An Anniversary to Remember The harvest had given way to the last month of winter in San Francisco. A young couple walked along the old pier, a pier which is simply called the Muni pier by most locals. The fisherman cast out by the rocks which contour the shoreline area. The seagulls, wheeling and crying calling out to one another as they dove, wings skimming the surface above the foam in search of food. The chill of winter glistened with salt spray over the Pacific Ocean. “Excuse me, would you mind taking our picture?” John stopped an elder American Indian man walking by. “Sure” he took the camera. “Are you visiting from outside of California?” “No, we live in Roseville. We’re here celebrating our first wedding anniversary.” Nina offered. “Congratulations. Where are you staying in the city?” “The Victorian bed and breakfast on the hill –“John started to say. “Oh” the elder’s face became serious, “it’s been around since 1845,” he continued. “It was a popular brothel house until a young prostitute was murdered in her room by a jealous client. Her spirit is not free of the room,” he paused. “People have said they could still hear her bloodcurdling screams.” “What room was she murdered in do you know?” suspecting that the extreme coldness in the room was for a reason. “Nina, you don’t really believe the story, do you?” John was grinning at her in disbelief. “Well, maybe that would explain the mysterious scent of a woman’s perfume that lingers in the room.” “My grandfather tells of a velvet red tapestry wall paper that was left in the room she was murdered in, to honor her memory.” “Thank you for that very entertaining story” John extended his hand out to the man in a friendly gesture. They headed back to the Italianate turn of the century Victorian, finding parking three blocks away on a steep angled hill typical to San Francisco. Haunted or not it was still majestic with enormous bay windows, wide eaves with brackets and tall arched windows with the trim painted in the traditional blue-gray violent and plum purple. The Louis XV period pieces and the end of the nineteenth century antiques was impressive, Ankara escort there was something about the history involved that took you back in time to ornate mirrors and the swish of swirling skirts dancing in tune to an Italian waltz. “What if she’s in our room?” John teased unlocking the door. “If you don’t believe the story than why are you still standing in the door way, huh?” Nina teased back. “Look, it’s perfectly fine,” he pointed to the elegant four poster bed. “No ghosts in here either,” he gestured towards the bathroom with the porcelain claw foot tub. “You know, there’s only one way to find out if the story is true.” She taunted. He arched his eyebrow accepting the challenge and went into the closet and carefully peeled back a small corner of the wall paper. Nina knew he had discovered the red velvet tapestry because his sarcasm had given way to silence. They laughed and laughed like two scared teenagers double daring each other to stay for another night. Normally, the spirit whore would have had them running scared out of the Victorian hotel. But it had been a long time since she had any visitors in her boudoir. The previous hotel owner had forbid the renting out of her room because people reported being sexually fondled by something they couldn’t see and of hearing light sexual moaning late at night. For now, her name isn’t of matter; only know that she was a harlot working on Maiden Lane in 1848. It was actually known as Morton Alley in those days. It wasn’t uncommon for a prostitute to service eighty to one hundred men in one day. But her story was different because of her fair skin and red hair. The harlot took pride in that she could charge more than any of the other girls and had her pick and choose of the men. She wasn’t looking for love or starving for romantic gestures, like most of the other girls. Nor was she hoping to find a suitor to rescue her from whoring. Her desires were simple and uncomplicated, she wanted to be fucked. Late into the night, when the cold and fog had rolled into the city in pale wisps of white and gray, the spirit harlot Ankara escort bayan went to work. It always began with a mysterious electricity coursing between the couple. It made Nina’s breathing quicken with anticipation to have John’s lips on hers. And he was coveting her shiny red lips, with his finger he began to smudge her lipstick roughly all over her mouth, “you’re mine,” he growled with a storm of passion brewing in his eyes. His hands hungered for her breast, her nipples slipping through his fingers. His mouth was everywhere. His mouth tasted the sweet river between her legs. Her breathing became a light moaning, her body twisting, her back arching, his mouth eager, he circled around and around, sucking, licking her up and down, his tongue soft and hard, she wanted to savor the pleasure but her body was begging for a release. He grasped her ass with his two hands, holding the fish on his hook, steady, devouring what is his, she was searching for the edge of euphoria. He was feasting, the sounds of her moisture escaping his mouth, he ate and ate. “Fuck!” She moaned, exploding, floating, and floating; Nina had never known such pleasure. “Let me please you,” she cooed seductively at her husband. She touched him with the tips of her fingers, slowing moving up and down his length. He was so hard and she was thrilled by the power yielded from moving her hands over him. Hard, erect, he moaned, his eyes glazed she filled her mouth with him. His saltiness rushed down her chin, dripping onto her breasts. His fingers began slipping in and out of her orifice, “I will have you,” his breathing a rhythm deep and fast. His cock hard once more, aching and throbbing for his wife, she looked into the gray and black storm passing through his eyes as he penetrated her. He whispered soothing noises, moving in and out of her slowing, gently at first. Until he pounded into her, her fingers digging into him, the pleasure, the pain, he fucked her over and over until his body was covered it sweat, until there was an explosion, a mixture of hard and wetness as he released Escort Ankara into her. The young couple lay legs entangled, hands intertwined and before they caught their breath, the scent of perfume lingered once more causing another frenzy of assiduous love making. The Spirit Harlot was having her way with Him A good prostitute could pick out a man who was looking for sex a mile away. And she had been a good prostitute. A young guy staggered his way toward the Victorian bed and breakfast. He was trying to understand what went wrong. He and his girlfriend were having dinner at Alliotos Seafood, she had the angel hair pasta with clams, scallops and shrimps in a white garlic butter sauce and he had the moon shaped pasta stuffed with salmon in a marinara sauce. They were supposed to have a romantic evening. He must have said something stupid to have her storm out of the restaurant leaving him to spend the night alone. He was trying not to be an ass about it but all that money spent for nothing, he punched his pillow trying to fall asleep. He felt sexually frustrated. The harlot took pity on him. Ordinary relationships would have never worked for her. She craved the freedom of having sex. In her days, it was 50 men to every woman. All a prostitute had to do was rent a room for seventy-five cents or a dollar and have sex. And tonight she was craving the feel of a penis inside of her. The guy awakened when he felt the sensation of hands touching his penis, a mouth gliding up and down his fully erect cock. Before he had a chance to become scared, she appeared to him, a beautiful young woman wearing a Victorian style Lolita body suit. The black vintage lace against her porcelain skin, her red and wavy hair flowing down the small curve of her back, she was erotic. He could hear her sexual moan escaping from her ruby mouth while she sat astride on him. He could see her long graceful legs and felt the sensation of light pumping on his erection. Was this all in his mind? But how could it be, because he could smell her perfume, a hint of night blooming flowers, vanilla and musk. He closed his eyes and moaned with pleasure. When he opened his eyes again he saw her full lips devouring his cock again. She sat astride on him once more, pulling out, rubbing her pussy against his prominate penis over and over; she pushed down on him, his throbbing penis going into her deep. The spirit harlot was having her way with him.