The Ghost Fucker: Hung like a Dead Man
By Fannie Tucker
Copyright 2012 Fannie Tucker
Smashwords Edition
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All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.
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Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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"Oh, and there's just one more teensy little thing," the realtor said. "The previous owner, Kevin Winston, killed himself in the master bedroom."
I swept my gaze around the cavernous living room. The rambling Victorian would be far more than a single twenty-something could afford under normal circumstances. I did not intend to buy it - Kevin Winston's widow had hired me for another reason. These weren't normal circumstances, and the price only hinted at the seller's underlying desperation. "Yeah, I know."
The realtor's eyes went wide beneath her bouffant hairdo. "I'm glad that doesn't bother you. Anyway, they found the body the same day and the whole place has been scrubbed top-to-bottom by professional cleaners. Some people let superstition stop them from even considering such a beautiful property!" She let loose a cheery cackle that tapered off into a nervous titter.
I glanced up the stairs, where Kevin Winston's ghost stood on the landing, looking down at us. The realtor couldn't see him, but to me he was almost solid. Just a hint of sunlight shined through the outline of his narrow hips and broad chest from the stained glass window behind him. Pain darkened his soft, brown eyes, and I felt his anger stir my own.
Without thinking, I lashed out at the realtor. "Of course, he was naked and still had a hard-on when his wife found him," I told her. "Hanging from the bar in their closet by a necktie she bought him for his birthday." She took a step back in horror, and I felt immediately bad. She didn't know that Kevin Winston's spirit still haunted the house, creating the palpable unease that drove away potential buyers within minutes, politely but urgently excusing themselves despite the rock-bottom price.
"I'll tell you what," I said. "I'm definitely interested, but I'd really like to see what it's like at night. Could I sleep here and talk to you first thing in the morning?"
Her mouth worked, trying to form words around her shock. Ordinarily, she would never let someone sleep in a house, and she herself was terrified of the idea, even if she couldn't say why. But she was also desperate to get this listing off of her roster. After a moment, her plastic smile popped back up. "Of course you can! That sounds terrific! You can see how quiet and peaceful the neighborhood is at night. Would you like me to have my office send up some blankets and pillows?"
Her feet were already halfway out the front door, so I smiled and told her I had a sleeping bag in the car. She hurried off, high heels clacking on the sidewalk, not looking back. "I'll call your cell phone in the morning, Katrina!" Then she slid into the BMW and sped off.
I pushed the heavy front door shut. Its bolt slid home with a hollow click. Kevin Winston's ghost still stood on the landing, watching me. He looked as he did when he died - naked, with bruises on his neck and an enormous erection that looked almost painfully swollen. Kevin had been a handsome man of twenty-eight, well muscled and lean, with dark brown eyes and a thick mop of curly hair. His trapped soul had pulled me here like a magnet, and I'd passed the eight-hour drive in a dreamlike trance.
I am Katrina Nightingale. My website says I help lost souls find the release they need to slip the final bonds of this earth and move on to whatever comes next. People call me a fraud, a charlatan, but those who've seen my work know I get results. I don't hold séances, light candles, and pretend to help the dead speak to their loved ones. They can't speak, so I give them release the only way I know how.
I fuck them.
It's not without its risks, but I have a great, consequence-free sex life. I don't complain.
I climbed the stairs slowly, as though approaching a frightened rabbit. When I reached the landing, I held out my hand. Kevin tensed, but didn't flee. My fingertips touched his ethereal skin and...
I saw Kevin alive, making love to a beautiful woman that could only be Sandra Winston in the master bedroom of this very house. He lay on the bed, and she straddled him, her head thrown back and her eyes closed as she rolled her hips back and forth in slow rhythm. Her breasts stood out pert and firm, and his hands cupped them lovingly as she rode his cock.
"Oh baby, that feels so good... will you do it this time?"
Her eyes opened and she looked at her husband. "No, Kevin... You know I don't want to do that. Can't you just enjoy this?" She smiled down at him, but discomfort swam behind her blue eyes.
"I'm begging you baby, please? Choke me... I want to know what it feels like."
The smile faltered now. "Why am I not enough for you?" She climbed off him, and his wet cock slid out of her and bobbed up and down a few times.
"Sandra, it's not like that..." But Kevin was too late. Sandra Winston stood, wrapped a red silk robe around her lovely curves, and stalked out of the bedroom in a huff.
Kevin Winston, his enormous cock still throbbing with desire, hurried to the closet and looped a belt over the steel bar where his wife's clothes hung. He stuck his head through the loop and sank against the wall, stroking himself as his face turned red, then purple...
I jerked my hand back and gasped. My sudden movement startled Kevin's ghost, and he vanished through a wall, faster than thought. The lights flickered for a moment, then the house was still.
Kevin Winston had killed himself - not out of despair or depression, but simple curiosity about autoerotic asphyxiation. He'd strangled himself while jerking off, and his wife had found him dead as a doornail. Oops.
"Kevin, I'm sorry!" I called out to the empty house, feeling foolish. Now I would have to coax him out.
I went to my car and lugged in my oversized duffle bag. I took it upstairs to the master bedroom, hoping to see the ghost again, but there was nothing. A glance out the front windows showed the late afternoon sun sinking on the horizon, bathing the street in an otherworldly orange and red that made me feel disconnected from the world outside. I turned back to the spacious bedroom.
The closet's sliding doors were closed, and I left them that way. I didn't need to see the cold steel bar where Kevin had hanged, choking out his dying breath even as he reached climax.
Instead, I opened my bag and started pulling out the things I might need. A double-wide sleeping bag. Candles. Silk scarves. My favorite dildo. I've done this before, and I've learned to come prepared. If I leave the house before my work is done, I might not come back.
The four-post bed from my vision was still there, but the sheets were gone. I spread my sleeping bag and pillow over the bare mattress and laid out my supplies.
I positioned the candles around the bed, bathing the room in a soft, romantic glow. I let my hair down, black curls tumbling to my shoulders. Then I shimmied out of my blue jeans and t-shirt, exposing my matching bra and panties - dark blue lace that looked great against my soft, pale skin. My C-cup breasts pushed against the edges of the low-cut bra, and the candlelight cast deep shadows on my cleavage. I was tempted to look around, to see if Kevin's ghost was watching me, but I climbed on the bed instead and closed my eyes.
A wide, full-length mirror hung on the wall at the foot of the bed, and I could see myself, white curves on the sleeping bag's red silk. I propped myself against the headboard and unfastened my bra's clasp. My breasts spilled out, and I felt the room's temperature drop by several degrees as the ghost drew near. Kevin stood in the doorway now, but I watched myself in the mirror, ignoring him. Goosebumps rippled across the smooth, tight skin of my stomach, and my nipples stood out, firm and pink. I shivered and ran my hands up my body, cupping my breasts and squeezing them gently together. While I massaged a nipple with one hand, the other explored inside my panties. My fingers slid through the dark patch of pubic hair and over the swell of my labia. My body knew what the cold air meant, and when my fingers slid inside my folds, they found warm wetness.
I dragged my fingertips out and spread my labia apart, massaging my clit and lubricating myself with my own moisture. Then I reached for the dildo, a large, pink piece of flexible rubber with ridges along its length. I slid my panties down to my ankles, then kicked them across the room.
I opened my mouth and sucked my toy, rolling my tongue along the ridges and coating it with saliva. I could feel Kevin's spectral eyes on me, the temperature plunged as the room's heat fed his growing arousal.
Naked now, I spread my legs and dragged the dildo downward, between my curving breasts, over my stomach, and into my crotch. I teased myself, rubbing the toy's head against my clit and spreading myself open to give the ghost a good view. I was sopping now, hot down there despite the cold. I pushed the pink rod inside me and felt myself quiver with need, opening like a flower ready for the hummingbird's beak.
Come on, Kevin. I know you want me. I had startled the ghost badly before, but I needed him to act, to show himself to me in the heat of my desire. But I couldn't wait. I plunged the dildo deep into my gaping hole and cried out in pleasure. My back arched, pushing my firm, round breasts out, the nipples hard and round as ripe cherries.
I writhed on the bed as I fucked myself, sliding the dildo in and out, faster and faster. The ridges along its shaft rolled along the tight inner walls of my pussy, bringing ripples of ecstasy that warmed my clit, making it throb and tingle between my fingers.
My breaths came in short gasps, warm little puffs of moisture in the frigid air. I pushed the toy deeper into my throbbing pussy, harder, faster, working with my fingers at the same time until I felt the heat build and swell.
Now, Kevin, now! I thought, not daring to look at him. If I couldn't lure him in on the verge of a climax, how could I hope to release him from his pain?
Just as I felt myself tighten as though my body were hanging over a cliff, ready to plunge into a warm sea of pleasure, I felt his hand.
The touch was gentle when it came - a strong hand caressing my shoulder and neck, warm with the room's stolen heat. The sensation tingled, making the fine hair on my arms stand on end like standing beneath a high-voltage electric wire. I slowed my frenzied movements gradually, backing down from the precipice and letting my pulsing need subside. I opened my eyes and looked up.
Kevin Winston stood by the edge of the bed, strong, naked, and almost imperceptibly transparent. Bruises stood out on his neck like black clouds roiling on the horizon, and his cock stood out like an angry, pointing finger, fully ten inches.
His eyes roved over my body, taking in my face, breasts, and the wonder between my thighs. I slid the dildo out and set it aside on the mattress - out of the way, but close enough to reach. Slowly, not wanting to startle him, I put my hand on his thigh and ran my fingers up his side, over his smooth chest and down the tight muscles of his stomach. Then, with deliberate movements, I took his cock in my hand. It throbbed, full of life and energy.
I rolled onto my side and pulled him toward me, looking up into his sad eyes as he shifted forward and slid his cock inside my mouth, stretching my jaw to admit his girth. I felt a tingle of electricity surge along my lips and tongue as he entered me. His shaft pulsed, hard as any man I'd ever known, warm as bread from the oven. I took him in, moving my head against his thrusts, squeezing his member with my hand as I guided him, warming him with my own heat. His head rolled back on his neck, mouth open and eyes closed, but he made no sound. I'd never met a ghost who could talk, but I could almost hear him moan in response to my sucking.
Without separating himself from me, Kevin Winston climbed atop the bed and swung a leg over me to straddle my chest. I could feel his weight atop me, but his knees didn't sink into the mattress. I kept sucking, pumping him with my hand, reeling him in until I knew he wouldn't be frightened away again.
I pulled my mouth away and pressed my hands against Kevin's stomach. He scooted down until his cock rested between my breasts, sending that tingle of energy across my skin, making my areolas pucker. My hands cupped my tits and pushed them together, nestling him in their crevice. Kevin began to roll his hips, moving his ghostly meat in long, smooth strokes. The massive cock touched my mouth with each thrust, and I kissed its warm, swollen head, imagining it inside my pussy, sating my hot hunger with supernatural energy and superhuman size.
When I could take it no more, I pushed his chest again, and he took the hint and knelt between my legs. His member jutted out, hard and red. Quivering like a violin string, I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him toward me. He plunged into me like hot steel, and I sucked in a deep breath as his thrusts fanned my need to flames.
He lowered himself atop my body, wrapping me in his arms like a warm blanket of hard muscle. His hips pumped hard and fast. I felt his hot lips on my neck, pulling the heat from the room, drawing energy from my life force. Faster and harder, he moved, transferring that heat back into me, and adding to it.
I cried out and raked my fingernails down his broad back, knowing I couldn't draw blood on his ghostly flesh. His urgency rose as he felt my need. I looked past his shoulder at the mirror on the wall. I could see myself in the candleglow, my legs spread. Kevin's ghost was invisible in the reflection, and I could see my pussy spread apart by his phantasmal cock, rippling with each thrust.
Suddenly, his fingers closed around my neck, and my heart pounded in my chest, on the verge of sexual release, but paralyzed by terror. Kevin was a ghost, incapable of touching the physical world, but his hands on my throat felt as real as the cock inside me. Bright lights flickered in my vision even as it dimmed, and I wondered if the realtor would find my body in the morning. Even as I slipped into unconsciousness, my horror couldn't stop the climax building inside me. It burst like a firework, a deep boom that rocked my body. I cried out, pulling Kevin against me with my last strength. As I slipped into darkness, his fingers relaxed.
My senses returned moments later. Kevin's thrusts had slowed, but I knew by his hardness that I hadn't sated him. I thought of his hands on my neck. If I couldn't finish him soon, I knew his lust would only grow, and next time he might lose control.
I sat up and pushed him onto his back, then knelt over him, letting my breasts brush his chest as I crawled up to kiss his face. He returned my kiss, strong and fierce, and I reached for one of the silk scarves I'd brought with me.
Kevin had died hanging, and he'd strangled me as I'd peaked - something I knew Sandra Winston had never let him do, but it hadn't been enough. As we kissed, I wrapped one end of the scarf around his neck and tied a slipknot. I wrapped the other end around my hand.
In one smooth movement, I raised up and straddled him, letting my warm, wet labia rest on his hard, cold member. He throbbed beneath me, full of energy and desire, and my hips rolled back and forth, gliding over his shaft until it was slick with my wet warmth.
Kevin bucked beneath me, trying to thrust upward and into my hot pussy, but I pushed downward, keeping him pinned beneath me. His hands went to my hips, trying to force me up, but I locked my knees against him. When he still wouldn't relent, I gave the scarf a little tug, tightening it around his bruised throat until his face turned red.
He relaxed, but I saw his eyes glimmer with excitement. I moved forward and let him slide his length inside me again. My hips rolled against him as he thrust into me, and we crashed together like waves on sand.
I felt his cadence build, saw his chest rise and fall more quickly despite his uncanny silence. His hands tightened on my hips, and I gave the scarf another tug, harder this time. His face grew red again, then darkened to purple even as his cock pounded into me with relentless fury. I rode him like a bull, staying atop his thrashing cock until I began to draw from him the same heat he'd pulled from the room. I felt my slit swell in response, tightening around him as another orgasm rolled over me, and I screamed his name even as I pulled hard on the scarf. Kevin's eyes bulged and rolled back in his bruised face even as I felt his spectral cock erupt like a volcano inside me, coating my slick canal with hot ectoplasm.
I kept going, pulling the scarf tighter and tighter until his face was nearly black, until the throbbing inside me slowly eased.
I loosened the scarf, and the angry color in Kevin's face began to fade as his member softened inside me. I rolled off and snuggled next to him, grateful now for the cool air on my sweat-soaked skin. I was utterly exhausted, but felt wonderful. I savored the feeling as I nuzzled into the space below Kevin's chin.
I knew what came next, and times like this made me wish I had a real man in my life, but what man could live with me, knowing what I do? I held Kevin's ghost as tight as I could while his lazy hand stroked my naked back. But I couldn't hold on tightly enough. I felt him begin to fade, and my head sank into the pillows as the ghost disappeared, passing on to whatever came next, free of the pain and regret that had kept him here.
I wiped a tear out of my eye and tried not to miss Kevin Winston or think of the life I could never lead.
When the realtor returned in the morning, I would be gone. The intangible dread that had hung over the house like a pall would be lifted, and it would sell quickly and at a high price.
My pay would be a cut of those proceeds, a large and discreet wire transfer from Sandra Winston. There would be no thank you note, only the closing of an unpleasant chapter in her life. To me, it would be a bittersweet memory.
Memories are all I have of those with whom I share my body, but my rare gift brings release from torment to those who need it. I am Katrina Nightingale. I am the Ghost Fucker.
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About the author:
Fannie Tucker is a horny woman of indeterminate age who likes driving too fast, cussing too loud, and writing stories that would make her grandmother keel over dead.
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Bonus Material:
If you enjoyed The Ghost Fucker, don't miss these steamy short stories, also by Fannie Tucker:
Angela drives into the desert, angry at her husband after catching him on another tryst. At an isolated gas station in the middle of the night, she meets a sexy pump jockey and tells him to "fill 'er up!"
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With her roommate at work, Erin is looking forward to a night alone with a hot porno movie, but her plans go south when the power blows. When her sexy neighbor Todd asks to borrow her icebox to store his sausage, Erin gets more meat than she bargained for. The two get it on in a candle-lit fuck session that leaves them gasping for breath and begging for more. Explicit sex scenes, 3300 words.
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When Sarah and Ashley decide to spend Spring Break in a paradise for the ultra-rich, they both have their eye on the same smoking-hot lifeguard. Things really heat up when Ashley finds herself turned on by her best friend's sexy curves, and the two college girls learn to share more than just a luxury cabana. Explicit sex scenes, menage, M/F, F/F, M/F/F, 4400 words.
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Fannie Tucker Blog: http://tuckerotica.tumbr.com