The ghost came for me every night after the accident. I felt him the first time when I was alone in the old house, still sore from the crash that killed my boyfriend. The air got cold, then something heavy pressed between my legs. No warning. Just a hard, invisible cock shoving straight into my pussy.
I gasped and spread wider on the bed. "Fuck me," I said out loud. The ghost didn't need asking twice. He thrust deep, rough, like he had been waiting years to feel warm cunt again. My walls stretched around nothing I could see, but the pressure was thick and solid, pounding right against my cervix with every stroke.
He fucked like a man who knew he was dead and didn't care. Fast, greedy thrusts that made my tits bounce. Wet sounds filled the room as my pussy got sloppy fast. I reached down and rubbed my clit while he hammered me. "Deeper, you dead fuck," I moaned. The ghost slammed harder, hips that weren't there slapping my ass.
Cum started leaking out of me even though he hadn't finished yet. My own juices, mixed with whatever spectral slick he pumped into me. It was hot and thick, running down my crack onto the sheets. Every thrust pushed more out, making filthy squelching noises. I came hard the first time, legs shaking, pussy clenching around his invisible dick.
He didn't stop. Ghosts don't get tired. He kept thrusting through my orgasm, grinding against my g-spot until I was screaming. "Fill me up, you dead bastard. Give me that ghost cum." The pressure inside me swelled. Then I felt it: a sudden flood of warm, sticky fluid pumping deep. It overflowed immediately, pouring out around his cock in heavy spurts while he kept fucking through the mess.
Night after night it was the same. I'd strip as soon as it got dark, lie on my back with legs open, and wait for the first hard thrust. Sometimes he flipped me over and took me from behind, dead hands gripping my hips while his cock drilled my ass or pussy without mercy. Other times he pinned my wrists and fucked my mouth, shooting thick ropes of cum down my throat that I swallowed like it was the only thing keeping me alive.
The dead never pull out. His cum stayed inside me for hours, leaking slowly while I walked around the house. It dripped down my thighs during the day, reminding me. By sunset I was already wet again, ready for the next round of rough, relentless thrusting.
One night he brought company. Another ghost, maybe the one who died in the same crash. Two cocks now, one in my pussy, one in my ass, thrusting in opposite rhythm so I was always full. Cum from both of them mixed inside me and gushed out in waves every time they pulled back. I came so many times I lost count, just a dripping, used hole for dead men to fuck.
By morning the sheets were soaked. My cunt and ass ached in the best way. I knew the ghosts would be back as soon as the sun went down. Ready to thrust, ready to fill me, ready to make me cum until I couldn't remember anything but the feeling of being fucked by the dead.
