Ghostly Vibrations

Ghostly Vibrations By Maya Anders There was a light covering of snow on the gravel parking lot of the big old mansion. Roxy eased her car carefully into a narrow space between a large black SUV and a small red convertible. Stepping out, her ears were assailed by the thumping music and raucous laughter of the wild party underway inside. The light from the impressive gothic windows cast flickering shadows over the parking lot. Roxy looked around for the footpath she’d been told about. As she did so, three tall, fashionably dressed young men piled out of the SUV. All three of them gawped in her direction. To be more specific, they gawped in the direction of her bosom. She was used to having men stare at her breasts. They were worth staring at, their prodigious size accentuated by her athletically petite figure. Roxy, however, was not interested in men. “Get a load of that,” one of the guys said. “Small but perfectly formed,” another added. They looked and sounded like Ivy League students. From what she’d heard about Hamilton Drake’s social circle, they probably were Ivy League students. Roxy herself was a State University student. The third man was eying her thoughtfully. “Hamilton said he was going to bring in some high-class hookers this year. Guess that’s what this one is.” Roxy could understand the guy’s mistake. She had always been a sexy dresser. That evening she was wearing a tight black dress with a low neckline and high hemline, which showed off both her large, round breasts and her tiny, round butt. Her short but well-toned legs were clad in black fishnet pantyhose. Her only concession to the cold weather was a pair of heavy-soled, knee-high gothic boots. “How about it, gorgeous?” The first man took a step toward her. “Want to make some New Year fireworks?” “No, thank you.” Roxy stood her ground, smiling sweetly. “I’m not that sort of girl.” “Of course you are. You must be, if you’re coming to one of Hamilton Drake’s New Year parties.” He took another step forward. “Ouch!” “Oops, sorry. I accidentally stomped on your foot.” Roxy looked up at him innocently. “I’m not going to the New Year’s party, anyway. I’m on my way to the church.” “Okay pumpkin, let’s cut the wisecracks.” The man reached out and yanked at the neckline of her dress. “Hey, guess what guys? The little floozie isn’t wearing a bra. Her t**s must be naturally…Oof!” Roxy brought her fishnet-clad knee up into the guy’s crotch, then skipped back as he doubled up in pain. Her long blonde hair flying out behind her, she planted the full force of her heavily booted foot on his jaw. “I work out a lot,” she informed him as he lay writhing on the snow-covered ground. “That’s why my t**s are such a naturally perfect shape, as you just observed. Oh, and I’ve got a black belt in karate.” This last comment was addressed to another of the men, when he lashed out at her face with his fist. She grabbed his wrist easily, then twisted it round in an arm lock, forcing him to turn his back to her. The target was irresistible. She kicked him in the butt. By this time the first guy had picked himself up off the ground and was hobbling toward the brightly-lit mansion. His two associates quickly saw the wisdom of his action and followed suit. As she dusted herself off, Roxy surveyed the damage to her appearance. Her carefully arranged hair was now carelessly disarranged. She had no doubt that her laboriously applied make-up was smeared, too. Her pantyhose were torn and there was a large rip in the already plunging neckline of her dress, exposing the pale pink areola of her left breast. She frowned briefly…then the frown turned to a grin as she realized she quite liked the effect. Roxy Silverstein was one sexy little hellcat, if she said so herself. She located the path to the church and started to make her way along it. Before long, she saw the pinnacled building looming in the darkness ahead of her. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t a church—it was the family chapel of the Drake estate. It was as large as a church, though, and built in the same gloomy neo-gothic style as the mansion itself. The chapel was set in the center of an old burial ground. With the glare of the house now hidden by trees, Roxy had to weave her way through the gravestones by the pale light of the just-risen moon. She glanced at the watch on her wrist, pressing the button to illuminate the dial. It was ten P.M.—she was right on time.