When Katie agrees to spend a month in a haunted house as part of a reality TV show, she doesn't realize that she'll be under the watchful eye of more than just the cameras. Contains explicit sex.
by Mercy Loomis
I ignored him, rolling over and pulling the covers up to my chin. I was pretty sure there was just the one camera, and it was now facing the back of my head.
The voice spoke in a low, throaty growl, coming from somewhere in the middle of the room. I kept my eyes shut, knowing there was nothing to see, and not wanting to see it if there was.
“Go away,” I breathed as softly as I could. How sensitive were the microphones, anyway? They couldn’t really be paying someone to watch every camera in the house twenty-four seven, could they? The last thing I wanted was to be caught talking to thin air, but dammit I needed some sleep.
“Katie, let me in,” he purred, pleading.
I knew better than to hope that the ghost’s voice would be caught on tape. Or whatever. I suppose no one uses tapes anymore. “Go bother someone else.”
I felt bad as soon as I said it. That was dangerously close to ill-wishing someone, and that could be seriously bad karma. But the ghost only sighed. “I don’t want them. I want you.”
Yeah, not much chance of me sleeping now.
I’d grown up in a haunted house, and that had left its mark on me. When I found an ad in the paper a few months ago announcing auditions for a new reality TV show about ghosts, I had thought it an excellent chance to face those old fears and exorcise a few demons.
I hadn’t meant it literally. I hadn’t. But how was I to know the house they’d picked was the spirit world equivalent of the Bermuda Triangle? There were dozens of entities trapped here.
The ghost tested my wards as he did every night, sliding along the edge of the protective spells, running his incorporeal fingertips over the surface of the magical barrier I’d put around my bed. I shivered.
“Clever little witch. Let me in.”
I was stuck in this house for two more weeks, along with four other people who did not seem to be having nearly the problems I was. None of them had taken me up on my offer to put protections around their beds. Maybe the ghost saw my wards as a challenge.
So far the spells were holding, but it was wearying. I’d always warded my home, of course, once I learned how, but I’d never been quite as invested in those wards as I was in these. Normally I lived in an apartment that was as ghost-free as this place was infested. Here I was constantly feeding energy back into the spells as the house’s less corporeal residents tested and prodded and worried at my protections. The result was that I was far, far more aware of these wards than I should be, to the point that they felt like a separate second skin.
Of all the ghosts in the place, this one had taken a particular interest, continuing to pester me long after the others had given up.
I sighed. I was so tired. He’d been doing this for days. “What?” I whispered, hoping that maybe if I talked to him he’d shut up. Ignoring him hadn’t done a thing so far. Maybe the production crew would think I talked in my sleep.
“Let me in.”
The touch spread itself out over the wards, like a child plastered to the window of a candy store. “I want to be with you.”
It sounded sort of child-like in its simplicity, but there was a covetous undertone to his voice that made me shiver again.
“Are you cold? I could warm you.”
I’d heard of ghosts creating cold spots, but never hot spots. Yet within seconds the air around me rose at least ten degrees. I kicked off the covers, suddenly roasting under the blankets.
“Pretty,” the voice murmured appreciatively.
In boxers and an old tee? I didn’t think so. “That’s plenty warm,” I panted, beginning to sweat.
“If I make it warmer, do I get to see more?”
“No!” I said it louder than I meant to. Stupid microphones. Why did I agree to do this again? I rolled over fitfully, trying to mimic a nightmare.
There was a discontented grumbling, and the ghost peeled himself off my wards.
The room stayed toasty warm as the minutes ticked by, and I relaxed in spite of myself. This many ghosts tended to suck all the heat out of a place, and the house hadn’t been very well kept up to begin with. I was starting to nod off when my persistent admirer struck again.
The touch was feather-light. I might not even have noticed if I’d been fully awake, and as it was I only smiled and murmured sleepily. A spectral breath blew across that second skin of mine, soft and teasing. Then a gentle caress, like someone brushing the hair back from your forehead.
Sleep drifted out of reach. I was awake enough now to be confused, but not alarmed. The ghost changed over to a rain of insubstantial kisses, pattering against my wards like someone tapping their fingers against a drumhead.
“Oh!” I gasped, feeling the vibrations travel through me. It was such a light touch, but it echoed and thrummed in the core of my body as if the ghost had discovered the perfect frequency to make my wards hum like crystal.
“I can confound the cameras,” the ghost promised. “If I have to stay outside, can I at least see? Please?”
I bit my lip against a moan. The pattering increased slightly, the faster pace making my breath catch. Damn, that felt good. That felt really good.
I hadn’t wanted to antagonize anyone by making the wards uncomfortable to touch. Most of the ghosts had gotten bored when I’d just ignored them, as the dead tend to do. I was pretty sure I could make the wards hurt, though it would cost me even more of my flagging, sleep-deprived energy. I’d never tried it before, but I thought I could do it.
I didn’t, though.
“You want to watch?” I asked breathlessly, blinking up at the dark ceiling. “That’s all?”
“If that’s all you’ll allow.”
You know how when you’re a kid and you do something stupid, and your parents ask you what you were thinking, and all you can say is “it seemed like a good idea at the time?” Well, I didn’t even have that flimsy excuse. I knew perfectly well this was a bad idea. A really bad idea. A why-are-you-still-thinking-about-it idea.
I do remember thinking what can it hurt if he just watches? right before I cupped one breast through my shirt.
The ghost moaned, a sound of pure want that made me hotter than the rising ambient temperature could account for. His reaction made me feel sexy and desirable, and hell, even if he was lying about the cameras, it’s not like they could show this on network television. Why not give the crew a little thrill? I grinned and slipped my other hand under my shirt.
Another moan. More pattering. The thrumming was getting so intense it was like a low-level orgasm all over, and I hadn’t even touched my clit. “A little lighter,” I whispered, not wanting to come just yet.
The ghost backed off. “Please, take off your shirt. Will you do as I ask?”
His voice was thick, the words like molasses if molasses could beg, sweet and slow and heavy. I loved the desire in his tone, how beautiful it made me feel, the rush of power his pleas gave me. I wanted to hear more.
Most of all, I wanted to be seen.
I drew the shirt slowly up, imagining it flowing like sticky syrup, and pulled it over my head.
My ghost did not disappoint. This time the sound was long and low, shivering across my wards and thrilling through me. I didn’t wait for him to ask, but slipped off my boxers. They were soaked and uncomfortable, anyway.
“Oh yes. Oh yes.” He sounded reverential, as if in the presence of some holy relic. “So lovely. Touch your breasts, Katie.”
I did, teasing one nipple, kneading my other breast, arching my back to make them stand out better. I pressed my legs together, my slick thighs rubbing each other in time to my hard breaths. I waited, just to make him keep talking.
“Spread your legs.”
He wasn’t asking, but there was still that hushed, worshipful tone. I groaned and let my knees spread apart.
The ghost wrapped himself halfway around the wards, writhing against the barrier. “Touch your thigh.”
I slid one hand down my stomach and traced meaningless patterns on the inside of my thigh, teasing him as much as myself. I was literally shaking with the desire to slip my fingers into those sopping folds and go to town, but again I waited, eager for his words.
“Spread yourself open.”
My fingers crept over my flesh, index and middle finger dipping between my legs, sliding once over my engorged clit and making me quake before scissoring open, exposing me completely. I savored the anticipation as the pattering picked up speed again and made me squirm against the sheets just as he was doing against the wards.
“Let me in.”
I did it without thinking, realizing my mistake a second later. Son of a bitch! I’m not sure if I’d even taken the wards all the way down, but plastered against them as he was, he got in before I could catch myself and close them back up again. I sat up, cursing furiously and reaching for the covers.
“Wait!” Like a current in a river of air, the ghost hovered next to the bed in a swirling, invisible mass, but came no closer. “Don’t stop, please?”
I hesitated, glaring at the seemingly empty space. “You tricked me.”
“I can do so much more in here with you. I can make it so much better.” He waited, not attempting to make good on his claims, which is probably what won me over. That and the fact I was more turned on than I could ever remember being.
I leaned back on my elbows, trying to look as if I still needed convincing. “I don’t know, I can be pretty good on my own.” I closed my eyes and pretended to ignore him, not that I could see him anyway, and went back to what I’d been doing. My fingers made teasing circles around my clit and I arched my back again.
The air next to the bed absolutely quivered, as if a hundred shadowy hummingbirds were holding a rave. The ghost moaned in tiny pained gasps as I rocked my hips against my hand. “So beautiful, your pleasure is so…oh, please, Katie, please.”
His voice should have been enough to send me over the edge, but I missed his touch on my wards now that he was inside them, missed it so badly I was starting to lose the thread of my own ministrations. Still, no reason to let him know I was willing to do just about whatever he wanted to as long as I got off at the end of it. He is just a ghost, after all. It’s not like he can get me pregnant or give me a disease. Yeah, that’s thinking with the little head, as they say. Still…I stopped playing with myself, gave him a disbelieving look, and lay back. “Show me.”
The ghost flowed over onto the bed, starting at my feet and carefully, hesitantly heading up, as if afraid I would call the whole thing off if he went too fast. It was the strangest sensation: a warm, clinging weight that pinned me to the mattress, as insubstantial as the wind, but made up of a thousand stroking hands, a thousand hungry mouths, all kissing and caressing in the teasing rainfall I had felt against the wards. And I had been about to say no to this? I moaned, thrashing under him as he worked his way higher, feeling that deluge of sensation on every part of me…except the one I wanted touched most.
“Is this good?” the voice whispered into my ear.
“Yes! Oh, yes, please!” I didn’t care who heard me. The whole house could be listening for all I cared.
My legs were lifted, spread wide. Something nudged me, hard and ready. I couldn’t open my eyes; they were weighed down as much as the rest of me. I couldn’t bring myself to object. I didn’t need to see, I needed to feel.
Pressure again, probing my wet labia. “Let me in?” the ghost asked gently, lovingly.
I had never wanted anything more in my life than I wanted that ghost to fuck me at that moment, and as he thrust into me all those spectral hands and mouths descended with a vengeance; pinching my nipples, squeezing my breasts, sucking at my clit. I shrieked at the sheer volume of it, overwhelmed by more sensation than my brain could handle.
And I still hadn’t actually come.
“Oh please!” This had to stop soon or I would simply die from ecstasy. I couldn’t take this level of arousal.
The ghost, still pumping hard and deep into me, pressed what felt like lips against mine and hissed, “Let me in?”
I’d argue that I was past the point of being able to think rationally, but I doubt it would have made much of a difference. “Yes!”
All of that weight seeped through my skin with a feeling of release so profound I nearly passed out because I forgot how to breathe. He came into me, and even as I seemed to be expanding just to be able to hold him, he fused himself to my psyche in ways I can’t even begin to describe. He took me thoroughly and completely, possessing me in every possible sense of the word, and it was everything I never dreamed it could be.
As the aftershocks faded he pulled the covers over us and I fell asleep with his arms, which were my arms, wrapped around our middle.
Apparently no one in the house heard a thing that night, and if anything appeared on camera, no one mentioned it to me. And since the other ghosts would have nothing whatsoever to do with me after that, the rest of my stay was quite underrepresented in the eventual TV release.
The incubus—because if he wasn’t one before, he certainly is now—came with me when I went home, of course. I was a little worried at first that he simply needed a live person to get him out of the haunted house, but as the weeks go by he shows no interest in detaching himself from me. Thank goodness. It’s put a bit of a damper on my social life, staying in all the time, but I can live with that.
I think. At least, I hope I can.
Not Quite Casper by Mercy Loomis is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
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Copyright © 2010 Mercy Loomis
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