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[F4M] That Special Feeling of Getting Creampied by a Ghost in a Small Town at the Height of Summer
Author Summary
AnAmazingFerret is a female looking for a male
Post Body

The house stood alone on a hill overlooking the town, its slanted roof and sagging windows gazing down on the lonely road with a certain, ancient majesty that sent a shiver of trepidation and excitement down my spine. Next to me, Ginger squinted against the setting summer sun and blew a raspberry. Her bright red hair fell in luscious curls around her shoulders, and her scuffed clothes, all too recently filled out with her late bloomer's body, seemed oddly fitting with the old, dilapidated house.

"This is the kind of thing you do when you're twelve, Ames. Why are we here again?"

I shrugged, not sure how to express myself. "It's just... one of those things I never got around to doing, you know? I dunno, I just think I'd regret it if I went off to who knows where without going in the haunted house at least once, you know? It's.. a tradition, sort of. A coming of age thing."

"Coming of age?" Ginger shot me a mocking glance. "You're nineteen. Shouldn't you have reached that stage a while ago?"

"I guess." I shrugged and began to walk up the overgrown path. To my quiet satisfaction, I noticed that Ginger hesitated in following me. With a smirk, I called over my shoulder: "But at least I'm not too proud to admit it when I'm acting like a child!"

I reached the door and rested my hand on the knob, and with a quick glance back at my friend I saw that she was still leaning against her bike, a mix of irritation and worry on her face. She was doing her best to hide it, of course, but it was evident that despite her bravado, she did not want to go inside.

"You coming?" I called, and without waiting to see, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

 

The house was much as I had expected; dark, dirty and suffused with a strange, musty smell that reminded him of mildew and old food left in a closed refrigerator. Once, I had found an old, disused boiler room in the bowels of my high school, and the smell reminded me of that; stale, warm and just slightly dusty in a way that wasn't entirely unpleasant. Rays of dappled light fell through the broken windows, and motes of dust danced in the fading sun, disturbed by the gust of air that my entry had caused. To my immediate right, an old kitchen lay in disrepair, with most of the counter top destroyed or defaced by previous intruders, and to my left, a bare room seemed to have once been a parlor or living room, although there now remained only a small smattering of scrapped wood and ruined fabric – curtains, likely, or maybe a rug. Straight ahead, a hallway lead further into the house, and a narrow stairway led upstairs into further darkness.

To my surprise, I could see fairly well, owing to the bright summer afternoon outside, and I decided to keep the compact flashlight that I had brought with me tucked away in my pocket. Slowly I began to move into the house, feeling every bit the invader as I explored someone's former home. I had only taken a few steps, however, when the door opened behind me, and Ginger peered inside, accompanied by a gust of fresh, warm air that somehow made the staleness of the house that much more potent. It was as if being reminded of the outside world made the cloying scent inside all the worse. I glanced back at my friend and smiled, although I wasn't sure if she could make it out in the darkness.

"C'mon," I urged, and despite Ginger's trepidation, I could sense her excitement as a soft grin crept over her face. She was still thin for an adult, and I knew she was self-conscious about her frail limbs and the way her chest wobbled oddly on her narrow frame, but I had always made a point to never bring up her body in any way that was not both superficial and slightly on the kind side. She was, I knew, not the kind of person who liked empty platitudes and compliments about her sore spots, and so I kept my opinion to myself. She was cute, though. Her breasts were far too large for the rest of her, and she barely had an ass to speak of, but then, I had always been bountifully gifted in both curves and the firm, tanned skin to flaunt them. Deep down, I kind of suspected that Ginger resented me for my looks, but we had been friends since childhood, and I wasn't about to let her jealousy - or was it envy? - ruin a good thing. Besides, my big, blonde curls came with their own set of problems, and having a pair of thick, jeans-defying thighs made for an awkward experience during physical exercise... but I guess we all have our crosses to bear.

Ginger followed me slowly, and soon we were creeping through the fading light of the afternoon outside, stepping over piles of debris and giggling like school girls at the creepy sights. A door lead down to the basement, but neither Ginger nor I could convince the other to go first, and so instead we merely peered down into the black pit, a stairway with only the first two steps illuminated before it dropped into an inky darkness that seemed almost physical. Truth be told, staring at that kind of nothingness made the hairs at the back of my neck stand on edge, but I was determined to see this through, and if Ginger thought I was scared, she would only mock me. High school graduates and legal adults aside; in that house, we were fourteen again.

It took us perhaps half an hour to explore ever nook of the first floor, and at that point, I sensed that Ginger was starting to get enough. I couldn't really blame her, either; with at least thirty years of intruders causing havoc and playing pranks on the house, there was very little to look at except the amateurish graffiti and the few remnants of habitation that still lingered. One lamp in particular stood miraculously untouched in the corner of a small study, and I felt a strange urge to touch it, but Ginger was starting to huff and groan, and the light was fading faster now, to the point where we had to strain to make our way around without stumbling on the broken planks and bricks on the floor. Reluctantly, I followed my friend to the foyer, but as she made for the door, I stopped.

"What about upstairs?" I asked. Ginger glanced at me with an exasperated look on her face.

"What about it? Here, let me tell you what's up there: Darkness, broken furniture and maybe some asshole's 'creepy' writing on the wall telling us that we're next. We've seen what this place has to offer. Let's go."

She pushed the door open, and I felt the breath of fresh air on my face. I had almost forgotten what it tasted like, and part of me knew that she was right. Whatever this house had to offer, it was probably little more than what we had already seen, and the sun had almost set in the sky by now. I could see the burning orange as the waning light set fire to the clouds, and Ginger turned in the doorway and crossed her arms, evidently convinced that I was hesitating purely to fuck with her.

"You coming?" Her words echoed my own from before, but unlike then, I felt no impetus to follow them. There was... something about the house that kept me hooked, a morbid curiosity verging on the irrational. Somehow, despite everything pointing to the contrary, I was certain that the second floor held some kind of sight or secret that I needed to experience. With my eyes trained on Ginger, I shook my head.

"I'm gonna look upstairs first. I think--"

"You think what, exactly?" Ginger sneered at me. "That there's some hidden treasure of the Sierra Madre up there? Screw you. I'm sick of this game, okay? Stop trying to dare me to do shit."

I shook my head softly. "I'm not. Go ahead; I'll see you later. I just want a quick look, that's all, but you don't have to wait for me. I'll call you tonight, okay?"

She snorted and tossed her head in indignation. "Fine. See you later. Just don't fall and break your neck, 'cause I'm not coming back to check on you."

With that, she turned and began walking down the path towards the road, and I watched as the door slowly creaked shut behind her, shutting out the last of the light and fresh air. I pursed my lips, scoffed a laugh and shook my head. "Love you too, Ginge," I muttered to myself, and then turned and began walking slowly up the stairs to the second floor.

 

Unsurprisingly, the upstairs was much like below. Empty rooms played host to various piles of debris and drawings on the walls, and most of the windows were broken and boarded up, leaving the stale air to stagnate and cloy in my nostrils. There was a sense of loss here, although I wasn't sure if it wasn't just my own extrapolation of the ruin all around me. From one room to the other, I couldn't help but imagine what had once been; a nursery, here, and a master bedroom, there. The latter was actually easy to recognize; as seemingly the only room to have survived the rush of destructive youths on their adrenaline-high, the master bedroom sat in perfect condition, albeit musty and flecked with dust. The large, twin bed stood in the middle of the room and dominated it, and the windows, while still broken, were not boarded up, which allowed a faint breeze and a measure of light to pour into the room. It puzzled me that this place had not been vandalized like the rest of the house; something this large and prominent ought to have attracted the attention of the young and insensitive, but here it was, perfectly intact and even with the bed nicely made, as if the maid had been in just recently to see to it. A few other pieces of furniture dotted the room; a night stand on the far end of the bed, a dressed an a chair, and as I took a closer look, I realized that what I had taken to be a decorative draping hanging at an angle above the head rest of the bed was actually a wide, slanted mirror hidden beneath a carefully draped piece of cloth. As I unveiled it, I watched my own face mirrored and silhouetted in the light of the waning sun, and with the light in my eyes, it seemed that the dark door frame behind me looked even darker and more foreboding than it had before. Truth be told, the place was starting to creep me out, but at the same time, this room was a mystery, and I could not help myself but investigate. It's in my blood, I suppose. Mysteries were always like an aphrodisiac to me.

Snooping around, I soon began to piece together something about the former owners of the bedroom that few others perhaps had been privy to, namely that they were incredibly kinky. Aside from the large mirror at the head of the bed, there was another set into the wall opposite it, hidden behind a retractable drape, and a third set into the ceiling above the bed. Naturally, I couldn't help but wonder what that kind of setup might offer of interesting possibilities, and as I considered the mirrors and their positioning, I began to muse on the concept. Thanks to the setting sun and the warm summer day that it had brought with it, the bedroom was comfortably warm, and I began to feel some of that warmth slowly suffuse into my body as I imagined the former owners of the house - faceless, mute entities in the theater of my mind bucking and twisting against each other on the bed before me. Without really registering it, I walked over and shut the door, and then I was alone with the bed and the mental image, and the almost fiendishly incessant way it kept imposing itself on my mind. A faint tremor between my legs alerted me to the fact that I was starting to get gushing wet, and despite the general state of disrepair of the room, I took a step closer to the bed, imagining myself as some spectral voyeur watching this imaginative couple going at it while glorying in the sight of each other's naked bodies. The passion, to install such a complex setup. The confidence in one's own body and performance. The sheer, indulgent glee with which he must have adored her, to want to see her every sordid angle as he took her, hard and deep and to the hilt with every firm stroke...

Something tickled my neck, and I gasped, more out of surprise than genuine fear. It had felt, for lack of a better word, like a hand brushing against my skin, but of course, there was nothing there. By now, I could feel the burning heat in the pit of my stomach, and I had to squirm not to reach down and touch myself-- it was wrong, I knew, to even entertain this kind of fantasy in a place like this, and yet, I couldn't help myself. The more I watched the empty bed, the more real these two incorporeal lovers seemed to me, and their passion, translated through soundless moans and deep, tremulous shudders, made my own need flare all the more brightly in the abandoned room, until I was sure that I could actually smell my own arousal through the white cotton panties and tight, thigh-clenching jeans.

Another sensation of touch kissed my neck, and this time, I didn't flinch. Instead, I felt an involuntary mewl rise from the pit of my lungs, and the sound spilled out into the empty room and was swallowed up by the encroaching darkness, slick with shadows and the motes of dust flickering through the red glow of the dying sun. It was getting progressively harder to think, and then another touch found me, traveling from the center of my stomach up to press against my breast. This time I felt it, as real as anything, but upon looking down I saw nothing. Of course not. There was nothing there. I was alone in the house, after all. By now, Ginger was probably at home watching a sitcom and sulking. Her and her big tits. If only she'd let someone play with them, maybe she'd see them for the gift they really were...

My cream-colored top creased visibly as incorporeal fingers ran up across my chest and pressed tightly against my breasts, and I let another soft moan escape me as the pleasant sensation of firm, needy fingers gropes my chest and pressed against my nipples. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that I ought to be scared, but part of me reckoned that this was impossible, and as such, it wasn't happening. I must have fallen asleep, and that this was all a dream. Or perhaps I was simply letting my sordid fantasies get the better of me; I'd always been a horn-dog. Getting hot and bothered over an imaginary couple fucking was right up my alley.

One of the invisible hands squeezed me tightly, and I felt myself getting pulled slightly backwards as something reached down and pressed against the button of my jeans. With an audible pop, the button snapped open, and before I had proper time to react, I felt the zipper slide down until my jeans began to come undone around my waist. Still, my hands remained loosely by my side; I couldn't move, or perhaps rather, I didn't want to. A comfortable blanket of warmth had enveloped me, and as I let myself sink back into it, I felt my jeans being pulled down to my ankles, and then a weight zeroed in on my clitoris, expertly shifting the panties aside to find my most sensitive spot with ease. With a trembling gasp, I dragged my leg out of the discarded pants and spread them slightly, entirely too captivated by the sensation to question where it was coming from.

"Tell me your name."

It was a faint voice, barely more than the rustling of the wind through soft leaves, but I heard it plainly in my ear, as if a pair of lips were pressed closely to my head. It was a sweet voice, a gentle one. It sounded reassuring.

I suppressed a moan to speak. "Amily," I murmured. "Amily Porter."

"Amily..."

The voice sounded like it was smiling. Another teasing bout of pressure sent a spike of wet-hot bliss up through my spine.

"Do you like this, Amily?"

"Yes..." It was little more than a breathy whisper, but I was certain I had been heard. Whoever - or whatever - was with me seemed to be in total control of the room. It held me and let one ghostly hand grope and knead my breast while the other tugged my panties further aside and reached deeper towards my core, agile fingers grinding against my clitoris with every deft movement.

"Do you want more?"

The voice was honey-sweet and coaxing, so near that it felt as if it was speaking directly into my mind. Perhaps I imagined that I could feel a pair of lips quivering at the very faintest frequency against my ear, but it might have simply been the wind. Whatever the case, my answer was clear. There was nothing I could say or do to deny myself the sensations currently coursing through me.

"Yes," I whispered. "Please."

The voice sounded pleased. Perhaps it even sounded amused.

"How much more?"

"I..." I hesitated. "I don't--"

"Do you want me to fuck you?" I felt my labia spread around something, and the sensation of fingers sliding into me and grinding over my clitoris made me groan with pleasure. Slowly, my gaze rose to the mirror on the opposite side of the room, but all I could see in the half-light was a lone female figure, contorted and gasping, with her panties halfway down her broad thighs and her arms floating by her side. It was surreal.

The voice made another, soft sound, and I felt the movement between my legs intensify. The question still hung in the air between us - wherever that 'between' might be.

"Yes," I gasped, without really having a concept of what I was agreeing to, but knowing that this pleasure was more than I could bear to give up. It was an almost electric sensation, pulsing with every invisible twist of the fingers, and coaxing one sweet moan after the other from my lips.

"Good, Amily." The voice chuckled, like the faintest babble of a brook in the distance. "Good girl."

I opened my mouth to moan again, but no sooner had I done so than the sensation disappeared. For a split second I stood, half-naked and with my own juices soaking down my inner thighs. And then I felt a sharp push in the small of my back, and I stumbled forward onto the bed, hitting the sheets with my knees and forearms before I really had a chance to react. A hand found my ass and pushed it forward, and I felt another reach in to spread my cheeks, even as I tried to make heads and tails of the situation. Raising my head, I found myself staring at the slanted mirror above me, through which I could see, perfectly centered, my own naked body reflected in the mirror behind me. Despite every inch of my body telling me that there was someone behind me, someone whose hands were busy feeling me up, I could see nothing but my own nakedness, and the strip of white panty-cloth locked tight around my thighs.Just a lone, blonde girl on a bed, half-naked and terribly confused.

As I watched, however, I stared in fascination as an invisible force pried my cheeks apart, and I felt the sensation of greedy fingers on my body as my invisible lover parted my peach bottom for his pleasure. For a brief second, I watched as my puffy pussy lips were bared to the faint, glowing light of the setting sun, and then I felt the blunt tip of a cock push into me, and I watched with morbid fascination as my body began to open and stretch tightly around a cock that I could feel as plain as day, but which was impossible to see. Deeper and deeper, wider and wider, the firm manhood pushed into me, aided by my own, embarrassing wetness, and despite my inability to stop myself from moaning, I kept my eyes fixed on the point on the mirror where my hungry, aching pussy gaped visibly around an invisible cock.

"Good girl," whispered the voice, but it seemed a little more hoarse this time, a little less ethereal and a little more real. His hands gripped my hips, and I felt and heard the powerful impact of his hips as he thrust into me, my body yielding to his with all the dignity and grace of a bitch in heat. Then another thrust, and another, each one rocking my body forward and impaling me on his large, ghostly cock. Firm, fuzzy balls tapped against my clitoris every time he sunk into me, and despite my best efforts, I could not keep my eyes on the tantalizing sight of my sex shifting and flexing around his invisible appendage; I leaned forward and buried my face in the musty sheets, and mewled my pleasure into the mattress as electric currents of pleasure radiated from his cock and sent my body into paroxysms of delight.

Loud, lewd slaps and the sound of bodies colliding were now filling the room and spilling out the broken windows, and however much I may have wanted to, I could not restrain my own, wanton moans as the ghost's cock drove me inexorably towards an orgasmic peak, fueled purely by the incredibly sensation and the almost animal frenzy with which he sawed in and out of me. It was impossible to judge the size of him, neither his body nor his manhood, but I felt him swell and throb inside me as he fucked me as brutally and selfishly as anything I had ever tried before. Mindlessly, he seemed to simply heft my body between his hands and use it for his own, selfish pleasure, and something about that made my already addled mind fog over with lust and need and orgasmic bliss. Sparks of ethereal energy pulsed from his pistoning shaft down across my clit, and as his growls reached a crescendo, I felt my entire body tense and explode in an earth-shattering orgasm, loud and irrepressible and utterly, utterly satisfying. I threw my head back, arched my back against his thick cock, and cried my orgasming little heart out, all the while staring like a feverish animal at the sight of my drooling pussy clenching and milking a cock that wasn't there at all. It was surreal. It was.. unreal.

No sooner had my climax washed over me and caused my brain to frizzle and creak than I felt the invisible man behind me tense up, his thrusts growing deep and erratic as he rode the last of the building explosion to its limit. My groan was part exertion and part sympathetic pleasure as something strangely cool suddenly began to pour into my belly, and I felt him pulse vividly against my clenched walls as his fingers dug into my round cheeks until it was almost painful. Glancing up, I caught a brief glimpse of someone in the mirror, a figure poised behind me with their hands firmly attached to my body, but whether he was old or young, scruffy or prim or a muscle-bound lunk was impossible to tell. I only saw an instant of him, a flickering projection of surging, powerful pleasure as he emptied himself in me, and then he was gone, and only the sensation of him inside me and against me remained. I could hear his gasping, panting breath, so faint and yet so near, and after far, far longer than I had expected, he finally pulled his long, half-hard cock from my oozing sleeve.

"Good girl," he whispered, and I whimpered mindlessly as I rolled onto my back, feeling something wet trickle out between my legs. I think I had hoped to see him, at last, but there was no one there, and even after lying on the old, worn bed until the light had fully faded, and the strange, ectoplasmic cum had soaked into my skin and become nothing at all, he never showed himself. In the end, I got back on my feet, pulled my panties and jeans back on, and left the house at a brisk pace. I could not explain what had happened, but I could still feel the familiar, aching soreness from being taken hard and deep by someone with a big dick and a need to use it. Ginger was asleep by the time I got home, and my calling her did not appease her further from our argument earlier in the day. In the end, I sat with my back against the wall on my bed, looking out at the moon above the squat houses, and wondering about everything I thought was real. It was an epiphany, albeit one that had come in the strangest and least likely way imaginable. It was impossible. It was... unreal.

And yet, I knew I'd be going back tomorrow evening.


This is pretty open. Wanna play a spoopy ghost with a big cock? Ideally one that's into titfucking, slow blowjobs and anal sex? Or maybe you wanna play the exorcist who gets roped into trying to evict said spoopy ghost, which then turns into a supernatural threesome. Or something else entirely. Whatever the case, it's gonna get filthy with ectoplasm up in here.

As usual, I'm only looking for a single partner for this, so don't be discouraged if I don't respond. Then again, I'm honestly not convinced that anyone is going to take me up on this. It's kind of a weird fantasy. ...is it possible to kinkshame yourself?

Please introduce yourself and give me an idea about what part of the prompt spoke to you in particular. I get far too overwhelmed when someone sends me a huge block of writing (ironic, isn't it?), and I want to try and get back to as many people as I can. Thank you. :3

Likes: Big, invisible cocks; slow, passionate sex; the fading heat of a midsummer evening

Dislikes: Corporeality; the shuffling of this mortal coil; butter on un-toasted bread

And of course, check my subreddit for more weird and erotic writing.

Comments

It's a story of shades, spirits, and cocks
Beyond a mortal door, with silver locks
Creeping forth far past the veil
Hunger and lust color this tale

An old house, set on a hill
Into which she ventures, for a thrill
Spooky sights to tease the mind
Were here intent, but not this kind

For when she peers at the glass
Mid-thrust, ghostly hips against her ass
She cannot help but groan, and see
The spread-wide tell of her fantasy

For there are other things that roam
Beyond dust and webs, inside this home
With a charming smile she'll never spy
He waits, and wonders, with a sigh

For that night, when she first came in
And made him smile that unearthly grin
Each night, he waits, no need for light
Until the door creaks open, to make his night

Sometimes, in the following bliss
They'll come together, for a kiss
Whisper lips on warm, soft skin
And the slow drip of rich and liquid sin

If you ask her, why she wears the ring
She'll say it's a sentimental thing
But though their love is strange, it's true
And to think, it all started

With a boo.

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6 years ago