“Laura, are you sure this new restaurant is alright?” I asked.

It was February 14th, Valentine’s night, but we had failed to book early enough to get into our normal eating haunts. There was not a chance of us getting in anywhere popular, especially as this year Valentine’s Day fell on a Friday.

“Greg, it was the only place that was still taking reservations. Next time; you book, as you promised to do!”

Laura, my beautiful wife of ten years, was quietly reminding me that I had forgotten the one thing she had asked me to do. Book a restaurant for Valentine’s night, so I could take her out for a romantic candlelight meal.

I look at the name of the restaurant again: “Poulter House, Ghostly Cuisine” which did not sound like the most enticing place to have a romantic meal for two. I was also surprised that they had a seating area, as I thought normally ghost restaurants only sold takeaway food.

I frowned and then walked into our bedroom. Laura stood there naked, a towel around her freshly washed hair.

My frown turned into a smile as I took in my wife’s thirty-two-year-old body. She was slim, with blonde hair, long sexy legs, and small perk breasts that were topped off by equally small pink nipples. Her blonde pubic hair was a small neatly trimmed triangle above her shaven slit. Laura was perfect, and way above what I deserved.

Laura saw me watching her, and she smiled back at me. She knew I had been taking in her naked beauty as she moisturised her legs.

“Greg, go and have a shower or we are going to be late!”

I grunted, then moved a little and stopped, my eyes still focused on my naked Laura. She was now pulling a black stocking up her leg. It was an action that represented a night of sexual promise.

“Greg…”

Laura didn’t have to say anything more, even if I wanted to watch my wife get ready. I turned towards the bathroom and hurried, as I knew I could shower in just five minutes.

*****

It surprised me when I pulled up in the restaurant’s car park that the other five cars were all older than mine; none were newer than ten years old, and some were considerably older. I would have called them wrecks, but Laura remarked that the restaurant was good value and attracted a certain type of customer.

I shrugged. It did not entirely surprise me, as I looked across the car park towards the “restaurant” in which we were planning to eat in.  

The existence of “Poulter House, Ghostly Cuisine” was for one night only, Valentine’s Night and it was located in an out-of-town, rundown gatehouse which was once part of an old stately home.

It reminded me of a set from an old Ealing movie, the ancient stone now chiselled into blocks and ornate shapes to form the building. It felt like the gargoyle’s eyes were tracking our very steps as we crunched across the stone-shingle car park.

Overgrown trees and bushes and even some of the upper-floor window panes were missing. I wasn’t even sure we had the right place, though the address on the business card I was holding matched the one I had parked at.

A swirling mist surrounded us as we strolled from the car. It brought Laura and me closer, my hand dropping from her waist to her pantyless bottom. I glanced, then smiled at my wife and in doing so noticed she was wearing a little more foundation than normal.

Underneath her thick coat, Laura was wearing her sexy little black dress, black stockings and a matching undercut lace bra, pushing her breasts to a size larger than they really were. And as I had just checked, she had left her panties at home. It was definitely a night full of sexual promises.

A tall man dressed in a full evening suit was waiting by the gothic door; he had a pasty look and a long, somewhat bony nose. In his hand was a scroll of paper, which he ticked as we approached.

He didn’t introduce himself, but I guessed he was the restaurant’s maître d.

“Good evening, sir,” he said to me in a deep voice, “We have been expecting you.” I noticed he paid no attention to Laura, which I found odd, if not rude, especially as she had booked the restaurant and our table.

We dutifully followed the maître d as he slowly showed us to our private alcove table. The restaurant felt a little odd, dark, and quiet. Our table was only lit by one black chandelier with four small candles that struggled to get their light past the blood-red lampshades that matched the colour of our tablecloth.  

“I will be looking after you tonight,” the maître d coldly announced, once again in his slow, deep voice.

We took our seats, Laura in the corner facing the small room, me, my back to it and the corridor. I looked at Laura. It was the first time I had looked at her since we left the house. It was hard to tell in the poor light, but she looked a little different, a little pale.

“Wine, sir?” The maître d announced in the same manner he had spoken before. It felt cold, almost calculating.

I picked up the wine menu, wondering why the maître d was still hovering behind me. I needed a little time to make my decision.

“Can we try the red bubbly?” Laura asked, her voice seeming different, a little cold, to her normal warm self. I looked at her. We had never had red fizzy wine before, though it was on the wine menu, and it surprised me that Laura even knew it existed!

As per Laura’s request, I ordered a bottle and wondered if it would be drunk.

The maître d nodded at my wine order, and then seemed to disappear behind me, as when I glanced around, he had already gone. I thought he must have moved a lot quicker than how he had walked in with us.

“This place is a bit spooky,” I whispered to my wife.

“I quite like it,” she defensively replied, in an almost robotic voice.

The place was a temporary restaurant, but it was rather rundown with peeling mauve wallpaper and cobwebs in the corners. It made me wonder what the food would be like as I picked up a menu. I also noticed we seemed to be the only guests, though it felt like others were there and I assumed they must have their own private alcoves.

The maître d returned with our sparkling red wine. It was in an ice bucket, though there was no ice.

“I will open that in a minute, sir,” he coolly stated. “It needs to settle.”

I looked at Laura. It all felt distinctly odd, though I did notice a box of heart-shaped complimentary chocolates on the table. It had Laura’s name written on them.

I passed her the box and said, “That is a nice touch.”    

Laura put it back on the table without comment. She had been quiet since we came in.

The maître d returned from behind me with two plates of food, though we had not ordered.

“Compliments of the house, or should I say Poulter house,” he coldly announced as if rehearsed and without any sign of a titter.

I looked at mine, spaghetti with meatballs. Laura’s meal was similar.

“Can I take your order, sir?”

I looked at Laura. She looked… different.

We gave our food order, the wine still unopened, our glasses empty. I turned to the maître d, but he had vanished, again somewhere behind me.

“I better open the wine,” I remarked to Laura without really looking at her. I was starting to get cross, that she booked this virtual restaurant.

It felt like we were ten years too late to be customers!

I grabbed the wine bottle, unwound the wire holding the cork, and then tore off the wrapper. I was taking my frustration out on our wine bottle as to how the romantic meal was going.

“POP,” I launched the cork. It flew through the air and then nestled in a large, thick cobweb.

I suddenly felt different, like it had released a spell, and the world had changed around us. The air suddenly felt heavy, closing in on me, though my cock seemed the opposite. It had come alive.

As I breathed hard, I noticed that the cork had caused a spider to jump out. It was as large as my hand. I stepped back, and I expected to hear Laura scream. She didn’t like spiders, but there was nothing, only silence and the sound of our overflowing wine.

I glanced at Laura, my Laura…

Her face was now different, alive, and moving. She wasn’t my Laura. She was something different. Her hair was now longer, and moving independently from her head. Her eyes were no longer warm and inviting, they were empty and cold. It was as if I was looking at a ghost.

I felt dampness on my hand. The red fizzy wine, now warm blood flowing freely from the bottle and ran over the table and onto the floor.

Our table top was now teeming with movement, the spaghetti now wriggling worms, the meatballs brown slugs, and the chocolate box now snapping away. As it did so, it moved in my direction, its chocolates, nothing but crawling maggots.   

I stepped back and, as I did so, fell over my chair. I lay there partly under the table, blood now dripping on me. Its warmness was the only thing that reminded me, this was real.

I glanced at Laura’s stocking-clad legs; they were there, right in front of me. Still shapely, and drawing my eyes towards them as she slowly opened them. The way she had dressed, had promised so much for later, but now, as she spread those sexy legs, I was full of fear and dread.

Her black dress was raised and her legs wide. My eyes locked on her pussy, but it was not the warm welcoming haven that I lovingly remembered. It had become part of a Hammer House horror movie. Her pussy was like Medusa’s head, her pubic hair, long hissing snakes, and her opening, an expanding mouth wanting to suck me in… the whole of me in.

Her cunt had become a man-eater!

“You should have booked a table, Greg, for Valentine’s night. It was all you had to do,” I heard Laura say in a cackling voice. I tried to pull back; her pussy now making munching noises as it tried to pull me in.

I scrabbled.

I grabbed the tablecloth and pulled.

Worms, maggots and slimy slugs rained down on me and mixed with the warm blood. I just couldn’t seem to move, powerless and yet my penis seemed aroused. I did not know why, it just seemed to have a life of its own.

I looked again at what was between Laura’s legs; it was changing. Her clitoris had now become a long snake as it slithered towards me. As it did so, it both mesmerised and seduced me, as I continued to scrabble. My cock now with a painful erection.

I screamed as Laura’s clitoris snake wrapped itself around my neck.

It was Laura’s python; it further wrapped itself around my neck and squeezed, and stifled my second scream. I could feel my very breath being choked out of me. I clambered and tried to pull myself up, but the blood-ridden tablecloth only fed me worms, maggots, and slugs.

My cock was still painfully erect; I could feel the tightness around my neck.

I closed my eyes and shuddered.

Was this real?

I had no oxygen, and I couldn’t breathe, but I was so painfully turned on, Laura’s clitoris now a choking rope around my neck. I shuddered one last time and groaned… I ejaculated… then darkness, nothing but darkness.

*****

“Greg, hurry up, we going to be late!”

It was a voice through the darkness. It was Laura.

I pulled myself up and opened my eyes. I had been lying in the shower. The water was off, but the shower hose was tight around my neck, almost choking me. I looked towards my penis; it was flaccid and had cold shower gel dripping on it from a knocked-over bottle that rested on a shelf. 

I unwrapped myself and then chuckled. I am still alive and had only fallen over in the shower!

Relief, I quickly washed the gel away, and then dried myself, before going through to our bedroom to see Laura. She was now dressed in her little black dress, her back facing towards me.

“Have I been long?” I asked, not wanting to worry her that I slipped over in the shower and had briefly passed out.

She turned to look at me.

“I gulped!” Laura’s face looked white, perhaps whiter than just a generous amount of foundation.

“Not long at all, my dear,” she grinned. Her black dress had risen high enough to show her black stocking tops.

I gulped again and then shuddered.

“Honey, do you mind if we eat in?”

The End (or was it just the beginning?)