#ghost fucker

"You're fucking terrifying," I rasped, a throatful laugh following right behind. My eyes had long since closed, and I did not care to open them. If this were to be my death, it would be the most interesting obituary slapped into Thistlebrook's records. On a sleepy Sunday morning in mid-autumn, Offender Manager Mrs. Mary Fontaine was making a routine check on her charge, Mr. Bellamy Eden, ensconced in Thistlewaite Castle, and found his deceased body slumped backwards over the kitchen island with his hand in his trousers, a mask of pure terror frozen eternally on his face. Not survived by any family who will lay claim to him, Mr. Eden's jolly friends, shamed by his manner of death, committed his body to the sea, as they were left with no recourse but to feed his cadaver to the beasts of the depths. "A fitting end for our Bellamy," they agreed in unison.

I wish my house was haunted by a horny old ghost. I wish that when I was lying in bed touching myself that I would feel an invisible weight settle overtop of me. The fear would be out of this world. I would stop- fingers hovering over my clit before I feel a dull ache as the tip of his cock pushes against my leaky entrance. And then when he started fucking me? I would be inconsolable- breaths caught in my throat, hands clawing at my bedsheets because each time I go to hold him or push him away nothings there. The entire time he would bully his cock into me I would feel like I was slipping farther and farther from reality. I want that BAD.

Can we help them lose it in the afterlife with us?

You don't think those people are being constantly fucked by their ghosts.

You don't know why this ghost (or ghosts) attached itself to you. What you could have touched or said to cause this.

You do know what it wants though, and that's your body.

Not in a possession way either.

Hands wandered over you, stroking and pinching and groping. Finding your sensitive spots in order to try to make you moan in public.

A ghostly cock fucked you at least ten times a day. You have no idea if ghosts are even capable of cumming. Is it just laughing at your reactions? Does it just enjoy making you sweat as you struggle through a normal conversation? Does it make you cum over and over because it can't?

Fuck if you knew.

All you really wanted to know was how to get rid of it.

You're kind of poor though and can't afford an exorcist. Online cures and how-to guides from the library aren't cutting it.

If anything, the attempts make the ghost more vigorous. Pounding you into the floor until you beg for mercy, which is denied as it fucks you until you pass out.

You even wake up in the night sometimes to the feeling of a cock moving inside you. In your cunt and sometimes your throat.

Despite your problem, you still try to live a normal life. You even find someone you're interested in.

The ghosts get a bit aggressive when you flirt, but fuck them. This is your life!

It eventually comes to a point where you're making out with your flirtation. The ghost is thrusting into you, but you focus on the human in front of you. You stumble to the bed, losing your clothes.

An actual, human cock is guided into you.

And, the ghost stops. Its presence is gone.

Was that it?!? You just had to fuck someone else?!?

You triumphantly celebrate the end of your ghost problem by getting fucked.

Only...you don't cum. Your partner does what you think is their best. You go at it for like an hour.

You don't cum though.

You go home unsatisfied.

You masturbate and still can't cum.

This goes on for days. There are no ghosts, but you cannot. Fucking. Cum!!!

By the end of the week, you're so keyed up that you can't focus on anything else but need need need.

You end up naked in bed, begging outloud for the ghost to return. Apologizing for it all: for trying to get rid of it, for fucking someone else.

You'll never do it again, so please, please, please!

You're lifted off the bed and slammed into the ceiling. A thick cock is slamming into your cunt at a brutal pace. You're crying, but it's from relief!

This is it! This is what you need!

You moan and writhe and finally cum on your bedroom ceiling!

Then, you're pinned to the bed, held still by invisible hands as the ghost keeps taking and taking and taking.

You thank it and praise it and tell it to stay forever.

To make a tremendously long story short, I'm being haunted by a persnickety ghost at the historic castle I'm required to look after for community service. The long version? Trust me, it would bore you to tears. The story of a string of petty thefts may titillate at first blush, but there's only so much one can embellish the same tale of picking the pockets of distracted tourists before one's listener realizes that each time is much the same as the last. Even the contents of the pockets picked don't vary as much as one might think. Not to mention the drag of all the legal hubbub once I finally got caught. I mean, are you here to listen to me give scathing commentary on our court system, or are you here to listen to me tell you about the time I got railed by a ghost? Exactly.