Simon had been haunting your house for a while before you came along. He didn't mind when people moved in, as long as they weren't too loud. He would slam a few doors or open up some cabinets, whisper words into people's ears to watch them jump, typical ghost games. If he was going to be dead, stuck haunting a house he died near, then he would have some fun with it.
That's why he was extra excited when you moved into the house. Just you, renting the two bedroom house from the landlord. Simon loves your face, the way you walk through the house confidently instructing the moving crew on where to go. He waits for everyone to leave, waiting for the front door to shut and leave the two of you alone.
You glance around the room, taking a deep breath before you shake your head. "You're just being paranoid, Y/N. It's an old house, that doesn't mean it's haunted." Simon holds back a chuckle, letting the kitchen door creak when he slinks past it. He loves the squeak you let out and the sound of you rushing to shut it.
Day after day, it gets harder for you to convince yourself that the house isn't haunted. You've heard footsteps around your bed, your sheets being tugged just slightly down your body. The kitchen cabinets would be open in the morning, and sometimes you could hear the TV playing at night.
But you never saw anyone.
There was no way that ghosts were real. And if they were, would they really go out of their way to harass you? "Just getting used to the new house." You mutter to yourself out loud. "It's just your mind playing tricks on you."
"Is it, love?" You gasp, whipping around in your kitchen. Your empty kitchen. Every hair on your body felt like it was standing on end as you scanned the room nervously.
"Whose there!?" You call out, shivering all over when the air around you seems to drop in temperature.
"Simon." The name is grunted in your ear, two cool hands grabbing hold of your waist. "So pretty, aren't you? Haven't had someone so pretty in these walls." He mumbles, brushing his breath against your ear.
Just as quickly as his cold presence was there, he was gone. You place your hand over where his cold one had been on your crotch, shuddering as the skin warmed up under your touch. The rent being so cheap made a lot more sense now.
Synopsis: Getting out from a long shower, you find your mirror oddly placed in front of your bed, and a ghost-like figure roaming itself over your body.
There was a certain kind of pleasure in living alone. You could turn your music up as loud as you wanted, leave dirty clothes strung around the living room, and come out of the shower naked, just a towel in your hands used to ring out your hair.
Water droplets still fell from your body, feet padded by the soft rug of your bedroom as you shut the bathroom light off. Steam from the shower escaped from the door cracks, a remnant of the hot water that was nothing but an afterglow now.
Your bedroom was cold by comparison, air conditioning running loud and pumping hard as it made the hair on your skin stand, goosebumps rising as the vent blew against your back.
You had been so preoccupied with your thoughts that it didn’t take until reaching your bed for you to notice that your new standing mirror had moved. Bought from an old estate sale, the vintage piece was intricately carved, dark oak only slightly splintered with age. Sure, the glass was a little foggy and there were elements of a strange black residue on the back panel, but it was a timeless addition to your collection. It called to you the moment you saw it, drawing you in and making it impossible for you to jump in your car without it in the trunk.
The thought of a burglar sent your naked body into a cold shock, using the small towel to cover up your front half.
“Hello?” You called, ridiculousness brooding in you for talking to the air.
Between the perpetrator that moved the mirror either being a malicious ghost, or a human intruder, you didn’t know which sounded worse.
But that thought dissipated upon a new sensation, your concerned mind now instead flooded with confusion.
Something pressed between your legs-- not warm, not cold-- but it was there, lying unquestionable pressure. Your exposed sex was currently being massaged, cupped with a gratifying hand. You could feel the separate fingers, the grab of another hand as it groped the inside of your thigh. Hungry.
“What are you-- what is this--!”
You spread your legs, looking down for the offending touch-- only to find nothing. Your left thigh had indents on it, as if it was gripped tightly, yet nothing appeared to hold it. The image of flesh being squeezed by nothing disappeared, the groping now moving across your body in rough waves. It slithered up your soft, delicate stomach, palming hard at your wet chest. Large-padded thumbs ran over your nipples with cruel intention.
The grab forced you backwards, slamming you against what felt like the chest of another person. The newfound closeness increased the sharp breath hovering over your neck, thick clouds of exhale visible from your peripheral vision. Something exhaled labored breaths, running one hand down towards your crotch, the other stayed to grope and pull at your chest.
Fear had never crossed your mind-- merely sheer befuddlement. What was touching you-- how was this possible, that you couldn’t see it? Were you going crazy? And, was it so wrong that it felt… good?
Looking to the mirror you could see the defined outline of something ‘other’ manhandling your body. Handprints came across your hips, something wet and callous sliding down your shoulder. A hickey started to form, the gentle squelch of sucking radiating in your room.
If it had a voice, it didn’t speak, merely indulging in your body with loud pants and nose born exhales. Perhaps it was insane of you to suggest it-- but it sounded… masculine. From the size of the hands roaming your body, to the broad, chest-like wall you seemed to be pressing back against, it all felt too familiar, full of audacity you could only attribute to the husky breathing of a man.
“I don’t know what you are, or what you think you’re doing, but you can’t just come into my house-- Mph!”
Your voice is shaky, uncertain as a tight grip pulls your chin upwards.
A tongue like jellified liquid enters your mouth, salty and so undeniably lubricated you think it might drool from your lips. It tussles with yours, enveloping your mouth with a sightless heat. You stare at the ceiling, eyes searching desperately for someone-- something.
But nothing appears. You’re met with the usual state of your bedroom-- unkempt, bare of anyone but yourself.
The insatiable need of the invisible creature only seems to grow tenfold by your struggle, the delicious surrender of your mouth. It stumbles you to your bed with an invisible grip on your hip, forcing you to sit down at the edge of your bed.
You look as if you’re hovering over the unmade sheets, your thighs resting on top of what appears to be nothing, but feels like wet skin beneath your ass. Your thighs are spread apart by unseen legs, knees pressed in between yours to keep you wide in front of the mirror.
You can see yourself-- gaping, swollen with need as a hand comes down to play with your arousal.
You can’t help but offer a small moan at the invisible hand’s placement, every new touch and sensation a surprise. Two fingers push apart your flesh, showing your hole to the mirror, watching as you pulsate around nothing. You can feel its eyes on you, your body eaten up by its invisible gaze.
The act has you embarrassed, feeling filthy as water continues to drip down your hair, onto your back.
“Don’t d-do that-- not that,” Your head falls against a heavy shoulder, back still pressed against its chest as it tilts you further into humiliating exposure. “How can you even-- how’d you even get in here?”
Your attempt at an assertive tone falls short as the invisible thing’s finger swirls around your hole, something thick lying hefty between your legs. You don’t have to ask to know what it is, what the rutting of it between your thighs means.
Without grace or patience, the weighted flesh pushes inside of you, stretching you for your eyes to see in the mirror. It appears like magic, as if pure air has you spread wide and clenching. But it feels like anything but invisible in sensation-- slick and heavy, it makes you shiver as it pushes deeper inside. It draws out a lewd sound from you, your hands gripping into the bedsheets.
The invisible person barely waits to enter fully before he’s thrusting up, pounding unseen thighs against yours. Heavy hands hold your hips to bounce you on his cock, thick breaths increasing once the warmth of your hole accepted him so graciously.
A cracked cry leaves your throat as the intensity shocks you, unseen dull teeth digging into your shoulder as a tight grip forces you up, and down.
The lewd wetness of combined arousal drips out of you, so clearly in the mirror from the way your skin glistens; it makes you all the more bewildered and aroused at the sight. It splatters against your ass, coats of mysterious liquid flecking onto the mirror to show mere shadows.
You turn away, shutting your eyes at the sight. Relying on the intense grinding inside you to carry you away, you force your head back in foreign ecstasy.
But you can’t lie there for long, not when a sharp thrust digs the invisible cock all the way inside you, a hand gripping up your throat, right to your jaw. Your head is forced to turn, looking at the squeezing of your hole around nothing. It causes you to shudder, moaning at the deepness that kept itself buried up to the hilt.
“Look,” A choked whisper lets out, grinding up into you in circles, letting the vulgar sound of skin on skin resound. “I won’t let you turn away.”
Your head is held still, forced on the sight of you cumming over an invisible cock. The invisible creature doesn’t relent, watching as you drip onto the carpet, further spattering onto the bottom of the mirror each time it thrusts with unforgiving impact.
