Seriously, you need to get out of the house and meet people instead of fantasizing about the cool touch of your fridge. But the outside is infinitely hotter than the inside.

You kick the bedsheet away from your body, grumbling at the lingering day heat. You’d stripped the sheet from the duvet the moment spring chill had plunged into summer heat and stuffed the latter into the closet until fall. Even then, you tend to wake up without the sheet in the morning, finding it crumbled on the floor. Yesterday was another sweltering day. It has left the air stuffy and the fans only push the warm, stale heat around without providing any relief. You unplug them in a fit of frustration and cringe at the feeling of moisture when you lay against your pillow again.

Sleep doesn’t completely evade you but you’re not fully asleep, either. You think so, at least. There are moments of brief blackouts, where you open your eyes and turn to look at the time only to find not even an hour has passed. Your eyelids feel heavy.

Then, there are the hands on your body. Caressing, petting, groping. They’ve been there for some time now, just touching, feeling. They’re not cold, just cool enough to feel pleasant against your heated skin and inject some relief into your sluggish thoughts of sun and heat. A sigh escapes your lips at the sensation. Fingertips trance the expanse of your skin, draw constellations between your moles and freckles. The other hand moves to rest on your breast. It kneads the soft flesh, gently pinches your nipple between its fingers, runs a thumb over it.

You inhale sharply, heart thrumming in your chest, pressing your thighs together. It does little to quell the desire for friction, or touch. The hand tracing its fingertips down your body reaches your hip, then skirts across your flesh to rest on the inside of your thigh. You blink languidly; the heat is stifling, your head feels thick.

Cool fingers dip between your legs, press against your clit like — like they’re what? Testing the waters. You stifle the half-baked moan in the back of your throat.

The hands leave you all at once and you croak out a sound that doesn’t even sound like you, desperate and needy. They’re back not even a moment later, though, heavy on your hips as if they’re trying to guide you. You reach for a pillow and prop it under yourself. It’s a nice dream, you don’t need it to end because it forces you into an uncomfortable position that drives home the realization that it’s a dream. Because then you’ll wake up, alone again.

Something thick and heavy rests on your pelvis. Maybe this makes you a bad sex partner in this brief dream but you don’t want to reach out and touch it, guide it. If it’s your dream, your partner should know the where and how. The cool hands planted firmly on your hips pull you forward just slightly and the weight from your pelvis disappears. It rests against your entrance, but doesn’t push forward just yet. One hand leaves you and the tip of its cock drags through your slick folds, bumps against your clit.

“Please,” you croak, staring at the ceiling. Your throat is dry.

The stranger’s cock angles itself against your entrance and pushes in carefully. You take a slow, deep breath in, try to relax around the pleasant intrusion. The hands — under your knees now, guiding your legs apart. A body presses against your thighs. Whoever it is, stops, pauses for a moment. You clench around the cock buried in your cunt. A cold, shuddering breath hits you. Goosebumps rise on your skin. The hands push your knees further apart until there’s an ache in your muscles, and then they depart, one finding a spot on your waist, the other your breast.

It moves, then. The cock nestled deep within you sharply pulls back and thrusts in again. You scramble for anchor, to grab onto something but all you come up with is sheet that tugs loose. Their pace is dizzying, thighs slapping against yours, cock plunging into your wet cunt. The sound is so wet and lewd and goddamned loud in the still silence of your home. You go to stifle the half-moan half-groan in your throat but— wait, it’s your house, your dream, who gives a fuck about the neighbors? The cock in your cunt pulls nearly all the way out and thrusts in again and hits that spot, so good, dragging against your slick walls and you swear you feel every groove and dip, every goddamn vein. Your moan slips out involuntarily, and whoever it is here with you, seems invigorated.

The hand on your breast leaves, a forearm rests around your thigh, pulling it up and — fuck, their cock drives in so incredibly deep you nearly choke on your own spit. You scramble upwards, resting your weight on your elbows to look at your partner —

There’s no one there. Your bedroom is empty. But there’s a hand on your torso, cool fingers digging into your flesh and a forearm supporting your thigh and the shape of someone’s shoulder against your Achilles’ tendon. There’s a cock plunging into your cunt and you hear someone’s labored breathing.

The full-length mirror skids across the laminated floor and stops in front of your bed. Something invisible is thrusting into your pussy, gaping back at you in the reflection. Your face burns — your whole body burns. You can’t look away from the debauchery staring back at you. Whoever — whatever — it is, thrusts harshly, cold hands pulling you against their body. Your thighs are wet and sticky, slamming against theirs, your hole gaping back at you, being abused by something you can’t see. It sends you hurtling over the edge.

You come around the phantom cock with something reminiscent of a shriek and a moan and terror and pleasure all combined. Your cunt clenches around the thing your muscles sore and sweat beading on your skin. The cock plunges into you again and again and again and you blink back the tears and the fear and the overwhelming pleasure. The fingers on your body dig into your flesh and the cock nestled in you buries deep, thighs pressing against your own, and spills. It’s so warm, so pleasant. The mirror skids closer, right until it touches the edge of the bed.

Your cunt is forced wide open. Stuffed. The pearlescent cum coats your walls, oozes out from inside you, dribbles onto your bedsheets. The cock in you stays there but the body moves.

A small fogged patch, like warm breath, appears on the mirror, and then, letters.

Hi :)

Oh. So that's why this place was so cheap.

"I think that has to be… the dumbest thing I've ever heard," you sighed, shaking your head as your friend's posture deflated at your unenthusiastic response.

"I'm serious! The family even moved away because the haunting got too much. I'm talking, like… actual apparitions and stuff. Floating knives, disembodied voices… The whole package!"

Sensing that her impassioned speech wasn't enough to impress you, she crossed her arms over her chest and threw her head back with a groan. You almost felt bad for her, even though it was her idea to drive the two of you out here into the middle of nowhere.

But you quickly came back to your senses and shook off the little sting of guilt. After all, it wasn't your fault that you were a skeptic.

The place was nothing special, in your opinion, even though your friend definitely would've disagreed.

The previous inhabitants must've left in a rush, leaving behind entire sets of furniture and personal items to be layered with dust.

Upon first entering the place, you expected a lot more vandalism — Grafitti, broken windows, trashed rooms. But the house looked pretty unaffected, except for the first traces of time and nature.

It was sweltering outside and the old, abandoned farmhouse didn't offer any kind of solace from the heat that had crawled in through the cracks and rotten wood.

If you would've had your way, you'd be sitting at home in front of the AC, maybe enjoying some ice cream or a cold drink. Which you were actually doing before you'd been dragged out here for a "surprise adventure".

Now, the smell of dry grass and something musty was crawling into your nose, teasing at a sneeze that wouldn't come while you were stuck in an oven of a house and sweating like hell. What a trade-off.

"Sorry," you started, wiping your forehead, "this stuff just isn't really my cup of tea, you know? But I'm happy that you believe in it. You can do your thing, I'll just wait here."

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, your friend nodded and grabbed her "authentic" ghost hunting equipment to shuffle off and leave you standing in the kitchen.

It didn't take long until you heard the opening basement door and her descending steps.

As you rolled your stiff shoulders, you tried to come up with a way to pass the time and eventually settled on your phone. Easy dopamine be damned.

It was silent for a while as you scrolled through text posts and images, not really able to focus on anything in particular. The heat really was frying your brain.

Outside, the crickets were making plenty of noise in the unruly fields that surrounded the house, but the atmosphere felt peaceful while you leaned against the wall and silently did your thing.

A cold breeze suddenly lapped at the back of your neck, causing you to shiver despite the summer heat raging that day. Confused, you looked over your shoulder to spot a cracked-open window above one of the counters.

Huh, the family must've forgotten to close that as well when they fled— when they moved out.

God, you almost sounded like your friend there.

For a moment, you enjoyed the fresh air until the kitchen started to feel a little too cold and the nature outside fell silent.

Maybe the weather was about to change and a storm was brewing, or something. Deciding to keep the temperature bearable, you walked over to close the window.

The sun outside was already setting, bathing the kitchen in a warm, honey-tinted light as you had to get on your toes to reach over the spacious counter; perfect for cooking, but annoying when one tried to grab onto the window handle. Like you were.

"Maybe the layout of this damn house is what really chased out the tenants…" you grumbled under your breath, finally managing to slam the window shut before you straightened back up.

At least halfway.

Until your back met with something solid. Something that hadn't been there before.

Icy breath prickled across the shell of your ear, causing you to tremble against the form that now kept you pinned to the counter.

It didn't make sense. You didn't hear anyone enter; no steps, no rustling, yet you weren't alone anymore.

You could feel the blood drain from your face, how your mouth became dry and your heartbeat accelerated as the unseen weight kept you in place.

And that was before it started touching you.

Icy fingertips settled across the sides of your ribcage, wandering further towards your middle and barely grazing the undersides of your breasts.

Exploratory, curious. Almost playful as the touch briefly brushed down your sternum.

Slowly, they traveled even lower.

Across your stomach, down to your hips where they stayed. Settled. Steady.

In an effort to stifle a terrified noise, your teeth dug into your bottom lip as you dared to look down.

There was nothing. No hands, nothing even in the corner of your eyes.

But then, the fingers dug into your flesh, and your insides writhed at the sight of indentations on your skin and clothes. This was happening, someone unseen, hidden was gripping your hips so tightly that you could feel each individual fingertip pressing into your body.

The realization drew a quiet sound from you, an echo of fear and surprise that seemed to break the spell that had settled upon the previously quiet kitchen.

And once that spell was broken, everything seemed to happen at once.

The invisible hands tore at your shorts, greedily dragging the fabric down over your hips and ass along with your underwear before your neck was seized and you were roughly shoved over the counter.

Bent over and pinned into place, your lips parted to gasp for air, only to be choked by what felt like fingers pushing into your mouth. Your gums and teeth felt cold as something brushed over them, mapping out the inside of your mouth with an impatient audacity.

Then, the fingers pressed even deeper, collecting the saliva that pooled on your tongue as you gagged and tried to struggle.

But before you could entertain the thought of biting, they pulled back, bringing forth a strand of your spit that was still connected to the invisible digits.

Chest heaving, you barely got time to catch your breath before the slicked-up fingers dipped between your bare thighs and wasted no time before they slipped into you down to the invisible knuckles that now brushed against your skin.

A stifled gasp was the only noise that came out of you as the digits curled against the tight walls of your cunt. It was as if your voice had been stolen in that moment as you clawed and squirmed against the countertop while the fingers set a demanding rhythm in and out of you.

Something was trying to work you open. Something desperate, something hungry for a long-lost warmth.

More. More. Deeper. Hotter. MORE.

The grip on the back of your neck tightens, and the spectral digits pulled out of you before the hand settled back on your hip.

For a moment, it felt like the unseen touch trembled against you in an attempt at patience and restraint.

But then, you felt the cold, blunt nudge of something hefty against your cunt, rubbing through your folds to cover itself in the wetness that the being had managed to coax out of you.

Lips parting, your silent scream died in your throat as a silky length parted your folds and sank into your dripping heat in one agonizingly slow push.

The shiver that ran down your spine made your teeth chatter, and your knees trembled as the ghost held still inside of you.

It was cold, almost uncomfortably big as your pussy tried to adjust to the size of it.

Aside from the unusual temperature, it felt like a regular (albeit pretty large) cock, and as you gave it an experimental clench, you could feel it twitch inside you. A subtle movement that the hand on your hip mirrored as it tightened its grip on you.

You flinched when a sudden noise echoed up from underneath the floor. No doubt, your friend probably knocked something over in the basement. Meanwhile, you were stretched open around an invisible person that seemed to have popped up out of nowhere.

As if the specter realized that there was no time to be lost, it suddenly pulled out and slammed back into you with a force that knocked the air from your lungs.

Immediately, it set a frantic pace, fucking you against the counter with an intensity that caused your toes to curl in your shoes. You didn't have any chance to speak, to think, to squirm.

Voiceless, thoughtless and still pinned in place, the only sound you were allowed were little huffs and gasps – even as the shock and discomfort gave way to a pleasure that settled deep within your body.

There was no sound of skin against skin, but the feeling was there.

Corporal, but not quite. An echo of a person; of an appetite that had never been sated.

A lust that had lingered long past the flesh.

Embarrassingly, your body was pretty good at making sounds by itself.

The obscene wetness of your cunt being stuffed to the brim filled the kitchen with a chorus of squelching noises. And you could feel it too, coating the inside of your thighs, dripping down to pool on the old kitchen tiles.

Your eyes widened as more weight settled down on your back, completely pressing your upper body down onto the counter that you were digging your nails into.

With your torso squished under the being's phantom chest, it had free reign to move his cold hand from your neck to between your thighs where it pressed down on your pulsing clit.

Clenching your eyes shut, you let out an airy, barely-there whine as it began to draw tight, firm circles around that most sensitive spot at a pace that matched its hurried thrusts into your cunt.

No doubt, it wanted to get you off as quickly as possible, almost pressing down too hard as it rubbed your clit.

Your climax felt inevitable, buzzing at the base of your spine and tightening in the core of your body until the tension finally snapped, and you gasped against the kitchen counter.

Your legs shook, almost causing you to lose your footing as a thin line of drool connected your panting to the wooden surface.

Noticing your faltering stance, the unseen hands both grabbed your waist and hoisted you up until the tips of your shoes barely scraped against the floor.

Dangling, you could only barely hold on as the being resumed its hurried pounding into your still spasming cunt, fucking you through the afterglow of the spookiest orgasm of your life.

After a few more rough thrusts, its rhythm finally began to grow irregular and twitchy, and it pulled you flush against the icy, unseeable hardness of its body.

Pushing deep and holding still, you winced as ropes of cold, viscous release filled your poor cunt, leaking out around the ghostly cock.

After that, you were shoved back against the counter, and your underwear and shorts were yanked back up in an unceremonious attempt to make you look presentable again.

At once, the touch vanished, and suddenly, you knew you were alone once again.

The heat crept back into the kitchen all at once, the crickets outside were back to chirping in the tall grass, and the air felt less oppressive.

Yet you trembled as you sank down to the floor with still twitching thighs and labored breaths. You cringed at the sticky feeling of your skin and the cold wetness in your underwear.

"What the fuck..." you murmured under your breath, relieved when you found your voice again without difficulty.

Staring off into space for a long moment, you remained in place until you heard the sound of approaching steps from the basement.

Sure enough, it was your friend, looking more than a little disappointed.

Each drag of his cock sends shivers throughout your body; you’re rocked back and forth as the slow, careful thrusting turns into a forceful, frantic fucking that leaves you unable to hold back. The noises fall from you mindlessly, you reach for whatever is doing this to you but you feel nothing. Whatever is touching you, squeezing at the skin of your thighs as it manhandles you until one leg is thrown over the backrest of the seat and the other is pushed close to your chest until the tip of its cock hits impossibly deeper in your cunt, cannot be touched back.

Tears brim in your eyes. It’s painful, it’s intoxicating, it’s peeling every desperate shout from your mouth as you allow yourself a few moments to fall into your delirium, an ache in your abdomen inching closer and closer to a release your body tensed, trembled and twitched under the pressure of the best fuck of your life—that would never be delivered if not for your dreamland.

You cum with one last cry, louder than you’d anticipated, almost definitely leaking through your sleeping self. Clenching around this invisible dick, gushing around it in a way you’ve never done before. Left almost brainless and moldable, he doesn’t stop.

Of course the impossibility of it all had you believing this was all a dream but, unbeknownst to you, you’re relentless ravishing had not only been real but gained the attention of the very friend you were worried about disturbing.

Thinking you were silent outside of mind, you had woken her just in time for her to open her bedroom door to see the way your body jolted with every rough thrust of her lover’s hips; the curl of your toes that hung limply over the back of the couch while her beloved ghost fucked every spot inside of you that she knew had you seeing stars. She listened to every choked beg, every pleading gasp, the string of desperate little ah ah ahs that she was more than familiar with.

Maybe she should be jealous. Maybe she should find some sort of anger after her visitor chose you over her—who had dressed in her best lingerie in hopes he’d rip it from her body. But, instead, she simply hopes he’ll make his way to her after and thank her for the fresh body he could ravage.

And, the next morning, when she smiles softly at you and asks how your night was, she hopes to see that dazed look in your eyes as you sigh and breath out a ‘it was unbelievable’ she hopes you’ll come back for more. She hopes she’ll get to join in next time; she’ll see your cunt take her ghost’s cock as he takes you more feverishly than the night before. You’ve taken him once, you’ll be ready.