Another Ghost Story

 

Another Ghost Story
by LEBEC

This is the second story from a series called Because Magic!

***

Married couple moves into a house. It has a naughty ghost.

***

Chapter One

The house had many owners in its one hundred-plus years of existence. Some stayed for years, others didn't last six months. Whether it was out of fear or embarrassment, no one ever explained why they left, or passed their experience on to the next owner. The only one who had an inkling was the real estate broker, who was only too happy to keep making money off the continual resale of the property. The original broker passed the business down to his son, who cared even less about the rumors than his dad. As far as they were concerned, it was all a silly fairy tale. Besides, no one who lived there ever died, or was known to have been hurt. 

The only exception was its original owner, Bart Jerrod. In life, he was a huge, powerful man - six foot five - around 250 lbs. In the 1940s, he played football in one of the Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCUs). Once he graduated, he explored one of his other major passions as a musician, playing trumpet in various Jazz bands. 

But, his true obsession was White women, preferably married ones. He sought to seduce as many as he possibly could, with his oversized eight inch-plus penis. With each conquest, he grew more and more bold, taking particular pride in his ability to impregnate the women. And, as one might imagine, this dangerous hobby of his was rumored to be the thing that ultimately lead to his demise.

Decades later, his ghost still roamed the house.

****

It was Joan and John Simmons' first night sleeping in their new home. The four-poster bed groaned under their weight, its ancient frame protesting with every thrust. Forty year old John’s breath came in ragged bursts, his hands gripping Joan’s hips as she arched her back beneath him. “Oh, John,” his thirty eight year old wife moaned, her voice low and throaty, her nails scraping down his back. He knew that moan and began driving harder, faster, chasing the heat building between them. The room was warm, but the air seemed heavier than usual, almost electric.

Joan’s body tensed, her legs wrapping tighter around him. “Harder,” she whispered, her voice breaking. John complied, his movements growing even more urgent, his skin slick with sweat. The sound of their breathing filled the room, mingling with the rhythmic creak of the bed. He could feel her getting closer, her muscles tightening around him, and he focused on that - on her - on the way her lips parted as she gasped his name.

Then it hit him - a surprising, warm wetness sliding across his balls like a tongue. He faltered for a moment, his rhythm stuttering. “Did you feel that?” he asked, his voice strained, his body still hovering over hers. Joan barely registered his words, her eyes squeezed shut, her fingers clutching the sheets. “Feel what? Just keep going,” she urged, pulling him back down.

He buried his face in her neck, trying to push past the unease. “Damn old house,” he muttered, his breath hot against her skin. The bed creaked again as he resumed his pace, but the sensation didn’t quite fade. It was still there, a subtle vibration, a strange tingling that seemed to radiate from his tailbone down to his balls, causing them to swell. He frowned, his hips slowing as the feeling intensified. It wasn’t unpleasant, exactly, but it was… well, strange, like someone else was in the room with them.

Joan gasped, her back arching off the bed, as if to snap him out of his reverie. “John, I’m close,” she called out to him, her voice trembling. He forced himself to ignore the weird feeling, to focus on her, on the way her body was tightening, the way her fingers dug into his shoulders. He thrust harder, faster, determined to push her over the edge. Just a few pushes later, he succeeded. Her climax hit like a wave, her body shuddering beneath him. 

John’s own release followed almost immediately, hit him like a punch, leaving him breathless and disoriented. He collapsed onto Joan, his limbs heavy, his mind exhausted.Then the warm wetness returned, wrapping itself around the base of John's cock, where it joined with her vulva.

John rolled onto his back, pulling himself out of her. Staring up at the canopy of the bed, he said in a hoarse voice, “What the hell was that?”

Joan lay beside him, her chest rising and falling slowly, a small smile playing on her lips. “What are you talking about? That was great,” she said, her tone light, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest.

He sat up, rubbing his arms, trying to shake off the lingering confusion. “No, I mean, did you feel that weird tingling?” he asked, his eyes scanning the room.

Joan shrugged, pulling the covers up to her chin. “Probably just the old house settling,” she said, yawning. “Come on, let’s get some sleep.”

But John couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. He lay back down, staring at the ceiling, mystified. He couldn’t help feeling like they weren’t alone. Even though it made no sense to him, he still felt puzzled. He looked over at his wife, already asleep and breathing steadily, her body warm and reassuring. Then, before he could give it another thought, a gentle touch to his forehead caused him to immediately fall into a deep sleep.

****

John lay sprawled on his back, one arm barely brushing Joan’s side, his breathing slow and steady. A warm draft brushed against Joan’s bare shoulder, making her shiver in her sleep, her fingers twitching against the sheets. The shadows near the bed seemed to shift, twisting into something denser, more solid.

Joan murmured something unintelligible, her lips parting slightly as her head tilted to the side. The warmth deepened, creeping down her body like an invisible hand, leaving goosebumps in its wake. John’s hand, resting limply against her side, was carefully pushed aside to make room, and he didn’t waken. The ghost hovered at the edge of the bed, its form shimmering, barely taking shape.

Joan lay still, her breathing slow and even, her body a soft silhouette against the dim glow of the fireplace. The air around her lower body grew warmer, a faint breeze that crept up her thighs. She stirred, her lips parting in a soft, involuntary moan, but her eyes remained closed, her face peaceful against the pillow.

A subtle pressure began to build between her legs, gentle but insistent, like the brush of fingertips against her most sensitive skin. Her thighs tightened instinctively, her hips shifting slightly against the mattress. A phantom touch continued to tease and probe, drawing a faint, breathy sigh from her lips. Her body responded without conscious thought, her muscles tensing and then relaxing in a slow, rhythmic dance.

Then it came - a warm, wet sensation, like the soft, deliberate stroke of a tongue against her vulva. Joan’s breath hitched, her torso arching ever so slightly as a shiver of pleasure coursed through her. The ghost’s touch was unhurried, almost reverent, as it lapped at her with a rhythm that was both familiar and foreign, drawing out the lingering traces of John’s semen and her own arousal. With every lick, Joan’s body moved in response, her hips rocking gently, her hands clenching into fists at her sides.

Joan's hips now bucked against the mattress, her legs tangling in the sheets as the ghost’s tongue centered in on her clit. She clawed at the covers, her knuckles white, her body arching further off the bed in a desperate plea for release. “Oh Gosh,” she cried out from her dream state, her voice strangled, her body shaking uncontrollably. The pleasure was unbearable, overwhelming, and she was powerless to stop it.

A guttural moan escaped her lips, a sound she would barely recognize as her own. Her body was shaking, her muscles trembling with each wave of pleasure that charged through her. The ghost’s touch was electric, sending jolts of energy through her veins, igniting every nerve ending in her body. “Oh Gosh, oh Gosh,” she chanted, her voice whimpering. She was teetering on the precipice, her body ready to burst.

Then, the dam broke. A torrent of pleasure exploded through her, ripping through her body with the force of a hurricane. She cried out, a primal scream of ecstasy that echoed through the room, shattering the silence. Her body convulsed violently, her muscles contracting in a series of rapid spasms.

Waves of pleasure washed over her, each one more intense than the last. She was drowning in sensation, her mind blank, her body a vessel for pure, unadulterated lust. The ghost’s presence was all-encompassing, its energy merging with hers, creating a symphony of raw, sexual power. Her body shuddered, her muscles contracting in a final, violent spasm. 

The ghost’s tongue slowed as her spasms began to subside. She was lost in the abyss, her body a writhing, convulsing mess. 

She closed her eyes, savoring the lingering afterglow of her orgasm. Her body was still tingling, her muscles relaxed and pliant. The ghost’s presence was still there, a subtle energy that hummed beneath her skin. She opened her eyes, staring blankly at the canopy of the bed. A slow, satisfied smile spread across her face.

Joan shifted unconsciously, her body seeking out her husband's torso to cuddle with. Before she could snuggle into him, a hand touched her forehead, stopping her, while planting a pleasant post-hypnotic suggestion. Immediately, a sigh escaped her lips, soft and content. 

The last coherent thought that drifted through Joan’s mind was a hazy, warm memory: John, after he’d finished inside her, the rare times he’d tried to please her… his beard scratching her inner thighs… his tongue, eagerly licking her… making her cum… hadn’t he? Just now? Yes… yes, John had… he’d licked her pussy… made her cum so hard…

A smile on her lips, Joan's eyes fluttered shut. Deep, dreamless sleep claimed her instantly. In the morning, she would only remember that John had licked her pussy to orgasm.

The soothing hand lingered for a moment longer on her peaceful brow. Then, like smoke dissolving in sunlight, the ghost vanished, leaving behind a happy couple blissfully engaged in deep, oblivious sleep. 

Well-fed, the ghost would let them rest, for now.


Another Ghost Story
by LEBEC

***

The ghost needs to recharge, and break the wife in first.

***

Chapter Two

John stirred, a bit confused, not sure of where he was, at first. He supposed that was normal - first night in a new house, after all. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and looked at the familiar figure beside him. Joan was propped up on one elbow, her hair tousled, her eyes bright and intense. "Morning, Sleepyhead," she purred, her voice a low rumble that vibrated through him.

He could see "that look" in her eyes, the way her body was moving against him, but his mind was focused on the unpacked boxes in the hallway, the clutter that still needed to be dealt with. He reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Joan, we can’t,” he said, his voice a gentle rebuke. “We’ve got so much to do today.” 

Joan’s bottom lip pouted slightly, her eyes meeting his with a playful challenge. “I thought we could take a little break.” She ran her fingers through his chest hair, tracing lazy circles around his torso. John tried not to let his gaze drift down to the hem of her nightshirt, which was slowly inching up her thighs.

He sighed, his hand dropping to rest on her hip. “It’s not just that, Joan. We’ve got the family coming over in the next couple of days, and I don’t want them tripping over boxes. We still need to figure out where everything goes.”

Joan sighed but reluctantly agreed, and so they started their day with coffee and a quick breakfast. They tackled the kitchen first, cleaning up the cabinets and unpacking boxes of dishes and pots. She moved like a dancer, her body graceful and fluid, her body glowing after the previous night's events, as she put things away. 

John took a break to watch her, a small smile playing on his lips, wondering how he'd gotten so lucky. Even after twenty years of marriage, Joan was still "a babe." At five foot seven, with very fair skin, deep blue eyes, and dark shoulder-length brown hair, she kept in amazing shape. Dressed in sensible work clothes - jeans and a light pink t-shirt - she still looked sexy to him, with a powerful, muscular ass, and a solid pair of 36C breasts with barely any sag at all, despite having had two children. John loved her energy, particularly in bed, even though he could rarely keep up with her naturally, super-powerful sex drive. 

He privately shook his head and thought, "She wore me out last night. Man, those Catholic girls..." he chuckled to himself. It was part of what convinced him to get a vasectomy so many years ago. He knew those amazing childbearing hips would keep producing countless numbers of babies, if he hadn't taken control of the situation. He leaned back against the counter, sipping his coffee, as she hummed a silly tune to herself. "Well, doll, it looks like you've got your own system going here, so I'll leave you alone for now. If you need me, I'll be unpacking tools in the garage for a bit," he announced.

"OK, see you in a while," Joan responded, without missing a beat. She continued to smile to herself, thinking about last night. She had no idea what had gotten into John. He had never pleasured her with his tongue like that before, she thought. Then, she corrected herself, remembering one time he Had tried it, back when they were first married. She recalled she was nervous and resistant to it, remembering the time her mother once called it "an unholy act". She also remembered John's attempt was truly inept, embarrassing really, he was basically just slobbering all over her - nothing like what she'd experienced last night. Now that she had known the true splendor of cunnilingus, she wondered why, after all these years, they'd never given it a second chance? She also hoped she might be able to get him to try it again, maybe even as soon as tonight.

As she moved on to another box of dishes, Joan felt a warm breeze tickle her behind the ear. She paused, her hands struggling to hold onto a stack of plates, her brow furrowing in confusion. She turned around slowly, her eyes scanning the empty kitchen. The house was quiet, the only sound her own soft breathing. She shrugged, attributing the sensation to her imagination, and resumed unpacking the dishes.

She picked up her humming where she'd left off, trying to fill the silence with something other than her own thoughts. It quickly returned, though, a curious electricity in the air. She shivered, her nipples hardening inside the soft fabric of her bra, and poking through her thin t-shirt. She looked down, noticing the change, and an involuntary smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Must be the air conditioning,” she muttered to herself with a sarcastic chuckle. Growing up, she'd never been able to keep her nipples from making their presence known at the drop of a hat. They could literally poke through anything, no matter what she wore to cover them up and, through the years, she'd come to accept that inevitability.

Seeing her positive reaction, the ghost began stroking her nipples from behind, its touch feather-light and teasing. Joan gasped, her body tensing as the sensations shot straight to her core. She quickly put down the plates she was holding to avoid dropping them. Her breath caught in her throat and her body froze in place as the ghost’s touch continued to stimulate her. She dropped her head and grabbed onto the counter for support, unconsciously widening her elbows to allow her tormenter better access to her breasts. For a minute or so, she closed her eyes and swooned as she felt a large pair of hands cupping each of her breasts, lovingly squeezing them over and over again, before giving both nipples one sharp tweak. Surprised, she squealed with nervous laughter at the playful attack. 

Then, suddenly, it stopped, leaving Joan confused and aroused. She spun around again, desperately surveying the kitchen, her heart pounding in her chest, but saw no one. She cursed under her breath, annoyed and frustrated. “For heaven’s sake, what is wrong with me? I must be losing my mind,” she muttered to herself, her voice barely above a whisper. She shook her head, trying to shake off the sexual fog and the lingering throbbing sensation from the mysterious phantom touch.

At the same time, in the garage, John was uncovering a dusty old bottle of Scotch, hidden in the back of a cabinet. He dusted it off and admired it. Aged twenty one years, and never been opened. He wondered how the realtors had missed this little gem. He put it aside, with thoughts of how he might share it with Joan after dinner. She'd appreciate it, he knew. He was about to move on to something else when he heard the muffled squeal from inside the house.

"Joan?" he called out, his voice surprised. "Are you alright?!"

She called out, "I'm fine, thanks!" feeling slightly embarrassed.

John walked down the hall and returned to the kitchen, holding up the bottle like he had just won a trophy. With a smile on his face, he said, "Look what I just found!"

Keeping her body turned away from him for the moment, she replied, "Just hold off for a while, Tiger. Let's have some dinner first. I ordered takeout." Just then, the doorbell rang and Joan hurriedly left the room to answer it. "That would be the delivery guy. I'll get it!"

Joan opened the front door and standing two steps down from her was a Black teenage boy holding their delivery. As she opened the door, his eyes were exactly level with her breasts and they immediately locked on to her nipples which were still rock hard and protruding through her t-shirt.

He smiled at her. "Hi, I'm Jake. Jake Burrows, at your service, ma'am," he smiled, faking a bow. "I'm here with your takeout." The delivery boy grinned and handed her the bag, while taking a long mental picture of her impressive rack. This job definitely had some great fringe benefits, he thought. He made a note of the address in case he ever got the opportunity to return. Then, he turned and left, knowing the woman had just gifted him enough jerk-off material to last a week.

Joan closed the door, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, her heart pounding in her chest. She looked down, noticing her nipples were now even more prominent, poking through her bra and t-shirt and practically screaming her arousal. "Gosh darn it," she muttered to herself. She placed the bag of food she was holding on the counter and pressed her palms against her chest, trying to will her nipples to soften. She decided to grab an apron and quickly donned it, before serving the takeout, in an effort to hide her overly excited breasts from John for now.

They ate dinner quickly, John anxious to get his wife drunk, and Joan anxious to take care of her earlier arousal. The Scotch was delicious, but extremely powerful and, in no time, they were both plastered and laughing and feeling no pain.

Joan had just polished off her third glass when she made up her mind to act. She set her glass down and her eyes locked onto John’s. She stood up abruptly, the chair scraping backwards with a loud squeal that seemed to echo through the room. The Scotch had left her feeling uninhibited, her body humming with a wicked desire that was no longer interested in waiting.

“Joan,” John began, his voice hesistant. But she wasn’t listening. She was already moving towards him, her hips swaying in a slow, deliberate dance.

“Shut up, John,” she said, her voice low and sultry. "Take me to bed, now!" She reached for John, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him to her, her lips crashing down on his. The kiss was raw and hungry, their teeth clashing, tongues dueling for dominance. John relented, his arms wrapping around her, lifting her slightly as he carried her to the bed.

She tore at his shirt, buttons popping off and flying in all directions. John smirked at her desire while shrugging out of the remnants of his shirt. Joan's hands roamed over his chest, her fingers tracing the familiar terrain of his body.

She nipped at his lower lip, her teeth scraping against his before she sucked it into her mouth. John growled, his hands fisting in her hair as he deepened the kiss. She could taste the alcohol on his tongue, the burn of the Scotch intertwining with the flavor of him. He was intoxicating, and she was drunk on him.

She pushed him back onto the bed, her body covering his as she straddled him. She could feel his cock, hard and waiting, pressing against her through their clothes. She ground against him, a slow, deliberate grind that made him groan and arch upward, seeking more friction. She stopped only long enough to pull his pants and underwear off and to hurriedly strip off the rest of her clothes. Then she climbed back on top of him, gyrating her pussy mound along the length of his hard cock. She ground her mound over it until it was coated with her juices. Her back was hunched, and she propped herself up with her hands on his chest.

As she wriggled in place, an invisible pair of hands snuck up from behind and the ghost cupped her breasts again. In the dimly lit bedroom, the drunk, horny woman assumed it was her husband that was feeling her up. She moaned, the sound muffled against John's neck. "Gosh, that feels good," she mumbled, slurring her words.

Joan tossed her head back, her hair falling behind her. She ground down on John's cock, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting through her body. "I want you inside me," she gasped, her body trembling with need.

She reached down between them, her hand wrapping around John's hard, five inch cock, positioning it at her entrance. John groaned, his hips instinctively bucking upward as she guided him into her. As she lifted it up, John felt a warm sensation roll across his stomach in the space where their combined precum had been. This time, John was too drunk and too excited to notice.

Joan moaned as she lowered herself onto him, feeling him fill her tight pussy. She rested her hands on his chest, her nails digging into his skin as she began to move, her hips rolling in a slow, deliberate rhythm. The room was soon filled with the sound of their bodies coming together, the wet smack of flesh meeting flesh, the soft moans and gasps that escaped their lips.

John's hands gripped her hips, his fingers holding onto her flesh in order to guide her movements. She followed his lead, her movements becoming more urgent, her body tensing and relaxing to match each thrust.

The ghost continued to squeeze her breasts and twirl her nipples, each touch sending sparks of pleasure shooting through her. "Wow, John," she moaned, her voice breathless. "I love that."

Joan leaned forward, her hands braced on his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. She could feel the heat building within her, the pleasure building and tightening like a spring ready to snap.

Every tweak and pinch of the ghost’s touch on her breasts drove her closer and closer to orgasm. She was riding John hard now, her hips slamming down onto him with each thrust.

“Oh my gosh, John,” she panted, her voice ragged and raw. “I’m so close.” After all these years, she knew when John was close, too. She knew she didn't have much time left, and that she would have to hurry if she was going to have her orgasm.

John’s eyes were locked onto hers, his gaze intense and focused. He could see the pleasure building in her, could feel her pussy milking his cock.

The ghost really wanted John to cum before Joan, though. It switched one of its hands from her boobs, in order to massage John's balls, a firm yet gentle pressure that made the man moan loudly. The ghost could feel John's balls tighten, could sense his impending orgasm. He wanted to make sure the man would cum fast and hard and deep inside of Joan's pussy.

"Oh no, I can't... I can't," John groaned, his body bucking upwards. Between the electric sensation of his balls being massaged and Joan's warm, wet pussy riding him like a fucking machine, the man was overwhelmed with pleasure. He couldn't hold off another second.

He threw his head back, a primal roar escaping his lips as he came, his cock pulsing as it unloaded deep inside of Joan. The ghost's touch on his balls intensified, coaxing every last drop from him, drawing out his release until the man was seeing stars.

Joan felt every pulse, every throb of John's cock as he came. The sensation drove her wild, her own orgasm clawing at her, ready to consume her. She was so close, so darned close. "No..., John...," she panted almost inaudibly, her fingers digging into his chest. "I need more. I need... I need..." she groaned, nearly in tears.

Before the oblivious man could respond, the ghost sprang into action. He temporarily abandoned the groping of Joan's breasts and reached out to touch John on the forehead. John went out like a light, his arms falling limply to his side. His penis instantly deflated and fell out of Joan's pussy.

Joan was left feeling empty and aching, her body still throbbing with unfulfilled desire. She looked down at John, his face peaceful but his body lifeless. She could see he was asleep, totally unconscious. She was disappointed, and still extremely aroused. Her clit was throbbing, her pussy dripping with juices, her nipples hard as pebbles. She was so horny, she could scream.

The ghost, seeing her frustration and desire, now took control. Joan felt something physically roll her over and move her onto her back, next to her comatose husband. Her upper body was propped up on her elbows and her legs were bent at the knee. Then, she felt it - a presence in between her legs, preventing them from closing.

It immediately zeroed in on her clit, licking and sucking, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. At first, her eyes widened as she wondered what the hell was happening. A moment later, though, her only thought was how good it felt and how eerily familiar the sensation was. While she swooned, something clicked in her memory and she instantly recognized that this was the exact same tongue that had ravaged her sleepy body the night before.

She was panting now, her body writhing and squirming, her hips bucking against the ghost's mouth. "Oh gosh, yes," she moaned, her voice a high-pitched whine. "Eat me. Just like that. Please don't stop. Make me cum." 

The ghost was more than eager to oblige. Its tongue was exquisite, licking and sucking her clit, its touch coarse and insistent. Then it probed her entrance for a bit, tasting her juices, before returning to her clit, sucking and nibbling on it like a treat.

Joan arched her back, a low moan escaping her lips as she felt the ghost's tongue start to delve deeper, exploring her folds with a curiosity that was almost maddening.

"Gosh, that feels so good," she gasped with little regard to her comatose husband, laying right beside her. She closed her eyes, her head lolling back against the pillow as she gave herself over to the sensation. Her hips moved in time with the ghost's tongue, her body responding to the pleasure with a mind of its own.

The ghost's mouth was like a vacuum, sucking and licking every inch of her pussy, extracting every bit of her sexual essence, and the sperm left in her by John. As it fed upon her, it began to grow more solid.

The ghost's tongue lengthened, thickened, becoming something tangible, something real. Joan opened her eyes, her breath hitching as she saw the ghost's form materializing before her. It was still translucent, but there was no mistaking the cock that was growing hard and thick between his legs.

"What the...?", she yelped in amazement. She watched, transfixed, as the ghost's cock continued to grow, lengthening and thickening until it was a solid, throbbing length of flesh. She could see the veins pulsing beneath the skin, the dark purple head leaking precum. The cock was so much larger than John's, and Joan felt a thrill of both fear and desire course through her. The ghost was not just a ghost anymore; it was a man, a real, solid man with a cock that was harder and thicker than anything she'd ever seen before.

"What are you?" she asked, her voice barely audible. 

The ghost smiled, a wicked, hungry smile that made her heart pound in her chest. "I'm what you need," it said, its voice like velvet. "And I'm what you want."

She nervously looked up at the ghost, then to the side at her husband, then back up at the ghost. Anticipating her question, he whispered, "Don't worry. He's fine." Joan relaxed some and looked at the ghost's translucent face. 

It was the face of a handsome, older Black man with salt-n-pepper hair. She could see the desire in his intense brown eyes, the hunger that matched her own. She shivered, her apprehension fading as her body responded to the primal call of its need.

The ghost leaned down, its mouth capturing one of her nipples, sucking and nibbling until she was squirming and gasping beneath it. The sensation was intense, the ghost's mouth hot and wet, its tongue swirling and flicking over her sensitive flesh. Joan moaned, her hands fisting in the ghost's hair, holding it against her.

The ghost's hands moved down to Joan's hips, its fingers pressing into her soft flesh as it guided her legs further apart. She could feel the head of his cock probing against her entrance, thick and hard. She moaned, her body tensing in anticipation. She had never felt anything like this, and she already knew that nothing would ever compare. She spread her legs wider, opening herself up completely to the ghost.

"Come on, you... whatever you are," she hissed, her voice thick with desire. "Put that thing inside of me," Joan demanded, her voice thick with lust. "I want to feel it."

The ghost's cock was already slick with her juices, the head gliding easily against her entrance. It pushed forward, the thick head stretching her as it pushed its way inside. Joan gasped, her back arching as the sensation of being filled overwhelmed her. Joan cried out, the sound half-pleasure, half-pain.
"Oh gosh!" she grunted, her palms gently pushing back against his shoulders. "It's huge. Too big!"

The ghost smiled, a wicked, hungry smile that made her heart pound. "I'm just getting started, baby," it growled, its voice low and dark. It withdrew partly, giving her a beat to relax. He knew this tight White pussy would need to be broken in gently, that she would need a bit of time to adjust to his thick eight inch cock. He held his ground and waited until her inner muscles let go of their death grip on him, and then withdrew. Then he plunged back in, this time a little deeper. With patience and deliberate restraint, he repeated the process, over and over again until, little by little, he eventually worked himself balls deep inside of her.

Joan cried out in shock and wonder. She had never been so filled up in her life. Until now, John had been the only man inside of her, and this was Way bigger than her husband. She felt ashamed, somewhat defiled but, most of all, amazingly full!

The ghost continued to hold his ground, waiting for her body to tell him when it was ready to proceed. When he saw the expression on her face shift from discomfort to acceptance, he knew it was time to begin. He cycled his hips gently, feeling his cock press against previously untouched recesses of her pussy, causing the muscles to stretch even more and reconfigure their grip.

Joan gasped. Her mouth hung open as she gazed, helplessly, into his eyes. At that moment, all her fears surprisingly evaporated, and she sensed that somehow everything would turn out alright. She felt her pussy start to cream around his cock, all pain and discomfort now long gone. 

The ghost began to cautiously fuck her, slowly at first, but he soon realized that he hadn't needed to worry. This White woman was "a natural", and her hot and juicy pussy was already eager for more. Only a few strokes later, he found himself picking up the pace and fucking her for real.

"Fuh..., fuh..., fuh...," Joan chanted, her voice a ragged, breathy sound, nearly uttering words she was generally unaccustomed to using. Each time the ghost's cock pulled out, Joan could feel the head dragging against her inner walls, teasing her with the promise of more. Then it would slam back in, the thickness of it filling her completely, sending waves of pleasure crashing through her.

 Joan was soon a panting, writhing mess beneath him, her hips rising to meet each thrust of his cock. She felt like a cheap toy, a sex doll. Her body convulsed  around the ghost as another gush of juice made her pussy even wetter. "Do me harder," she begged, her voice ragged and desperate. "Give it to me, please!" she begged.

The ghost obliged, its hips moving faster, harder, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room.

Joan cried out, the bed creaking and groaning beneath them. She could feel the ghost's cock throbbing inside her, the thickness of it filling her with every thrust. The ghost leaned down, its mouth capturing one of her nipples, sucking and nibbling as it fucked her hard and fast. The sensation was overpowering, the ghost's cock and mouth working her body like an instrument, playing her to the brink of another orgasm.

Joan felt her pussy clench around the ghost's thick cock, her inner muscles collapsing around the ghost's cock. The orgasm her husband couldn't give her earlier was finally upon her, but twice as powerful as any she'd ever felt. "Oh my gosh, yes," she moaned, her voice raw with desire. "I'm cumming, Yes!"

The ghost roared, "Tell me you want my cock! Say it! Say it!"

"Oh my gosh, Yes, I want it... I want your cock!" Joan repeated. "Give it to me, please!"

The ghost smiled when he heard the words. Satisfied, he growled as his cock swelled even more just before he started unloading his cum inside of her. "That's it, baby," it urged. "Cum all over my cock."

"Yes! Yes!" she screamed, her voice hoarse and ragged. Her body shook violently, her pussy pulsating around the ghost's throbbing cock. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, leaving her gasping and breathless.

"Gahd," she panted, her body still vibrating from the aftermath of her climax. "That was... that was incredible."

The ghost pulled out of her, its cock glistening with their combined juices. Joan watched as it stood up, its body solid and real, a testament to the power of her desire. It looked down at her, its eyes dark and piercing, a smile playing at the corners of its mouth.

"You look well-fucked, girl," it said, its voice a low growl.

Joan panted, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of her orgasm. She looked back at the ghost, her eyes locked onto the thick, glistening cock still semi-hard and dripping with their combined juices. "Yes," she whispered, her voice thick with desire. "You did it to me good."

The ghost chuckled, a dark and lecherous sound that caused Joan's pussy to spasm on its own in response. He knew that in the future he would have to work on improving this woman's sexual vocabulary. This delightfully naive woman was still quite the Goody Two-Shoes.

"Now make sure you take your husband to bed again tomorrow night, and maybe, if you're a good girl, we can do this again afterward. Meanwhile, don't tell anyone, and I mean ANYONE!" the ghost said.

"Not even John?!" she asked.

"Especially not John," he countered. Before she could ask any more questions, he added, "Don't worry, he won't remember any of this anyway."

Joan nodded, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and desire. "Yeah, yeah, I got it," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Only one thing left to do," the ghost announced.

The woman whined in protest, and a moment later in glee, as she felt the ghost's tongue return to her sore and overstimulated pussy. He managed to thoroughly clean her of all evidence of the evening's  sexual acts, and made sure he dragged one last small but pleasurable cum out of her, leaving her happy and depleted. Then he touched her forehead and Joan instantly fell asleep. 

Newly rejuvenated, the ghost disappeared and contemplated its next move.


Another Ghost Story
by LEBEC

***

The ghost needs to collect some virile sperm.

***

Chapter Three

The next morning, Joan woke up feeling sore and achy, but with a sense of satisfaction that she'd never known before. She looked at John, still sleeping peacefully beside her, and hoped the ghost was correct about his not remembering.

She felt different, like she'd been reborn, her body humming with a newfound energy and desire. The ghost had ravaged her so hard, so deep, that she felt like she'd been rearranged from the inside out. It was almost as if she could still feel the ghost's penis inside her. She decided to take a shower, hoping that the hot water would soothe her sore muscles and clear her mind.

As she stepped into the shower, she couldn't help but remember the ghost's touch, his large member filling her completely. She shivered, her nipples hardening again at the thought. She reached up, her fingers instinctively tweaking and pinching her nipples, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through her body.

She thought of the ghost, telling her not to tell anyone. "Who would I tell? Who'd believe me! I'm not sure I believe it! Maybe I just dreamt it?" She remembered that she was probably midway through her cycle. "Maybe it's just some hormonal thing, playing tricks with my mind, messing with my head?!" But a further digital inspection of her vaginal cavity confirmed that Something had, in fact, happened. Something was definitely different. 

She only hoped John wouldn't notice. 

She stepped out of the shower, put on some fresh underwear, a clean pair of jeans and another lightweight t-shirt, this one a faded pastel yellow, and went to the kitchen to make some breakfast. As she was cooking, John woke up and came downstairs. He saw her and smiled. "Morning, love. You look well-rested." 

Joan turned to him, a small smile playing on her lips. So far, so good. He hadn't said anything. "Good morning. Want some breakfast?"

John nodded, yawning as he stretched. "That would be great. I'm starving."

Joan dished up some scrambled eggs and bacon, placing them in front of John along with a glass of orange juice. She sat down across from him, her eyes scanning his face as he ate.

"You okay?" John asked between bites, noticing her scrutiny.

Joan snapped out of her thoughts, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Yeah, just thinking about the kids coming by soon. I hope they love this place as much as we do," she said, hoping this little white lie would suffice.

"Yeah, me too," John replied.

"Thank God," she thought. "He hasn't noticed."

***

James Springer arrived at his parents' new home around noon. There he found his mother busily unpacking what looked like an endless supply of household stuff in the kitchen. Joan saw him walk in and ran to greet him.

She threw her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. "James!" she exclaimed, her joy palpable. But as their bodies pressed together, she felt an unexpected electrical jolt pass between them. Her nipples hardened instantly, the sudden, intense pleasure forcing her to gasp.

James chuckled, his arms wrapping around her waist. "Hey Mom. It's good to see you too," he said, his voice warm. He held her for a moment longer, his grip tightening as he felt her sudden intake of breath. "Everything okay?" he asked, pulling back to look at her face.

Joan blushed, her mind racing as she tried to understand what had just happened. She had never experienced anything like that before with her son, and the suddenness of it had left her shaken. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

The ghost hadn't been able to pass up the opportunity to cause a bit of mischief. When they hugged he had planted naughty suggestions into both of their minds, as well as throwing a charge of sexual energy crackling between their chests. 

Self-consciously, Joan looked down at her hard nipples doing "their thing" again. "Was this gonna keep happening?" she wondered. "Hopefully, he won't notice," she thought. She blushed when she saw his eyes darting down at her chest. 

James definitely noticed, and had begun to spring an erection as well. "I hope she doesn't notice," he thought, while forcing himself to look back up at her face. 

Joan definitely noticed his condition as well but quickly moved to change the subject. "How are you, Sweetie? I've missed you so much," she said, smiling weakly. 

He chuckled, "I'm good, Mom. Just here to help out." He gave her another hug, this one more familial.

They pulled apart, and Joan motioned for him to follow her. "Let me show you where you'll be sleeping. Dad's busy in the backyard. He'll want to see you too." James nodded and followed her up the wooden staircase to the second floor. Joan felt an almost imperceptible warmth across her backside, like her butt was being gently stroked. It caused her to subtly sway her hips on the way up the stairs.

Joan caught a fleeting glimpse of James's flushed face as she reached the top step, realizing he'd been admiring her curves instead of watching where he was going. She couldn't help but feel a flicker of naughty amusement and a strange sense of satisfaction. She turned to him, her eyes twinkling with naughtiness. "Need some help with that, Sweetheart?" she teased, gesturing to his suitcase.

James's face turned an even deeper shade of red, and he quickly averted his gaze. "No, no, I'm good," he stammered, gripping the handle of his suitcase tighter. "Just... just give me a second."

Joan chuckled, her heart fluttering with an unfamiliar sensation. She felt a strange mix of pride and lust, a primal joy in knowing that her grown son found her desirable.

But before she could dwell on it, John’s voice called up the stairs, his tone urgent. "Joan, I just got a call from work. There’s an emergency, and I need to go in for a few hours."

Joan turned toward the sound of his voice. "Come on up here and say hello to your son first!" she commanded.

"Be right there!" John called out. He ran up the stairs, gave his son a quick hug and an apology. James was accustomed to this happening to his dad. He just shrugged and wished his dad luck as he ran off to the office.

"Oh, by the way, I forgot to tell you. I got a text from Emma. She's probably not going to make it out here until tomorrow," James said.

"Oh, that sister of yours," she said annoyed. "Oh well, I guess it'll just be us, just like old times."

There was a brief moment of awkwardness as the mother and son stood there in the guest bedroom, made worse by a resumption of the ghost's hands, surreptitiously massaging her ass. Joan knew she needed to get out of there right away. Trying not to panic, she said, "I need to stop by the grocery store to pick up a few things for dinner. Will you be OK here for an hour or so?"

"Of course, Mom. Take your time. I'll just make myself comfortable," he said, sitting himself down on the edge of the bed. Once again, this put his eyes at the same level as her chest. She noticed and her nipples got even harder, piercing through the shirt despite herself.

She quickly turned and walked out of the room, trying to hide her growing arousal. As she descended the stairs, she felt the ghost’s presence lingering behind her, its energy playfully teasing her every step. She could almost hear its low, throaty chuckle in the air, a sound that sent a shiver down her spine.

Joan paused at the bottom of the stairs, taking a deep breath to steady herself. She glanced back up at the second floor, where James was now unpacking his suitcase, his back turned to her. The sight of him - young, strong, and completely unaware of the storm brewing inside her - made her bite her lip.

She needed to get out of the house for a while. She grabbed her purse and car keys and rushed out the front door.

---

Suddenly, the house was quiet. Left alone, young James decided to kill some time. Laying on his back, he thought he might scroll through his phone but, almost immediately, he found himself browsing for porn. He wasn't sure why he was so horny. Sure, at twenty years of age, he was always horny but this was on another level entirely. Perhaps it had something to do with the sight of his mother's nipples pressing against her t-shirt earlier. That had definitely stirred some memories in him. 

As an adolescent, the first boobs he'd ever had a chance to see in real life belonged to his mother. He remembered that old house they lived in and how his parents' bedroom had those slotted shutter-style doors - what they used to call "French doors." Looking at them straight on, they were opaque but, when he was sitting in the dark, on the staircase just outside and above the door, and the bedroom light was just right, he could squint and narrowly make out the interior of the room through the slats. And on one fateful night, his eyes managed to catch his mother, alone and oblivious to his presence, changing out of her daily clothes and into her nightgown. It was the sexiest, hottest thing he had ever seen up until that point. In the coming weeks, he repeatedly spied on her and, occasionally caught her naked. For a short period of time, it served the young man as adequate jackoff material but, it was just a phase. In time, he would grow bored of it, rationalizing that it was fun at first but, really, she wasn't Doing anything sexy, just changing her clothes. That's why what had just happened was such a shock for him. He had no idea where that reaction had come from, like a bolt of lightning out of the blue.

He decided he had to jack off, to get this sexual energy out of his system. He put his phone down, stepped into the bathroom and went exploring in the cabinets. Lo and behold - there it was - James' favorite old jar of Vaseline, exactly as he remembered it. He couldn't believe his parents had actually packed it and brought it with them from their last house. He laughed when he thought about how his parents' never had a clue what he had been using it for. He grabbed the jar and an old towel and brought them back to his bedroom. He stripped off his shoes, pants and underwear, and laid back on his bed. 

He made sure the towel was close by. This was particularly important to him because the young man "suffered" from Hyperspermia, a condition that caused his young balls to produce an outlandish amount of semen. It was fun for testing his own ability to shoot for distance and accuracy but, was otherwise, quite impractical and messy. 

He picked up his phone and immediately found a video that caught his eye. It was one of a woman, much older than him, but with a body that made him drool. She was a mature beauty, with curves in all the right places. He felt his cock twitch in his hand, already hard and eager. He reached for the Vaseline, spread some on his cockhead. Then he began to stroke himself, his breath coming in short gasps as he watched the woman on the screen. He could feel his heart racing, his cock now throbbing in his hand.

The ghost touched his forehead and suddenly he couldn't help but think about his mother again, about how she had hugged him earlier, how he had felt her hard nipples pressing against his chest. He imagined her hugging him like that again, but this time, he was naked, and so was she. The ghost had, of course, planted this scenario inside the young man's head to get him even more excited.

James could feel her breasts against his chest, those amazing nipples hard and rubbing against him. The ghost began to massage his balls, hoping to coax out the maximum amount of cum. James gasped, his hand stilling on his cock as he felt the unexpected touch. It was firm, yet gentle, the fingertips tracing the sensitive sac beneath his sizable balls, sending jolts of pleasure through his body. "Oh my god!" he called out, his voice hoarse with surprise and arousal. 

Something touched his forehead again and his head began to spin. His phone had fallen off of his chest but he imagined he was still looking at a video of his mother posing completely naked as she approached his cock. His vision blurred, and he could feel his body responding to the sensations coursing through him. His hands fell to his sides in complete surrender.

James succumbed to the thought that his cock was now being stroked by his mother, and it was unbelievably hot. He could feel his cock leaking pre-cum, the sensation of her hand stroking him infinitely more pleasurable than his own.

"Fuck," he moaned, his hips bucking upward, desperate for more. He could feel his balls drawing up, his orgasm close, but the ghost seemed to know just how to edge him, keeping him on the precipice without letting him fall over.

"Not yet, son," the ghost whispered to him, its voice sounding exactly like his mother's. "Let's build it up a bit!"

James groaned in frustration, his hips thrusting upwards, desperate for release. But the ghost held back, its hand stilling, refusing to give him what he wanted just yet.

"Please," James begged, his voice a whimper. "I need to cum. Please Mom, let me cum." James whimpered, his body aching with need, his cock dripping pre-cum all over his stomach.

"Just a little bit more," the ghost responded, even more clearly, using his mother's voice. The ghost sent another charge into the young man's balls, causing them to swell even further. James could barely breathe now, his body tensing as he fought to reach orgasm. 

As the pleasure built, James looked down at his cock and could swear he saw his mother's face. He could see her smiling up at him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling with a sexual intensity he had never seen before. It was her body leaning over him, her breasts rubbing up and down his torso, her hands lovingly stroking his cock, and sensually caressing his balls. He watched in awe as she reached for his trusty towel. "OK, come for me now, sweetheart," she whispered, her voice a husky purr that sent shivers down his spine.

The sight was too much for him. James's balls drew up tight, his orgasm ripping through him like a freight train. He cried out, his hips bucking upward as he came, while the ghost used the towel to deflect most of the cum back onto the young man's chest. 

The ghost wanted as much sperm as he could get and would not let up his stroking of the boy's cock. James twisted his head in circles, in ecstasy and shock. He looked down at what he thought was his mother, mercilessly working on his cock and felt something amazing - a tingling in his balls that told him he wasn't done yet. 

The boy gasped, his eyes widening in surprise, as he felt his cock twitching again, ready for more. Before he could even process what was happening, he was cumming a second time, his cock spurting out more cum than he thought possible. He moaned, his body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over him. And just as he thought he couldn't take any more, he felt it Again! - the tingling in his balls, the twitching of his cock. He stared down in disbelief as he came a third time, his body shaking with the force of it.

The young man finally passed out, spent from an overload of pleasure. Two hours later, he would groggily awaken, feeling good but with no memory of having jacked off, and not a sign of a single drop of cum anywhere, including the towel. He only remembered having a heck of a weird dream.

The ghost was gone, having collected a triple dose of potent, virile sperm from the young man's testicles. His plan was shaping up nicely. The ghost had taken the young man's potent seed, but it wasn't done yet. It had a much more delicious target in mind - the mother. The one who had been so hot and responsive. The one who had been so eager to fuck. The one who had been so wet and tight and perfect.


Another Ghost Story
by LEBEC

***

The ghost puts his plans to impregnate the wife into play.

***

Chapter Four

The ghost sensed Joan approaching the house, her energy a mix of nervousness and anticipation. The ghost smiled, knowing that soon she would be back for more.

Joan walked through the front door, her arms laden with grocery bags. The house was quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. She set the bags down on the counter, her mind still racing from the strange encounter with James earlier. She decided to check in with him to see if he needed anything. She knocked softly on his door and quietly turned the door knob, cracking it open just an inch. She heard him snoring heavily and could just barely make out the back side of his half-naked frame on the bed.

Her nipples hardened again and she shuddered at the memory of their earlier contact. She was tempted to enter the room but quickly chickened out and decided instead to close the door and walk away.

Joan's fingers trembled as she unpacked the grocery bags, her mind replaying the way James had looked at her earlier - how his eyes had lingered on her breasts, how his cock had immediately jumped to attention.

She forced herself to focus on the task at hand, arranging the groceries in the fridge with deliberate purpose. But her thoughts kept drifting back to the guest room, to the way James had looked at her - like he "wanted" her.

She decided she needed to put such thoughts out of her mind. Since James was sleeping, she guessed this would be a good opportunity for her to take a break and maybe even have a shower. The hot water would help clear her head, wash away the lingering tension in her muscles. She entered the master bedroom and locked the door behind her, the wooden window shutters blocking out most of the fading daylight in the room.

Joan stripped off her clothes, stepped into the bathroom, and turned on the shower. The water cascaded down, steam rising to fill the small space with warmth. She stepped under the stream, letting the heat soak into her skin, her mind still tangled in the strange events of the day.

The ghost’s presence lingered in the air, a faint whisper of energy that made her skin tingle. She could almost feel his hands on her again, the way he had touched her so intimately, so possessively. She shuddered, her nipples hardening under the spray. She reached for the soap, lathering her body with slow, sensual strokes, her fingers tracing the curves of her hips, the swell of her breasts.

The ghost remained invisible, but only a few feet away, taking the time to admire this White woman's body. When he was alive, he had fucked many such young White ladies, and he absolutely loved the thought of seducing them and seeding them with his sperm, especially the married ones! He lamented the fact that he could no longer produce his own sperm, the only silver lining being that he was still able to take viable sperm from other males and "redistribute it" to unsuspecting females. This was easily half the fun for the naughty ghost. 

It had been a long time since he'd had an opportunity like this, and Joan was especially beautiful. He probably would have already been successful at impregnating her, if not for John's vasectomy. Yes, John's spermless cum was adequate enough to sustain the ghost, but was useless for the rest of the ghost's plan.

Now that he was freshly charged with young James' potent seed inside of him, though, the ghost had everything he needed to proceed. He could already imagine the way her Joan's belly would swell, the way her nipples would darken as her body prepared to nurture her offspring. The thought made his cock stiffen, the thick length rising upwards.

Joan's fingers traced the curve of her belly, her mind drifting to the strange sensations that had been plaguing her lately. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was different, that her body was changing in ways she couldn't explain. The ghost watched as she returned her attention to her breasts, her fingers brushing over her nipples, sending another jolt of pleasure through her body. He could see the way her breath caught in her throat, the way her thick nipples responded to the slightest touch.

He knew she was ripe for the taking, her body primed and ready for breeding. He could already imagine the way her hips would spread for him, the way her back would once again arch as he filled her with his thick cock. 

The ghost's fingers traced her pussy, making her moan. The sensation was electric, her body responding instantly to his touch. She hissed, her fingers gripping the shower wall, as pleasure shot through her.

Joan felt disoriented, foolishly blaming it on the steam in the room, hoping that was all there was to it. She stepped out of the shower and quickly grabbed a towel, and began to dry herself. Meanwhile, the ghost's hand would not leave her ass. It was firm, possessive, and she could feel the heat of his palm through the thin fabric of the towel. She spun around, her eyes scanning the bathroom, and saw nothing.

She finished drying off and grabbed a robe off the bathroom hook. She stepped into the bedroom and sat naked on the end of the mattress, swabbing out her ears with a corner of the towel.

Before she could finish, though, her robe slid off the bed, seemingly on its own, like it was hooked on a fishing line, landing a good four feet away on the floor. As she bent down to reach for it, she felt a solid hand stop her movement, holding her in place. The ghost’s grip was firm, his fingers pressing into her waist with a strength that left no doubt - he was no longer just an apparition. He was real, solid, and very much in control.

Joan gasped, her heart hammering against her ribs as she twisted her neck, searching for the source of the touch. The air around her shimmered, and for a moment, she saw him again - the tall, broad-shouldered older Black man with the dark skin and piercing brown eyes.

The moment their eyes met, Joan melted into place, suddenly unafraid. His presence was hypnotic, magnetic, pulling her in with an irresistible force. The ghost's fingers traced the curve of her spine, sending a jolt of pleasure through her body. She groaned, reminding herself to breathe, as she leaned into his touch, her body responding instinctively to his presence.

"You're real," she whispered, her voice trembling with awe. The ghost's lips curved into a slow, knowing smile, his fingers trailing down her back, tracing the curve of her ass before sliding between her thighs. She moaned, her legs parting slightly, her body betraying her with its readiness.

Then, without warning, his mouth was between her thighs once again, his tongue hot and wet as he licked her with slow, deliberate strokes. Her body trembled as he worked her with expert precision. She remembered the other night - the way she had awakened to the sensation of a tongue between her legs, the way she had arched her back and cried out in the darkness. She had assumed it was John, that he had come to her in the night, hungry for her body. 

But now, as the ghost's tongue worked its magic between her thighs, she knew the truth - she was certain it had been this man, or more correctly, this ghost, all along. Any doubts, any fears she'd had of the unknown, were now completely forgotten. All she could think of was the pleasure that amazing tongue was giving her, and it wouldn't take long before, with a cry, she came, her body shuddering as waves of ecstasy crashed over her. The ghost groaned against her, his tongue lapping up every drop of her release, his hands gripping her hips to keep her steady, as she trembled through the aftershocks.

For a moment, she was too spent to move, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she sagged against the bed. But the ghost wasn’t done with her just yet.

His fingers continued to casually stroke her labia while he waited for her to respond. Once she came around, she stopped in her tracks when she saw his cock right next to her face. It was huge and jet black, over eight inches long and incredibly thick, particularly at the base. The sight of it made her mouth water. She had never seen anything like it - so thick, so veiny, the tip glistening with pre-cum. "Had that thing been inside of me last time?" she thought. "No wonder I was so sore the next day."

"You like what you see?" he murmured, his voice a low, husky growl. 

His cock was right there, thick and pulsing, just inches from her lips. Without thinking, Joan reached out, her fingers wrapping around the thick shaft, marveling at the way it throbbed in her grasp. She leaned forward, her tongue flicking out to catch the pre-cum glistening at the tip. The ghost groaned, his hips jerking slightly as she took him into her mouth, her lips stretching wide to accommodate his girth. His cock was so thick, so heavy, filling her mouth completely. 

She couldn't believe she was doing this and wondered where all this sluttiness was coming from. She almost never did this for John. And here she was, a Catholic girl, willingly sucking off this strange man's cock, and with such abandon. She licked the head of it eagerly, her tongue swirling hungrily around the sensitive underside, her fingers working the base of his shaft.

The taste of him was intoxicating - salty and musky, but with an underlying sweetness that made her crave more. She moaned around him, the vibration making his hips jerk, his fingers tightening in her hair as he fought to hold back.

"You love the taste of 'your boy's cum', don't you, girl!" he said.

She bobbed her head in enthusiastic agreement, unaware that "the boy" he was referring to was her own son. The more pre-cum he gave her, the more delicious it seemed to taste. She wanted to suck on him forever but, suddenly he stopped and pulled out of her, leaving her frustrated with an empty mouth.

The ghost's grip on her hair tightened, pulling her head back and away from his cock until she was looking up at him with wild, desperate eyes. His cock was still rock hard, glistening with her saliva, and he clearly had more in store for her.

"Turn around," he commanded, his voice rough with need. "I'm going to fuck you from behind."

Joan's breath hitched at the raw hunger in his tone, but she obeyed without hesitation, turning onto her hands and knees on the bed. The ghost's hands gripped her hips, his fingers controlling the firm flesh of her ass, as he positioned himself behind her. She could feel the heat of his body against her back, the solid weight of him pressing her into the mattress. His cock brushed against her entrance, the thick head parting her folds with ease. She gasped, her fingers curling into the sheets as he began to push inside her.

The ghost entered her slowly at first, giving her a chance to get used to him in the new position. He bet she'd never been fucked this way before, and he knew she'd never felt anything this big enter her pussy from behind. He also knew that if he broke her in properly, she would want it this way, again and again.

The thick head of his cock stretched her open, inch by agonizing inch, until she was whimpering beneath him. He waited as her newly stretched pussy adjusted to his cock, his hands holding onto her hips with a possessive firmness. When she was finally able to relax, he murmured, "That's it, baby - you took every inch of me. You're mine now!" his voice a low, velvety growl that sent shivers down her spine.

Joan whimpered as her pussy adjusted to the sheer size of him. She had never been filled like this before - never felt so completely owned. The ghost's fingers traced the curve of her spine, his touch sending sparks of pleasure through her nerves. He began to move, slowly at first, his hips rolling in a slow but constant rhythm that took her breath away.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groaned, his voice rough with need. "Your pussy is so tight, so wet for me. You were made for this cock, weren’t you?"

Joan could only whimper a weak, "Yes," in response, her body trembling beneath him. She had never felt anything like this - never been so completely filled, so utterly possessed. The ghost felt her submission and began to fuck her in earnest.

His thick cock slid in and out of her tight pussy with slow, controlled strokes, each thrust stretching her wider, filling her deeper than she ever thought possible. His hands gripped her hips firmly, his fingers digging into her solid flesh as he pulled her back onto his cock with every thrust.

Soon the ghost began to pick up the pace, the sound of their bodies slapping together filling the room, raw and primal. The ghost’s cock was relentless, each thick thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body, her pussy clenching around him as he filled her deeper than she’d ever been filled before.

Then, without warning, her orgasm hit her like a ton of bricks, her body convulsing as pleasure exploded through her, her hot pussy grasping his thick shaft in rhythmic spasms. She cried out, her voice raw with lust, her fingers twisting in the sheets as she rode out the waves of ecstasy. The ghost groaned as he felt her tighten around him, her body milking his cock with every pulse of her orgasm. The ghost’s cock throbbed inside her, swelling impossibly thicker, just as he began to blow his load.

"Take 'your boy's' cum! Now!" he commanded, his voice rough with primal need, his hips slamming against her ass with a force that made the bed shake beneath them. The words sent a jolt of something  thrilling through her, her body responding with another fresh orgasmic wave as she felt the first hot pulse of his release deep inside her.

The ghost’s cock throbbed inside her, his thick shaft twitching as he filled her with thick, hot spurts of cum. Joan gasped, her body trembling as she felt the warmth spreading through her, his seed coating her womb in thick, sticky waves. His cum was so much, so hot, filling her completely.

Joan was shocked when the ghost's orgasm triggered another orgasm in her, and then another. She'd never experienced anything like that before, her body continuing to convulse, as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, multiple times. She felt like she was being electrocuted, her pussy being forcibly activated, over and over again. When she couldn't take it any longer, her body collapsed into a heap.

The ghost groaned as he held himself firmly against her dilated cervix, his buttocks spasming as he emptied himself inside the very fertile woman. "Fuck, you take it so well," he growled, his voice rough with satisfaction. "You were made for this cock, weren’t you?"

Joan could only whimper in response, her body trembling beneath him, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she rode out the aftershocks of her orgasm. She could feel the cum dripping down her thighs, sticky and warm, but she didn’t care - she couldn’t think, couldn’t move. She was too lost in the pleasure, too addicted to the way he made her feel. She could only lay there, her head plastered to the bed, her ass still up in the air, her energy spent, her womb properly seeded by the masterful cock.

He pulled out of her, his thick cock glistening with her juices and his cum. He flipped her onto her back, spreading her legs wide. He stared down at her, his dark eyes burning with hunger.

He spread her legs wide, his dark eyes drinking in the sight of her swollen, glistening pussy, still dripping with his cum. The sight of her like this - spread open, vulnerable, and completely at his mercy - made him smile in conquest. The ghost smirked, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He knew he had her now - body and soul. 

He leaned down, his breath hot against her ear as he whispered, "You're mine now, Joan. Every inch of this tight little pussy belongs to me."

"Yes, I'm yours," she echoed, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm. With an almost childlike whimper she said, "But... but... I don't even know your name."

The ghost's fingers traced the curve of her hip, his touch sending sensual shivers down her spine. His dark eyes locked onto hers, burning with a powerful intensity. "Bart," he said, his voice a low, velvety growl that sent heat pooling between her thighs. "My name is Bart."

The name rolled off his tongue like a promise, a secret whispered between two lovers. Bart... The name sent a shiver down her spine, a thrill of something dark and forbidden, yet somehow very comfortable and familiar. While she processed the name, a smile came to her lips. "Bart," she repeated, wistfully.

"Now, just one more thing to do, girl."
Before she knew it, the ghost's tongue traced the folds of her pussy, licking her clean with slow, deliberate strokes. "No..." she whined, unconvincingly, her body trembling and betraying her with one last aftershock. The ghost lapped up every last drop of their combined arousal except, of course, the part of his load that had already been deposited deep within her very fertile womb, the super-virile sperm he had taken from her own son, that was already searching for her waiting egg.

Once he was fed, Bart returned his fingers between her thighs, parting her swollen folds with deliberate slowness. She gasped as he circled her clit with his thumb, the pressure just right - teasing, but not enough to bring her off.

"From now on, you will help me," Bart said, his voice low and commanding. "You will continue to have sex with your husband, as if nothing had happened, and continue to serve me sexually whenever I call upon you. Do you understand?" he asked, making sure she was listening.

"Yes," she nodded, feeling his fingers continuing to strum over her clit.

"Also, I will be asking you to bring others to me, so that I might expand my power and possibly extend my range of influence beyond the borders of this dwelling."

Joan could feel the heat of his gaze on her skin as her body trembled beneath his touch. She knew she was completely at his mercy, and would do anything he asked to feel this pleasure again. 

As Joan's body continued to shudder, the ghost asked again, "Do you understand, Joan?"

With no hesitation, Joan responded, "Yes, of course, Bart. Whatever you desire!"

Bart smiled at her. He was back, and the future was looking bright!

THE END