling a sharp chisel.

There had been plenty of mishaps in that workshop. If there was one thing that Abby’s grandfather had taught her, it was that wood was forgiving and patient. Maybe Abby should have been as well.

 

 Although Abby had not planned for it, she couldn’t resist and started the work on one of the projects she’d assigned herself. The restoration of the fine woodwork in the master bedroom. She remembered the room vividly from her dream. The challenge was to fill in the details.

It was dark early. Feeling a bit guilty for deviating from her strict planning, Abby returned first to her workshop to log the work and then to her apartment over the garage. She stripped downstairs and put her clothes in the washer. Butt naked, feeling naughty she ran up the stairs and got into the shower.

The warm water washed over her, taking the wood dust with it.

Relaxing after the hard, physical work, Abby leaned to the wall and closed her eyes.

There was no need to wait for dreams. Abby saw the barn in her mind’s eye. But not as it was now. As it had to have been when the estate was up and running.

Food for the horses, materials for working the extensive vegetable garden. 

 

 She felt her dress whirl around her legs as she laughingly ran in.

“Abigail. Don’t run. I swear, I’ll spank you!” Antoine had followed her inside. She looked back at him and could only see his silhouette outlined in the light streaming in.

Abigail giggled and ran into a small space between the items stocked, only to find a dead end.

Antoine had caught up with her.

“Oh my, we are in trouble, aren’t we?” He asked when he saw his wife look around for a way out.

Slowly he closed in, leaving it to her to consider if she was going to climb up to get away. When he saw she was about to, he launched forward and pushed her to the wall. Pinning her with his body, his hand on her stomach.

“You know what happens to women who tease, don’t you?” He whispered hoarsely. He suggestively stroked the fabric of her dress, as grabbed her hair behind her head.

Severely limited in her motion, she nodded. Her panting made her chest move up and down against Antoine’s.

His hand had found the hem of her dress and slipped under it, sliding into her panties and thrusting two fingers inside hard.

“Antoine.” It was halfway between begging him to continue and begging him to stop. Abigail’s hands grabbed his arms. “We can’t. We’ll get caught.” She begged. It was broad daylight, and plenty of people were at work on the estate.

His lips sought out hers, demanding access and kissing her vigorously. She groaned underneath his touch, writhing her lower body to his hand. She didn’t want him to stop, not really.

“We are married. You are my wife. We’re allowed to have sex whenever we want. And if you’re worried about getting caught, I suggest you be very, very quiet.” As if on cue, they heard two of the gardeners walk by. Abigail swallowed and nodded.

“Good,” Antoine said, with an evil smile.

In one move, he retrieved his hand from between her legs and pushed her face down over a bag. With big eyes, Abigail looked around and concluded they were mostly hidden from direct view.

Antoine pushed her dress up and over her upper body. Then lowered her panties, baring her bottom. His fingers sunk back in her wetness. She’d not been this wet before, but he had to admire her speed at getting ready for him.

He had no intention of fucking her yet though. Instead, he pulled his hand back and landed it hard on her bare bottom.

A startled “Ouch,” escaped Abigail’s lips.

“Quiet, remember?” Antoine merely said as he repeated the gesture on her other butt cheek. This time she was more successful at hiding her scream.

Another set of smacks hit her bottom. She managed not to utter a single sound at them.

Antoine looked down at her. She’d not surrendered yet, merely pretended so he’d get a move on. In such a short time, he’d learned to read her so well.

She moved her behind, in the hope of catching him. She wanted to feel him. He had made her crave sex more than she could ever have imagined. How indecent had he made her? Her dead husband would turn in his grave if he could see her now. And so would probably her parents. She no longer cared. Antoine had become her entire universe.

He ran a finger down her spine, over the fabric of her dress. Although he was reasonably sure, the staff would leave them alone, if they noticed them being here, but he’d rather not expose her to them. He should get going.

Making her wait by putting his hand on the small of her back, he opened his trousers and playfully moved against her backside.

Then he saw the surrender he was looking for. The muscles of Abigail’s neck unclenched, and she relaxed her body, waiting.

With a low grumbling moan, Abigail welcomed Antoine’s lid. It felt like ages ago, although it had been only last night. She loved the feeling of being stuck between his muscular body and an unforgiving hard surface.

He paced in and out, faster and faster. Hanging on to her hips to penetrate as deeply as possible. Abigail liked it hard and deep. He had found out that much by now. The dress had covered her head, but Antoine could hear her muffled sounds. When he pulled it away, he could see she’d pushed her mouth to the back of her hand not to scream out loud.

He found that he wanted to break her resistance. That he wanted to make her scream.

He slightly bent his knees and thrust from a different angle, sending her over the edge. The groan would not be stopped entirely, but Abigail couldn’t help it. She came so hard. She was lucky she could cover any sound at all.

As she slowly recovered, Antoine was still pounding her. She also felt his hand on her bottom, his thumb resting in the crevice between her butt cheeks. She tried to push back, to let him know it was okay.

As if he noticed, he slid his hand down a little further, gently massaging the tight ring there. The sound she made then, and the tightening up around him, unexpectedly made him fire off. Frantically he pushed his come inside of her as he groaned hard. He didn’t have the same scruples she had. Then again, he was born and raised at an estate and was very comfortable being the boss.

 

 Abby rested her hand between her legs a little longer. Waiting for the strength to return. Smiling, she thought of her hot little fantasy. Maybe she should just write them down, she considered. There might come a time she wouldn’t have them anymore.

She washed up and got out of the shower, happy that this water bill wouldn’t land on her doormat. With a huge fluffy towel, she dried off and crawled into bed, not bothering putting on any pyjamas. Opening her nightstand, she pulled out the vibrator she’d recently bought. She wasn’t done yet, she decided, lying back in the pillows and closing her eyes. Still wet from her adventure in the shower, she imagined being back in the barn. It was as it had looked that afternoon. The pungent smell of wood filling her nostrils. Her fingers stroked it.

“You’ll get splinters if you’re not careful.” A voice warmly said.

Abby turned and saw Antoine standing there. In jeans and a black sweater, this time.

“I’m not scared of a little splinter.” She said.

He smiled at her, she’d heard it in the warmth of his voice.

“You’re not?” He asked as he walked over to her. His hands were on her hips as he pulled her close and kissed her.

She shoved her hands under his sweater. It felt fluffy on the backs of her hands, where his skin felt warm and smooth.

“Inpatient, aren’t we?”

“Very,” Abby said, pushing the sweater up.

“I might get cold.” He complained as he threw it off.

“I’ll keep you warm.” She promised.

Antoine gave her a little push until she felt the wood behind her. She put her hands on it and easily lifted herself until she sat upon the stack.

His body slid between her legs as his hands cupped her breast underneath her T-shirt. “Aren’t you cold in this flimsy thing?” He muttered to her lips.

“Never. Woodworking always keeps me warm.” She said with a giggle. He made her feel so light and free of cares.

“Hmmm, I must remember that.” At that point, the double entendre of her remark got to Abby. She bent her head back as she laughed out loud. Antoine took the opportunity to kiss her exposed neck.

Abby’s hand stroked his dark curly hair, and neck, wanting him to know that she loved what he did.

Then he pushed her down.

“I want to taste you.” He said.

His hands stroked her legs as she quickly undid her jeans. They seemed to vanish along with her panties, exposing her to Antoine.

He first ran a finger along her labia, making her shiver with desire. She considered taking over, doing the job herself but relished in the wait.

Two fingers slid inside with ease, followed nearly immediately with his lips to her exposed skin.

“Yes.” Abby groaned, hollowing her back in the hope of getting closer, getting more.

On purpose, he avoided her clit, as he kissed her skin, licked her cunt, and fingered her deeply.

When her hand reached out to his head and pulled his curls though, he wouldn’t deny her needs any longer.

“Yesss!” She yelled as she felt his tongue on her ruby. “Yesss.” He didn’t let up. Fingering her harder, adding a finger, and meanwhile licking and nibbling, he whirled her higher and higher.

Her shoulders bounced on the wood as she came hard. She didn’t hold back on screams and groans. The whole estate could probably hear her; she didn’t care. It was just her there.

Antoine kept at it, right until a second orgasm took over.

Abby’s hand let go of the vibrator, and where it had touched her clit, her hand took over, not ready to entirely let go yet. Keeping her eyes closed, she rubbed herself, sliding her fingers in and out. Until a third, sweet little peak helped her body calm back down. Fully relaxed, she spread out. Giggling at herself. She was certainly getting better at this.

 

To Dreams of the Past part 3