The Secret Room
by Peter Loaf
I hadn’t seen my Uncle Bob in several months, not since Aunt Millie’s funeral. I had a free weekend and thought I’d take a look in on him. I’m his favorite niece and I wanted to check on him, you know, see how he was doing.
I purposely didn’t give him any warning, figuring I needed to see how he was actually looking after himself, not how good he was at sprucing things up before I got there.
As I drove down the last ten miles of bad road, I thought about my dear old uncle, living all alone in that wonderful, almost magical house. Of course he is used to being alone there, he built it for himself back in the seventies, ten years before he got married. He spent half the fortune he’d made on the stock market single handedly building that huge six bedroom Victorian mansion. It took him most of three years and it is beautiful in its splendor, the rococo trim painted like a circus wagon in reds, blues, and gold. The fretwork on the eaves, windows and doors took him months to carve, sand, paint and install. The stained glass leaded windows are spectacular in their scenic beauty, each one a different mountain scene. The brickwork is patterned in basket weave, and the chimney goes up in a magical brick spiral that seems to goose god. The grounds are always impeccable; manicured lawns, blossoming trees, and flowerbeds everywhere.
He built it for a singular purpose, he was looking for a nesting female.
Aunt Millie always said it was the flowers that hooked her interest first but it was the house that truly got her into Uncle Bob’s boat. She used to tell that story all the time; how she’d been bicycling alone, exploring the back roads around her college town.
She remembered she was kind of winded when she reached the top of that long hill. She saw Uncle Bob’s house up ahead and decided to see if she could refill her water bottle.
She leaned her bike against a primrose covered iron fence, opened the garden gate and was simply struck dumb. The entire yard was a formal park. The most beautiful two acres she’d ever seen. And then, as her eyes focused on the house, her knees seemed to go weak. It was straight out of her dreams. She had been in that house so many times. But only in her sleep. She had to find a way to get inside. She had to know if it was as exactly like her dream house on the inside as well.
“Hello the house!” she called, hoping the house owner was not a masher or something.
Uncle Bob nearly made her wet her pants when he stepped from behind a nearby topiary elephant. It was obvious that he had been spying on her.
“Hello,” he said, smooth as ice cream. “What can I do for you?”
“Oh, you startled me!” Aunt Millie said, and then recovering, continued, “What a beautiful home you have, Mister, I am just amazed to see such a fantastic house out here in the country, I mean, where no one will see it.”
“You saw it”, he said, “perhaps that is enough.”
She asked him the names of his architect and builder and he chuckled, and then said, “You are looking at them both. I both designed this house and built it. Do you like it?”
Aunt Millie would chuckle then and whisper behind her hand, "I fell in love with this house about the time I walked in the garden gate. But I wasn’t about to tell him that. I said it was really nice but when I said it was kind of huge he said, and I’ll never forget it, he said 'I intend to fill it with a big family, someday soon'.”
“Who is the lucky girl”, she said, picturing a houseful of this man’s brats.
"Job’s open,” he said, “Do you know any woman who likes making and raising babies?”
Aunt Millie always smiled a little here, then said, “I told him, ‘Just me.’”
“Would you like a tour?” he said, offering his arm. “Perhaps a cold drink?”
Aunt Millie always stopped her story right there, saying, “The rest is private!” So we were left hanging, with our imaginations picturing what happened inside. The only time she ever let us peek is the time she told us that the inside was as perfect as the outside. It was exactly the house of her wet dreams, in every detail. She never in her life figured out how he’d done that.
They got married a month later. They honeymooned right there in the house he’d built.
The tragedy was they never had any kids. Couldn’t, my mother said.
But they never left that house. They always complained about its expense, its need for constant upkeep, its loneliness so far out of town, but if you told them to sell it they would look at you like you’d just sprouted bat wings. I never quite understood why.
I pulled my car into the drive and tooted my horn, like I always do. Gathering my stuff, I got out and looked around, expecting to see him pruning or something. He wasn’t anywhere in sight so I reached in and honked my horn again, this time a little longer.
Still nothing. I was beginning to worry. I hurried up the garden path, hardly looking at the flowers and shrubs as I ran up to the house. I twisted the antique doorbell, hoping he was just napping or something.
Again, nothing. I tried the doorknob and found it unlocked. I stuck my head inside and shouted, “Uncle Bob, are you home?”
All was quiet. I walked into the kitchen and got out a bottle of spring water. Where could he be?
Upstairs maybe, I thought, heading for the big staircase in the entry hall. Once I was at the top I stopped and listened, still nothing. I trotted down the hall, checking each room in turn. He wasn’t there either.
The Classroom! Up in one end of the attic space was a large room, intended to be a classroom for the huge brood they planned to have. When the doctors gave them the bad news they transformed it into a playroom for their brood of nieces and nephews who all came to spend their summers together. I went to the stairway and climbed again. When I got to the top this time I heard the muffled sound of someone very near orgasm. It was a woman. At the far end of the room had always been a huge old built-in bookcase. Now it was turned sideways, exposing a here-to-for secret door. It was just slightly ajar. Through the opening I could hear someone having a very fine time indeed.
Tiptoeing over to the hidden door I pushed it open, noting in passing that it had been soundproofed with a mattress attached to its inner surface. I realized that had it been closed, I probably would have never heard a thing.
Struggling in the middle of the room was a naked young woman, hugely gagged and tightly bound to a chair. Over on the side of the room was my uncle, sitting on the edge of a huge old four poster, watching, his big cock in his fist.
I gasped and tried to back out, afraid my dear old uncle had gone insane. The girl in the chair spotted me however and stopped coming long enough to get Uncle Bob to look in my direction.
I took off in a sprint but he caught me before I reached the top of the first stair. I struggled and screamed for him to let me go but he held on and said, “Trudy, what are you doing here?”
He was still naked and with an erection to boot.
“Me! What am I doing here? What are you doing to her?” I screamed, pointing at the strange girl tied to the chair in the next room.
“It’s only foreplay, my darling,” he said, pulling me back into the secret room once again. “She has a safety signal and everything.”
I had forgotten how tall he was, how strong, how sexy. Bending down and picking up his boxers he at least partially covered his stiffy.
Walking to the girl her caressed her breast then pinched her nipple a little, looking into her eyes as he did so. “Brenda here is working her way through our local college by turning the occasional trick. She comes out here one weekend a month because I pay her double what her other “dates” pay. Besides, she tells me she likes what I do to and for her.”
I looked into the helpless, sexually excited girl’s eyes and saw her nod, confirming my uncle’s words. I looked around, seeing the room had been built to be a secret, soundproof vault, containing everything my uncle might need for an extended sex game. It seemed so bizarre, my gentle, flower-bed-tending old uncle was into bondage. How could this be?
"Did Aunt Millie know about this room?" I asked, picking up a blanket and wrapping it around the still dry humping girl. I realized I could hear a quiet humming coming from her lower belly. I looked between her thighs and saw that she was impaled on a vibrating dildo.
“Since the very beginning, after all, it was our secret place. It was up here that I won her heart and she mine.”
“You mean Aunt Millie was into this kind of thing?”
“From the very first.” He said, pulling on some bibbers and a pair of wellingtons. “Let’s go for a walk so we can talk. Brenda will wait right here, won’t you, my dear?"
I looked at the helpless co-ed and saw her nod, giving us permission.
Once we were out in the garden, Uncle Bob turned to me so he could watch my face. He asked, “So what are you planning to do now, are you going to try and put me in a home?”
I thought about this for a moment then said, “No, why should I tell you how to seek happiness?”
“Good, now beat it, I’ve let poor Brenda simmer long enough.”
And so I drove away, leaving Uncle Bob to screw his eyes out.
I wish I could have stayed.
Copyright© 2014 by Peter Loaf. All rights reserved.