Haunted Futanari (Patreon)

Haunted Futanari

Been working on a whole bunch of new stuff over on Patreon. Thought I would post it here as well. If you like my stuff or have something you would like to commission, stop by my Patreon and support a poor writer.  Happy Halloween!

 

Haunted Futanari (Part 1)

We drove out there on a Saturday night. It was raining, hard enough that the rain sounded like pebbles hitting the windshield. The trip started off fine, my mom and dad were almost getting along, you know, almost like they might have once loved each other. But all that changed after about an hour on the road. Six hours later, and they had barely said a word to each other.

I was so mad. That weekend was supposed to be Jamie’s party, one of the biggest of the year, and I had been looking forward to it for months.

But no, that was the weekend dad had to go to his mother’s house and “get was rightfully his.” Ridiculous. Stupid. I still don’t really know how he convinced mom to go. And naturally, no one is leaving me behind. Not after last time.

I guess it was about lunchtime when we pulled up to the place. The plan was to go in, get the stuff dad was sure was his, load it into the car, and then leave. All without any of his siblings knowing we had even been there. I couldn’t believe dad even had a key. But he did. Hadn’t talked to grandma since I was like six but he had a key to her house. Weird, right?

Mom thought the same thing. That’s how the fight had started. She straight up asked him. I mean, I had my headphones on and even I had looked up when she just flat out said: “How do you have a key to this woman’s house?”

I was texting Yen, the girl I was supposed to meet up with at Jamie’s party when we pulled into the driveway. I remember cause the shadow from the house swallowed everything. The whole inside of the car got dark.

Yen had just clipped a little video of herself smiling. Just her face wearing a little grin. Playful. I can not tell you how much I wanted to kiss her. It was all I could think about sometimes. I was a mess, a hornet’s nest of hormones and a total slut.

I looked out the car window and we were in the driveway. The place was huge, a monstrous old house. I looked out the back window and there were tall, black, iron gates swung wide. One side of the gate had broken free and was leaning at an odd angle. But make no mistake, the place was a mansion. I caught dad’s eye in the rearview. “We’re here, Kat.”

I signed. He was never going to stop calling me that. But as much as I hated it, I loved the smile he wore every time he said it. It was our thing.

We all got out of the car and kind of just stood there looking up at the house. It was so big and old and obviously expensive. You half-expected the front door to open and a maid to ask who we were there to see. But though it was big and beautiful, it didn’t hide the secret that there was no maid or a groundskeeper. It was lavish but slightly neglected.

“Should have brought your mower.” Mom said quietly.

“I knew you were going to say that,” dad chuckled.

I ran my eyes over him. I could tell he had put some thought into the day’s outfit. He had been trying to impress mom. I had noticed it the last couples of times he had seen her. Today it was nice fitting blue jeans, not too tight, not too loose and a polo that wrapped tight around his upper arms. And he had let his hair get a little long over the ears and along the collar. I liked it. He looked strong and young and handsome.

Whoa.

“Lets just get this over with, Steven.” Mom started up the brick walk toward the front door while I stared down at my shoes and dad walked by. I smelled his cologne on the air that rushed between us. What the fuck?

My phone vibrated. It was Jamie. I touched go and Jamie’s face filled the screen. He was chewing something way too close to the camera and probably half drunk too; his big round face was kind of pink. “Whatcha doing?“ He grinned. He was such an oaf, a giant, college football player with the brains of a nine year old.

“We just got here.” I had already told him I was out of town for the party.

“Kat?” Dad turned around like he thought I was talking to him but I just waved him inside.

“Just got off the phone with Trey,” Jamie took a long swig off a brown bottle and I watched the inside of his house kind of tilt and move with the phone in his hand.

Trey was the other person I was supposed to meetup with at Jamie’s party. A guy I had been chasing for like a month, but he was a couple years older than me and though I had been throwing myself at him, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with me. I don’t know if he had another girl or if he was shy because I was younger, but like I just wanted to get with him. He was gorgeous.

What? I like a little of everything. I’m young. I’m allowed.

I stopped walking toward the house. “What did he say?”

“Says he can’t wait to see you. I didn’t have the heart to tell him you weren’t coming tonight.” Jamie disappeared off the screen and then reappeared his mouth full of potato chips.

“Aahh,” I groaned. “Fucking sucks.”

I looked up at the big stone house and the darkened windows and wished I was anywhere but exactly where I was. Why did they have to bring me along at all?

“Where are you exactly?” Jamie’s eyes searched the background for some clue.

“Long story. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Alright, alright. Have a good one, Katie.”

I put the phone in my pocket and walked inside.

The house was intense. It smelled old. It smelled old but sweet, like wood and maybe some kind of old perfume. Light through the tall, multi-paned windows seemed filtered like an Instagram filter. The place was like something out of a movie. I had never seen anything like it.

“Look at this place,” mom walked into the foyer. “I had no idea.”

“I have no idea where to start.” Dad flipped through a pile of mail on the floor next to the front door. “I can’t believe no one has come by.” He mumbled.

I walked through the entryway, which was about as big as my bedroom, and down a little hallway. The entire hallway wall was filled with old pictures, some paintings, some old photographs. Everything was framed and different sizes, a mix and match from floor to ceiling. I examined them. Some of the photos were black and white, had to be early eighteen hundreds judging by the clothes. A picture of a severe-looking woman standing on the front porch of a house. Her dress is plain. Her hair piled in a bun. She has an apron on and holds a broom. Another of two women, obviously sisters, both in beautiful dresses with wide brim hats. One is smoking. Both are laughing. Another with a mother and three small children. Color. Maybe the early sixties. She had a beehive. She’s wearing a lime green mini skirt and smoking a cigarette.

I was halfway down the hall when I realized it. Every photograph, every portrait, was of a woman or of multiple women. I took a couple steps back and tried to find a man in any of them. Surely there had to be a picture of my dad or his little brother, or of grandpa Jules who died before I was born. But there was nothing. There wasn’t a single man to be found in any of the photos except passerbys. Why?

Leaving the hall, I wandered into the dining room, a massive square with a long table surrounded by twelve, high-backed chairs. The place settings were perfect. It was like she could have hosted a party that night. I ran a finger across the center of a plate and there wasn’t a speck of dust.

She had been dead for almost a week. The funeral was in two days. How could the place be so perfect? Inside was the opposite of the outside. It was liked the place was wrapped in neglect but inside was perfection.

“Jewelry is probably in her bedroom,” I heard mom. “But where was her bedroom?”

“Kat? Where are you?” My dad called out.

“Dining room,” I shouted, “just looking around.” I ran my hand along one of the chairs. The wood was cool and smooth. I kind of liked the house. I liked how old it was. I imagined my grandmother dressed like a flapper with the long, slender dress, a hat with a feather, and elbow-length, white gloves. I thought of the women in the photos. Why only women?

“Place is pretty amazing, right?” Dad was standing in the doorway behind me. His arms were crossed.

I looked at him leaning against the doorway. Why did I keep doing that? Why did I keep looking at the muscles under his shirt? He was so strong. How had I never noticed that before?

“You grew up here?” I tried to calm the strange feeling in my chest. I couldn’t really imagine him in the house, he didn’t seem to fit. He was way too blue jeans for a place like this.

“Me? No,” he laughed and his eyes twinkled, “mom bought this place after my brother went to college. James told me about it when it happened. She told him she had to have it, but I never understood why. Who would want to live in this massive house alone?” He looked over at the dishes on the table. “What a weird symbol.” He walked over  and picked up a plate.

I had noticed it but not really paid attention. It was some sort of knot, like an Irish knot but different, more swirly with a strange symbol in the center in red.

“She was always so weird,” dad mumbled.

“I think the place is amazing,” I looked up at the twin chandeliers that hung over the table. Hundreds of glass pieces glittered in the sunlight that streamed through the windows.

“I’ve got to find that watch,” dad said and disappeared back down the hall. “I know she wouldn’t have gotten rid of it.”

 

For the next half hour or so I wandered around downstairs before winding my way up the huge staircase that led to a series of more halls lined with doors. The place was labyrinthian, there were rooms connected to more rooms, dressing rooms with closets almost the size of my room. Some of the bedrooms were bare, unfurnished  but with woodwork and trim that was polished and clean and still others had beds and dressers and mirrors, all antique, all perfect. It could have been a bed and breakfast by the shape it was in.

I walked across the hall from one bedroom and found my mom standing in front of a dressing table mirror. She was perfectly still and staring at herself. Although she could see me in the reflection when I walked in, her eyes didn’t seem to move, it was like she was seeing something in the mirror besides her own reflection.

When I stepped up behind her and waved, she didn’t move. It was like she didn’t see me. She just stared at the mirror. It was like she was staring through it, seeing another place in the mirror, like there was something else besides what I could see.

“Mom?” I reached out and touched her elbow. She jumped and blinked her eyes two or three times before she turned and looked at me.

“Katie,” she smiled, “isn’t this place beautiful?” Her smile was soft and warm, like she was suddenly happy or drunk or high.

“Yeah, it’s amazing.”

“It’s weird, it feels so warm here, like she still lives here.” Mom pulled out a drawer in the dressing table and found an antique hairbrush and comb, both silver with ornate handles. She ran her fingers along the curves. “It’s so strange.”

“Yeah,” I watched her. She was acting so weird, so suddenly content.

 

I wandered off again. The place was too giant and interesting not too. At one point I found myself in what had to be my grandmother’s room. It was the only room that felt lived in, if that makes any sense. It was impeccably clean and organized, but there was a bathrobe on the back of the door and the closet, unlike every other closet I had encountered, was full of clothes.

I went through everything. I opened the nightstand drawers and flipped through the little pile of old cough drops and loose pills I found there. I pulled open the dresser drawers and sorted through the neatly folded socks, then blouses, then pants, and all the rest.I don’t know why I did it. I don’t know what I was looking for or if I was looking for anything really. Maybe it was just curiosity but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

The closet was full of clothes everything from evening wear to pant suits and summer dresses. I picked up a long evening gown that looked like it had to cost a thousand dollars. Holding it up in front of me, I realized we were about the same size. I wondered which woman in the pictures my grandmother had been. I laid the dress on the bed and went back to the long racks of dresses. I found a black slinky number with a slit up the thigh and a plunging neckline. Racy. I set it on the bed and went back.

While I flipped through the dresses like I was shopping at a thrift store pulling pieces off, holding them up against my body, and then deciding against them, I tried to remember my grandmother. It was difficult. There was one picture on our mantle of my grandmother holding me when I was a baby. It was all I could remember of her, the picture. I didn’t really have any kind of memory, no events or gatherings. I was too young. But in the picture, she looked like an amazing woman. She was in her fifties in the picture, but her hair was fashionable. She looked fit. She wasn’t old in anyway. She was pretty in a I bet she was hot when she was younger sort of way, but you knew there were men still chasing her.

 

The falling out between her and my father had happened when I was six or seven. There were conflicting stories about exactly what happened but I do know that it had something to do with my brother and money or the lack thereof. Whatever it was, it was final. My dad and his mom never spoke again. She was hardly ever mentioned as I was growing up but, when my parents got divorced, mom told me that she called and told her that anything I needed would be paid for without question. Mom always thought it was strange that she had called and, as far as I knew, no one had taken her up on the offer.

But it always stuck with me. That she had called.

 

I sorted through the five or six dresses I had taken out of the closet and picked the black one again. A little tingle of excitement went through me. I had to try it on. It was so perfect. It looked like it was exactly my size.

I walked to the door and listened. There was no reason I couldn’t try on my dead grandmother’s dresses, but for some reason, I didn’t want anyone to know. When I had come upstairs, dad was still downstairs and I could hear him in one of the rooms doing something, but I had left mom in one of the upstairs bedrooms and there was no telling where she was now. I waited but didn’t hear anything.

Stepping back into my grandmother’s bedroom, I closed the door. Everything suddenly felt naughty, like I was about to do something I knew I shouldn’t. But there was also something else. Something behind just the fact that I was about to do was maybe, you know, just a little weird. No, there was something stimulating about putting on those dresses. I pulled my shirt off, unclasped my bra, and tossed both on the bed. I saw my reflection in the mirror of the dressing table and froze.

I’m not terribly tall. I’m like five foot seven, I run track so I have an athletic build but I am not strong, more lean really. I have always thought of myself as sort of plain, I mean, I’m not ugly but I am not a bombshell either. But standing in front of the mirror, something was different.

It was like the reflection changed things, I mean, it was strange. My hair looked better, the curls were fuller. My eyes seemed softer. My lips fuller. And, wow, my breasts.

I reached up and ran my fingers along the curves. My nipples could have cut glass they were so hard. As soon as my fingers touched the flesh a shiver ran through me. What was happening?

I squeezed and closed my eyes as the warmth washed across me.

I unbuttoned my pants and stepped out of them and my panties. Now I was naked in front of the mirror. All I wanted to do was touch myself. I couldn’t believe how sexy I felt. I stared at the swollen mound between my legs. God, I was so sexy.

I ran a hand down my belly, through the narrow tangle of hairs, and across my clit. A little moan escaped my lips and I tweaked my nipple to add a dash of pain. God, what was I doing?

I turned around picked up the long, slinky black dress. The fabric was thin and light. I slipped it over my head tugged the length down my body. It wrapped every curve of me.

I looked at myself in the mirror. I couldn’t believe it. It was like I had been transformed. I moved and the slit raced up my thigh, dangerously close to my waist line.

With my hands on my hips, I turned around and watched the dress move. Snug but not tight, it wrapped around me like it was made for me.

I felt so sexy. I wanted dad to see me in it. I wanted him to see how sexy I was, finally recognize what he had been missing. Wait, what? Why was I thinking like that?

I reached into the dresser drawer and pulled out the long, black, silk gloves. I rolled them onto my left hand and up my arm. I couldn’t believe how horny I was. I was hot and it felt like my heart was slamming against my chest.

I saw down on the edge of the bed beside the other dresses and ran my gloved finger along my naked thigh. The pleasure moved across me like a warm breeze.

“Sweetheart!” Mom’s voice pulled me out of the almost hypnotic fog. “Are you upstairs?”

I could tell she was downstairs. I swallowed hard and shook my head trying to get a handle on myself. I felt like I did when I had my first orgasm, like I had been wrapped in a cloud of pleasure. “Up…” my voice cracked and I coughed, “upstairs!” I called out.

“Find anything interesting?”

“Not yet,” I looked down at myself, my hand inside the gaping slit of the dress, my breasts about to fall out of the dress’ neckline.

I stood up and slipped my curls my ear. I glanced at the mirror and realized that my reflection didn’t move. I looked again and it was me, moving as I should have been. But I was sure, for a second, it was me staring back at me, like I was inside the mirror.

“Keep looking!” I heard my dad yell from downstairs.

“Ok!” I yelled and walked back to the closet. What was going on. I took a breath and shifted a pile of dresses further down the rack. And then I saw it. A doorway.

Pushing dresses tight against the wall and further down the rail, I cleared the area in front of the door. It was full-sized but flush with the wall, no trim or border of any kind. It was like it was meant to be almost hidden, like you would have to look for it.

***09/29/17 post

I reached out and slipped the little latch up. The door swung inward and opened onto a little room. It was full-sized, large enough that you only had to duck your head as you came through the doorway. It had a little skylight that illuminated a small dressing table, a chair, and a small wooden chest.

I couldn’t believe it, a secret room! I stepped inside and turned to look back into the closet. I thought about yelling something, but then decided against it. I closed the door and disappeared.

The chest was larger than it looked from outside the room. Three feet or so and just above my knee. It was beautiful. Ornate carvings flowed across the front and I realized that the symbol dad had noticed on the plate were here as well, pressed into the wood just below the latch. I ran my fingers along the edge.

Dad. I thought about him, the way he was built. His weight and strength.

My mouth went dry.

What the fuck was happening to me? I had never thought like this before. I mean, well, maybe I had once, but it wasn’t like a normal thing. But now I couldn’t help it. I thought of him bare chested.

I reached my fingers under the lid and slowly lifted. The sunlight filled the chest and neatly folded quilts came into view. They looked like they were a hundred years old. Leaning over, I picked one up. It was soft and the stitches were in perfect rows radiating across the fabric. I wondered how long it took to complete a blanket by hand.

Under the quilt, I found a box full of dusty, well-worn books. There were no visible words on the cover or bindings that I could see, but they looked professionally bound. I moved the other side’s stack of quilts and found a little wooden box.

 

The shape was simple, a rectangle of deep red wood that looked like it had been hand-polished to shine. The edges were lighter where the stain had been worn away by fingers and hands. I pulled it out and lifted the little lid.

Inside, lying on blue silk stuffing, was a dildo. I mean, just right there in all its glory – a well-shaped, well-proportioned replication of penis.

I wish I could say that I was thinking that clearly when I opened the little box. That I examined it with a speculative eye, but I could have never uttered the word replication. The moment I laid eyes on the thing, I wanted it. As soon as my teenaged brain recognized it, I wanted to stuff it inside me.

It was like the air in the little room was an aphrodisiac, or the thing had a magic spell cast on it. I reached out ran my fingertips along the width. I couldn’t tell it what it was made of. It wasn’t plastic but something else, something smoother, warmer. It wasn’t old looking, it looked new, but it didn’t have any frills or surprises. There was no obvious space for batteries or anything.

I wrapped my fingers around it and lifted it out. It was heavy. Heavier than it looked or I thought it would be.

I set the box down and examined the phallus. Part of my brain was trying to figure out what was happening while the other, animal side of me, just wanted the satisfaction I knew it could give me.

Was this grandma’s dildo? Is this what she used to pleasure herself? Here? In this secret room?

But what better place? I looked around. I pulled the chair out of the way and closed the lid on the chest.

I sat down. The chest faced the mirror on top of the dressing table. I looked at myself holding the cock. The slit of my dress ran up my thigh. I smiled. I had to have it.

I looked at it closer. The detail was exquisite. I ran my index finger along the long ridge of vein that twisted across the top. The mushroom shaped tip looked so real, like a drop of precum could emerge at any moment.

Why was it so perfect?

I turned on top of the chest so I could see myself better. I gripped the shaft and held it up, like there was a man standing in front of me, his stiff cock perched and waiting for my lips.

Daddy.

I almost said the word. I met the tip of the cock with my lips. Just a kiss. I glanced at myself in the mirror and grinned. I was so bad. “Do you like that?” I whispered before I kissed the side of the shaft, just behind the head. “We shouldn’t do this,” I imagined him standing in front of me, his impatience throbbing in my hands, his whole body anticipating what I was about to do to him. “We could get caught.” I kissed the other side of the shaft and touched it with the tip of my tongue.

I didn’t understand my sudden fascination with my daddy. I mean, part of my brain fought the idea, protested my fantasy. I always fantasized about a bigger, older man. That had always been one of my favorites. I mean, the men in my masturbatory fantasies, you know, when I was lying alone in bed in the dark, wishing for someone to ravage me, they were always men like my dad, but never him. Well, almost never him. I mean, I had never thought about sucking my dad’s cock, never.

But now?

Now I was too turned on. The rational side of my psyche was silenced. I didn’t care why I was thinking or feeling what I was feeling, only that I felt it – the need, the urge and desire.

I reached up and into the slinky black dress. I wrapped my hand around my own breast and squeezed. A shiver of delight ran through me.

I squeezed the phallus in my hand and kissed the tip again. I loved the weight of it, how soft but hard it was. It felt warm in my hand.

“You do like that don’t you?” I teased and slipped my breast out of the dress. My nipple hardened immediately, the pink goosebumply flesh, eager to be played with. I ran a fingertip over the stiff little nub and my breath caught in my throat.

I couldn’t believe how turned on I was.

Leaning forward, I parted my lips and sucked the toy into my mouth. The material was warm and smooth. I thought of the first dick I had ever tasted. How nervous I had been. How excited. How all I wanted to do was please the boy it was attached to. This was no different.

I slipped the tip back to my lips then plunged my head forward. It warmed to me immediately. I closed my eyes and poured myself into the task. All I wanted to do was please it.

It became hot in my hands. The warmth moved from the base into my mouth. It became a living thing. I sucked harder and the mushroom tip became slipper with its own precum. I pulled it from my mouth and a long strand of clear liquid draped between my lips and the tip.

“Oh, my god,” I whispered.

My chest ached with longing. I pulled my other breast free of the dress and spread my legs as wide as the dress would let me. My body was on fire. I squeezed the base of the penis and watched the head flair and another drop of precum emerge.

I gazed it lovingly. The skin-like material glistened with saliva and it’s own juices.

“I want you,” I pined.

My own arousal began to overtake me. I leaned forward and scooped the precum onto my tongue. I moaned and reached between my legs to give my begging pussy some attention. I was soaked.

“You’re so beautiful,” I slipped my finger in between my folds and found my clit. I was so close to an orgasm. “I’ve never seen a cock like you, so fucking perfect.” I squeezed the base and laid it between my breasts. I swear I felt a heartbeat, like it was alive.

I slid it between my cleavage and up to my lips. More precum oozed from its tip.

“I want you to fuck me,” I dipped another finger into my cooze and moaned. “I want you to stretch my pussy and fuck me.”

I imagined daddy fucking me. I imagined his body over me, his chest looming over my tiny frame, his muscles flexing as he penetrated his own daughter.

The monstrous toy slid down my body until its head rested against cunt.

“You want me, don’t you?” I looked down as the tip pressed passed my lips.

“Fuck me,” I whispered.

The cock throbbed in response. I watched my wrists move as it began sliding into me. Was I doing it or was it doing it on it’s own?

One hand reached back and gripped the edges of the chest. The penis began to push into me, stretching me wide, wider than I had ever been stretched before. I bit my lip and moaned. “Don’t stop,” I squealed, “more. Give me that thick cock.”

I pulled the dildo back to my entrance and it drove itself back inside, one smooth thrust.

I gasped as the shaft disappeared, penetrating me to the base of the trinket. I don’t know how my parents didn’t hear me. I grabbed both breasts and squeezed. I had never felt so full.

The first orgasm washed over me.

My toes curled. I pinched a nipple and let out a little squeal. My toes curled.

The tool and whoever was behind it, didn’t stop.

I leaned back on my elbows and closed my eyes. I savored the feeling. In and out. Empty and suddenly, thrilling full.

I took a breath and flexed tight around the phallus that slowly ground back and forth. “Yes,” I cooed, “fuck, I love how you feel inside me.”

The next thrust came faster.

You’re fucking me so good.”

I looked down and watched as it slowly pulled free, sliding out of me to the very tip. Whoever was on the other end teased me. I took a quick little breath when it drove into me again. The throbbing member was warm and there was a sudden sense of urgency.  

Then someone grabbed my wrists.

I looked down as my hands were lifted over my head. I opened my mouth to protest, but felt soft lips against my own.

I couldn’t breathe.

My heart was pounding from the sex, but now there was a little bit of fear. What was happening? Who was this? He was strong.

But the lips were so soft, softer than any man. It’s a woman? But that impossible. The thick shaft spread me again and my tongue wandered past the lips pressed against my own.

The kissing was lusty and playful and the fat cock sliding in and out of my dripping snatch felt so good.

The rational side of my brain formed a thought. But who is the invisible body? What man?

But the being must have sensed my thoughts because I suddenly felt something else at my lips, something soft but stiff. I sucked it between my lips. A nipple! I sucked it and ran my tongue over the stiff flesh.

I tasted honey.

I couldn’t believe what was happening. I couldn’t believe there was a woman attached to the dildo racing in and out of me.

I spread my legs wider.

A woman? Was this my grandmother?

Her fucking became more insistent. With her invisible body, she laid me back on the wooden chest, my hands over my head. I felt the heat of her body as she leaned over me. I felt her breasts, at least as large as my own, press into mine. I spread my thighs and brought my heels up to my ass. It change the direction of where the cock touched my insides and I came immediately.

And she kept fucking me. Now the cock moved faster. Each thrust had purpose. My breasts bounced up and down. My nipples slipped against hers.

All the while, she fucked me.

Another orgasm. “Oh! Oh! Oh!” I leaned my head back. I wanted her to slow down. It was too much. Every muscle in my body tensed. “Do it, cum with me.” I pleaded between impassioned kisses. “Cum for me!” I squeezed my pussy tight around her shaft.

The orgasm burned across me. But her tool didn’t stop. I could hear the slap, slap, slap of her flesh impacting mine, her invisible thighs slapping against my own.

She released my mouth and I heard words that I couldn’t understand. My body began to tingle all over. Sensations I had never experienced moved across me, through me. I was hot, then cold.

I moved my head and found her nipple again. I shouted around her breasts as she hammered my pussy. The sweet honey dribbled into my mouth.

I felt the long penis inside me expand. The walls of my pussy enjoyed every ridge and vein. The softness of her flesh, pressed against me, felt like silk.

“Look in the mirror, dear.” A voice whispered in my ear.

I looked. An ass that mirrored my own pumped into my pelvis with deep, rhythmic strokes. Long, lean legs that promised an eternity of wicked pleasure strained with the effort. Hair as black as midnight cascaded around two folded, black wings, that were cradled into her back. And a pointed tale, moved through the air, arcing sensuously.

I looked back up and met the deep red eyes of my Grandmother. She looked just like one of the women in the pictures. She was strong, and beautiful, and…what? A demon? A ghost? Something else?

“Are you enjoying yourself, my dear?” She wore a wicked grin as she continued to penetrate me, over and over.

The tip of her tail swung around her arm and lightly traced my left nipple.

Another orgasm thundered through me. “Fuck! Oh, grandma, fuck!” I grabbed the wooden chest I was lying against and writhed under her.

I didn’t care what she was. Nothing else mattered but the way my body felt in that moment. “Yes,” I wrapped my legs around the small of her back. The feathers of her wings tickled my legs. “Oh, God, yes!” The new angle pushed me toward another climax. White light burst into a million colors behind me eyes. “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” I wrapped my arms around her neck delirious.

 

I could barely breathe. It felt like it went deeper every time. Every nerve in my body was on fire. I began to match the rhythm of each stroke, pulling away and then bucking against it. I needed it. I need the next orgasm. Thirst.

It felt magnificent.

“Are you ready?”

I giggled quietly as sweat dripped from me. “Do it,” I urged, “cum inside me. Cum for me, grandma.”

She came on grandma. She pressed deep inside. Her pelvic bone ground against my clit. I closed my eyes and felt her hot seed deep inside me. She pulled back and then hammered into me again. I heard the fluids between our legs.

Warmth enveloped me from the inside out. It was like a drug. My body somehow seemed to absorb her essence.

I felt light. Like I could float or fly or simple disappear into thin air.

I looked up. Grandma met my gaze and grinned.

“That was just the first of my gifts, Katherine.” She kissed my forehead. “But we have little time.”

 

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