Being haunted by a horny ghost with a pussy
When even the realtor was hesitant to close the deal I was prepared for a crime scene or species of mold unknown to mankind. Creaky floorboards and the occasional cold spot are the best case scenario honestly.
Renovating an old little house alone can get quiet. When I don’t have friends over I chat with myself, or play music, even dancing alone in the half finished living room.
One night I kept working late into the evening, trying to get the last wall painted before going to bed. Music pulsing, swaying my ass to the beat. One of those unexpected gusts of cold air ran down my spine, making me shiver. And not just from the chill like normal, this breeze felt, intimate. Brushing lightly against my skin though firm enough to feel like fingers. I whirl around, but of course, there’s no one there.
Embarrassed, I crank the music higher and turn back to my work. For a while things are normal, but after another song or two, I feel another cold touch. Pinpoint, deliberate, there is no way this could be a stray gust of wind. Chilled fingers trace up my spine, ghosting over my neck and teasing lightly at the sensitive skin below my ear.
I must be more pent up than I thought, because despite the shock, I’m getting hard from these ghostly touches. They are moving now, unbothered by my clothes, tracing over stomach and ribs and nipples. It’s so enticing, it takes a moment to remember I should be worried about this. When I do, I startle, trying to pull away, only to realized I have no clue where to pull away from.
In my moment of hesitation the light touches pull away. Instead, an iron grip takes both my wrists, forcing my hands flat against one of the few unpainted sections of wall. The hold releases, but before I have a chance to think beyond the press of my dick against my zipper, the feeling is gone, replaced by something tight and cold and slick sliding down my cock.
I’m buried to the base in the grip of an invisible, perfect pussy. It starts to pull off my dick and my hips try to jerk forward on instinct. I can’t move, my body is frozen in place. All I can do is balance with my hands on the wall, twitch, and whine as the cunt starts up a rhythm. Pulling off and on my cock. Fucking it as carelessly as a dildo.
It’s too much, the strange cold squeezing around me, the relentless friction, the sloppy noise of slick splattering on my balls. I cum hard almost right away, chasing away the cold for an instant.
And yet, my dick stays rock hard and the pussy doesn’t stop for an instant. Everything is a conflict of sensation. When I look down I can see my erection straining against my pants, not a hint of the hole currently torturing my cock. And yet, despite the lack of visual evidence, sound and touch tells me it’s still pounding away.
It keeps going, the ghostly pussy fucks me until I’ve got tears and spit dripping down my chin and I’m coming dry. When I don’t have a single thought left, I feel the walls spasming around me, the top of my dick grinding against a barrier deep in the cunt.
Finally the ghost is merciful, pulling away. With a final brush of cold over my shoulders, the presence is gone. I collapse, panting, on the floor and fall asleep. When I wake up, I decide to open more windows next time I paint because there’s no way that was anything but a fume-induced libido -driven hallucination.
Weeks pass, and then months, and at random intervals, I’m visited by the presence, the ghost, haunting my house. Sometimes it just curls itself around me. In bed, on the couch, while I cook.
Morning wood is feeling game and I wake up cumming into invisible cool tightness when I don’t wake to teasing touches along my painfully hard dick. Before long the ghostly presence doesn’t manifest only when I’m alone, but squirms in my lap and runs its lips over me while I pretend to pay attention to a movie with my friends.
Before I know it, being touched by a warm, solid hand is stranger than that first haunting encounter
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