The Ghost Fucker III: Boo-kkake
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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"We cleaned the suite very thoroughly, Miss Nightingale, but..." The nervous little hotel manager wrung his hands, his eyes darting back and forth around the spacious suite.
I looked around the room. Opulent would be an understatement. Thirty floors above Las Vegas, the penthouse featured stunning views of the Strip, a baby grand piano, and two bedrooms, each with a bed big enough for its own ZIP code covered in silk pillows. The Jacuzzi sat on a raised marble platform at the edge of floor-to-ceiling plate glass. Of course, if you wanted to soak outside, the glass retracted into the ceiling.
The manager's voice held a tinge of desperation. "We can't get a guest to stay here. They all want to leave after an hour in the room, and most demand a refund. It's costing the hotel a fortune. We need it back in service. I don't know what it is you do exactly." He flapped his hands vaguely at the room. "But do it."
I nodded. The Yakuza murders had been big news a few weeks ago. Three Japanese businessmen had rented the suite and held a cocaine-fueled blowout. They ordered up a high-class hooker - the kind that costs several thousand dollars a night. Unfortunately for them, she'd turned out to be a Yakuza assassin. The businessmen hadn't been paying protection money, and their high-profile deaths had sent a clear message back across the Pacific: Don't shun Japan's notorious crime syndicate.
And so I found myself at the scene of three murders. The plush carpet and luxurious furniture looked brand new, but I could feel the energy of a powerful haunting. For most people, that energy would produce a palpable dread that left them nauseous, depressed, or sent them into an outright panic. I was different. My body had developed a Pavlovian response to the sensation; it was better than flowers and a box of chocolates. My panties were already damp, and my clothes felt itchy. I couldn't wait for the manager to leave me alone so I could strip them off and get down to business.
My business is exorcising haunted places. My website claims I release the tormented dead from their last regrets so they can slip the final bonds of this earth. Most people think I'm a charlatan, but my clients know I'm the real deal, and word of mouth is powerful advertising. The world is full of frauds who pretend to speak for the dead, but I know the truth - the dead can't speak. So I give them release the only way I know how.
I fuck them.
Video recordings and eyewitnesses had described the assassin perfectly, and I emulated the femme fatale as best I could - I wore my wavy black hair in bouncy pigtails above a red little nothing that flaunted more than it concealed. I'd already earned my fee while crossing the hotel casino, distracting the high-rollers who ogled me instead of doubling down.
I turned to the manager and gave him a reassuring smile, hoping he would trust me despite the fact that I looked like the kind of woman his clientele paid him to ignore. "Mister Fonzetti, I appreciate you showing me up, but I'll be fine. Let's talk in the morning."
The nervous little man hesitated a moment. "You mean you're staying in here?" The last word was a squeak.
"I doubt I'll be done here before dawn," I told him. "My work is very... complicated."
He frowned, but handed me the keycard. "Just call the main desk if you need anything." He hustled to the private elevator and mashed the button as if the hounds of hell were on his heels.
When he was gone, I poured myself a gin and tonic from the bar and strolled over to the plate glass windows to admire the view. The cacophony of Sodom lay below, shimmering in the hot desert air, the lights of the Strip already flashing as the sun dropped below the horizon.
I sipped my drink and admired my reflection. The red dress wasn't something I'd normally wear in public, but this was Vegas, and I had to admit I looked good. It set off my pale skin, and my cleavage was impossible to ignore. My ass was a miracle of dedicated Yoga, and the dress showed it off. The pigtails looked a little odd with the outfit, but sometimes you make accommodations.
Without warning, I felt a chill as the temperature dropped in the room. My nipples puckered and poked at the red silk, and gooseflesh rippled across my bare upper arms.
I stood very still and let my eyes roam over the reflection of the suite in the glass. I couldn't see their reflections, but I knew the ghosts had arrived. I turned slowly to see three Asian men in business suits. All were well-built, but only the eldest, Katashi, was taller than me. He stared down, stoic and stern beneath an impeccable salt-and-pepper coiffure. His junior associates flanked him to either side. Mikio's shirt was open, exposing the chiseled abs and broad chest of a body-builder. Takumi was also bare-chested, with the lithe form of a ballet dancer. All three men stared at me, their eyes full of hunger, but also the wildfire recklessness men get when testosterone and drugs mix.
A wave of apprehension swept over me. These men had been murdered by the object of their lust while cocaine - and God knew what else - pumped through their veins. These weren't the sad souls I normally dealt, but angry poltergeists. Maybe I'd made a mistake coming here.
It was too late now, though. The trio approached me with slow, confident steps. Katashi led the way, his stern expression never changing even as he reached out with one spectral hand and grabbed my breast through the red silk, squeezing hard. I raised my hand to touch his wrist and...
Loud music rocked the penthouse suite, and lines of cocaine lay forgotten on a glass table. In the master bedroom, Katashi stood naked and watched his younger associates pleasure a beautiful young woman on the huge bed. Takumi ate her pussy while Mikio suckled her tits and she stroked his huge cock in his hand. At a word from Katashi, both men pulled away, and the woman looked at Katashi with hunger in her eyes. Suddenly, the older man made a choking sound and staggered to one knee. Mikio and Takumi went to him, the hooker forgotten, but even as they did, sweat began to bead on their foreheads, and their faces reddened. The hooker watched them with smug amusement in her eyes, then stepped past them as all three men crumpled to the floor, choking and spitting foam
I pulled my hand away. Their poisoned bodies had been found the next day by a maid, and the assassin had disappeared without a trace. Now the ghosts lingered on, frustrated by a lack of sexual release, angry at their killer, and muddled by drugs. I took a calming breath and told myself it would be okay. Three at once? No problem. Three coke-addled angry poltergeists? Well, there's a first time for everything.