The Dunwich Romance Read Online Free PDF

about to ask him to do this, but—
    His huge, sudsy hand withdrew. “Thar. All nice’n clean naow?”
    Sary could’ve toppled over. Heart drumming, and the nerves of her breasts and sex asquirm, she replied. “Thuh...thank yew, yes...”
    Her lust-gauzed vision glimpsed Wilbur’s hand hanging a plush white towel on a peg. “Ye rinse off naow and dry yourself,” and then he closed the curtain behind her.
    An actual orgasm was an experience so far removed from her that she couldn’t even contemplate the last time she’d had one. The rampant sexual abuse from her father as well as the suitors of her trade delivered no such delights. But...Wilbur..., she mused. His unnaturally large hands on her, and those impossible fingers running between her legs... The sensation left her desperate as a weasel cornered with a pitchfork, to bring her own hands to her sex right this moment and make herself climax.
    The gums of her missing front teeth clasped down on her lip; her sex continued to beat. Sary knew that if she masturbated even behind the curtain, she’d generate enough noise to alarm Wilbur.
    She slumped in a tingling frustration, pulled the can-lever, and rinsed all the suds off.
    After drying herself, she wrapped the towel about her body and stepped out of the metal tub. Wilbur now stood nearly stooped over, hanging up Sary’s stitched-back-to-rights gown up on a window peg.
    “Wow,” she said, “yew fixed’n warshed my dress that fast?”
    “Warn’t no trouble. Hope ye liked your shower.”
    “I sure did!” she couldn’t have replied with more enthusiasm. “I en’t felt this squeaky clean since I was real little, when my ma’d scrub me in the tub.” The remembrance of her mother brought a great smile to her mauled face, but in a moment more, the smile corroded.
    “But now that I think back, lot’a them times my ma were warshing me? My father’d come in then, and...” She felt like some flimsy building about to collapse. “Aw, never mind.”
    “Wun’t a good man, I take it?”
    Sary shook her head quickly then sat down on a handmade footstool and began to rub her hair dry. She didn’t notice; however, after her brief reference to her father, the look in Wilbur’s eyes turned to an aspect of perfect disdain. The sour moment bothered her; she struggled to change topics. “Aw, yew know what? ‘T’were the funniest thing. Once I step in the shower all my body bugs run off me and go daown the drain, even afore I started warshin myself. Top’a my head dun’t itch no more.”
    Wilbur rummaged in a storage crate set on end, which sufficed for a closet. “Ee-yuh. The bugs most folks got dun’t afflict us heer. Likely, ye noticed theer en’t no trace of maouse droppin’s or rat holes, neither, and ye’ll never see no spiders and such araound.” He seemed to hunt with deliberation for something in the make-shift closet. “No critters outside, neither, not fer hunnerts of ells; ‘tis why I gotta set my traps ways on aout in the woods.”
    “No critters outside?” she asked with emphasis.
    Wilbur’s big crinkly-haired head shook to indicate the negative. “No bugs, no critters, no worms—nuthin’. Nuthin’ like that come on the property, and ‘tis been that way sinct me and—” but here Wilbur’s speculation held in momentary check, as if he were considering a more desirable choice of words. “Not sinct I were born, my grandsire say. He say it jess might be on acaount of, wal, haow I got me a more powerful smell than folks hereabaouts.”
    “What abaout that big haouse’a yours that yew use for storage naow? Any varmints in thar?”
    “No,” Wilbur said in a dry croak as though some inner monitor signaled a sign of dissembled distress. But then he turned, seeming not distressed in the least, and held out on a hanger a long diaphanous black gown that shined unlike any fabric Sary had ever beheld.
    A breath lodged in her chest. “That en’t fer me ta whar, is it?”
    “It sure