She bought the rundown Victorian because the price was too good to pass up. The agent mentioned something about previous tenants complaining of cold spots and strange noises, but she shrugged it off. She was twenty-eight, single, and horny as hell most nights. The first week was quiet. Then the touches started.
One night she was lying naked on her bed after a long shower, legs spread, fingers working her clit in slow circles. The air turned icy. Something pressed down between her thighs, firm and heavy, spreading her open. She froze, heart hammering, but whatever it was felt solid. A thick, invisible cockhead nudged her wet pussy lips and pushed straight in. No foreplay, no warning. It filled her in one hard thrust, stretching her walls wide. She gasped and bucked, but the thing held her down. It started fucking her deep and rough, pounding her cunt like it owned it. Every stroke hit her cervix. She could feel the ghost balls slapping her ass with each slam. Her pussy clenched and flooded, juices running down her crack. She came hard, screaming, and the ghost kept going, driving through her orgasm until she was shaking and oversensitive. When it finally pulled out, a hot, sticky load pumped across her belly and tits even though nothing was visible. She lay there panting, pussy twitching and dripping.
The ghost came back every night after that. Sometimes it bent her over the kitchen table and rammed her from behind, thick spectral cock pounding her sloppy hole until she squirted all over the floor. Other times it pinned her to the wall, legs wrapped around nothing, and fucked her standing up so hard her teeth rattled. She learned to leave the lights off and just take it. The ghost liked her on all fours best, face down, ass up, while it spread her cheeks and drilled her pussy or switched to her tight ass without mercy. The stretch always burned at first, then turned into raw pleasure as it fucked her open. She’d moan and beg out loud, “Fuck me harder, you dead bastard,” and it would obey, slamming balls-deep until she was a drooling, cum-drunk mess.
One weekend she invited a girlfriend over, curious to see if the ghost would perform for an audience. They got drunk and naked on the living room rug. The second the other woman started eating her pussy, the ghost joined in. Invisible hands grabbed the friend’s hips and shoved a cock into her. She yelped, eyes wide, then moaned as the ghost fucked her hard from behind while she kept licking. The two women ended up stacked, one on top of the other, both getting railed in turn. The ghost switched between their dripping cunts, leaving them both gaping and leaking thick, warm loads that soaked the rug. They came so many times they lost count.
By the third month she stopped dating living men. Nothing compared to the relentless, tireless fucking the ghost gave her. It could last for hours, never going soft, never needing a break. Sometimes it would wake her at three a.m.
by sliding into her already-wet pussy and fucking her awake, pounding her until she was begging and coming on its cock. Other nights it teased her for ages, just the head stretching her entrance, making her push back desperately until it finally buried itself to the hilt and wrecked her.
She started walking around the house naked all the time, bent over furniture on purpose, presenting her holes. The ghost took the invitation every single time. It fucked her in the shower, water running over her while an invisible cock pistoned in and out of her ass. It fucked her on the stairs, her gripping the banister while it slammed up into her from below. It even fucked her outside on the porch one warm night, cool night air on her skin while her pussy got pounded raw in full view of the street.
Eventually she stopped trying to understand it. The ghost wanted her holes and she wanted to be used. Every night ended the same way: her cunt or ass stretched wide, full of ghostly cum, body limp and satisfied. She’d fall asleep with her legs spread, knowing the ghost would be back to fuck her again before morning.
